Lady in Red
by hamgsrship
Summary: A formal affair brings Grissom's attention to Sara as she appears in her finery. A simple red dress and heels opens his eyes and makes him realize what he's missing. Read what might have happened that television didn't show us. Starts pre-Committed.
1. Chapter 1

Grissom knew Sara was beautiful, but when she entered the room with the others, wearing stilettos and a red dress, he couldn't ignore his attraction to his subordinate any longer. The way she danced and laughed with her co-workers made him want to have her completely to himself and never let her go. This will eventually go on through the series, bringing in things they revealed on the show, and coming up with the personal side that they "should" have shown. This will soon turn into a rating of M, so I listed the first few chapters in that category in preparation for the rest.

Chapter One

There was a low hum from the people already in the large room as Gil Grissom hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room for anyone familiar, but seeing no one he wanted to associate with. He glanced at the tables that were scattered throughout the room, rectangular in shape, seating eight people per table.

"Shall we go in?" Sophia Curtis cooed at him, bringing his attention back to his "date" for the evening.

He only took a few steps before he was spotted by an observant usher and taken to a table to be seated. Gil tugged at the neck of his shirt, his tuxedo making him feel extremely uncomfortable, as it always did. He glanced again at Sophia, admiring her beauty that was highlighted with a backless blue dress with a front that was so low that it nearly showcased her navel. She didn't hesitate leaning in toward Gil at every opportunity to show him the cleavage that she was using as an open invitation.

Grissom sat at their table, listening to her attempts at conversation when he saw two of his friends, Catherine and Jim entering the room. Catherine, as always, was breathtaking in an emerald dress and he couldn't help but hide a smile at the obvious admiration Jim was showing her. Catherine wasted little time, taking the seat next to Gil, and even less time opening a conversation with him that seemed to exclude the blonde on the other side of him. He really couldn't help it if Catherine's topic was much more interesting to him than Sophia's.

Their little group continued to converse for another ten minutes when Gil heard a whistle coming from the entrance to the room, as well as a variety of male voices making themselves heard in a very appreciative tone. He looked up to see Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes entering the room but their backs were to him, both looking at whomever was entering behind them. He watched as they smiled broadly and reached toward the other person, instigating an exasperated complaint from Greg Sanders; still out of Gil's line of vision.

"Back off, boys!" Greg said smoothly to the other two men, his exaggerated confidence in himself showing like a beam of light. "She's my date tonight."

"Good, Lord, girl!" Warrick smiled. "You sure do clean up nice!"

"Nice?" Nick agreed, taking the woman's hand and pulling her toward the front of them until she was standing between himself and Warrick, leaving an exasperated Greg in the background. "You're absolutely gorgeous! Too hot for the likes of this little creep."

Gil recognized the giggle that came from the woman before her identity actually hit him. He could recognize that laugh anywhere–he had been listening to it for years, and it was like a melody that could always lift his spirits.

"Yeah, well, this "little creep" brought her–and I'm taking her home tonight!" Greg complained as he followed the other three toward the table now occupied with Jim, Catherine, Gil and Sophia.

"Oh, my," Catherine remarked as she looked at the foursome coming closer, the tiniest of smiles gracing her lips as she glanced over at Gil and Sophia, quickly noting the look of enchantment on her friend's face and the fact that his "date" seemed oblivious to anything other than her attempts to capture Gil's attention. "Look what we have here."

"I always knew she was hiding something underneath her t-shirts and jeans," Jim said in the same tone that Catherine had used as he watched the woman approaching with a man on each side of her and one following closely behind. "She's stunning."

Nick and Warrick each held onto one of her arms as they came to the end of the table where Gil and Sophia were sitting. They were prepared to sit opposite them with the woman in the seat directly across from Gil, but when she looked over to see him in his tuxedo with the elegant blonde hanging off of him, she nervously stepped back, nearly bumping into Greg as she did so.

"Woe," Nick chuckled as he held onto her arm. "Careful there. Come on, sit here, between Warrick and me."

The woman's eyes kept going back to the blonde who was leaning closer to Gil. Gil didn't seem to notice though as he stared at her with immense appreciation shining from his eyes. He couldn't stop his gaze from traveling down the front of her red dress that flowed over her arms in an off-the-shoulder manner, and exposed the top of her chest before modestly covering her breasts. His gaze went lower, watching how the cloth hugged her slimness while at the same time, draped over her in a classic fashion. The dress stopped above her knees, exposing lean, strong, and sleek legs that seemed to go on forever and Gil couldn't stop the quick flashes of those legs wrapped around his waist as he would plunge inside of her. Her sandals topped off the ensemble with thin straps and three-inch heels (more closely resembling spikes). Finally, Gil's eyes traveled back to the creaminess of her shoulders and neck, then to the face that now wore cosmetics to enhance the beauty that they all knew was suppressed there. Her dark chocolate hair flowed in an almost careless style that made her look as if she had just been made love to and quite thoroughly enjoyed it. Looking at the most gorgeous set of brown eyes he had ever seen in his life, he lifted one eyebrow slightly as he watched her.

"Yes, Sara–please, take a seat." He gestured to the chair across from himself, but noticed how her eyes darted from him to Sophia.

"No. Thanks." She took a step back from Nick and Warrick and reached for Greg's sleeve. "I came with Greg. I think I should sit up here with him."

This, of course, brought a beaming smile from the younger man as he held the chair for her, then took the seat across from Brass. Nick wasted little time sitting across from Gil and next to Sara, leaving Warrick to sit opposite Sophia.

"Well," Jim said gently as he sat back and allowed the waiter to start spreading their dinners before them. "I hope you leave at least one dance open for me tonight."

Sara smiled sheepishly at the older man. "Why Brass–I didn't know you liked to dance."

"I'm an excellent dancer," Jim teased. "You just haven't had the opportunity to see me strut my struff."

"I've seen him "strut his stuff", and believe me–he's no John Travolta," Catherine giggled as she looked at Sara.

"I can do the "John Travolta" thing," Nick spoke up as he leaned close to Sara. "I'll keep you spinning across the dance floor tonight."

"Sorry, buddy, but she's going out on the floor with me–so you can put your little white suit away for the night. I'll show her some "real" dancing," Warrick spoke up.

"Jesus, girl!" Catherine teased. "It looks like Sophia and I are going to be completely without dance partners tonight. You've got all our men–Sophia and I will either have to settle for Ecklie or dance with each other!"

"I've got a partner right here," Sophia told her as she became more aware of Sara and her obvious admirers. "I think one man is enough for a woman."

"Gil?" Catherine looked at the blonde with raised brows. "Boy, are you in for a surprise! Gil doesn't dance."

"I think I can manage to talk him into it," Sophia tried to look into Gil's eyes, but failed miserably as he was too occupied, listening to the conversation on the other side of the table. This turned Sophia's attention to Sara and she took in the breathtakingly sensual aura of the woman. With a combination of a smirk and a huff, Sophia sat back in her chair. "Sara, I can't imagine where you got your dress. Although I did see something similar to it at Wal-Mart the other week."

Sara's smile she had been wearing as a result of constant teasing by Nick and Greg wilted as she looked back at Sophia. "I–really don't remember where I got it. It was just hanging in my closet."

"Really? I would never have thought of you as keeping such clothing. You're more a sweatshirt and sweat pants type of gal. Where did you go to have your make-up applied? It's–done rather well. We can hardly see the tomboy hidden beneath it."

Catherine turned hard eyes on the other woman as Sara dropped her gaze to the top of the table. "That's one hell of sexy-looking tomboy, if you ask me!" Catherine told Sophia. "If being a tomboy lets you end up looking like that–I'm going out for the softball team next year."

"Who are you kidding?" Nick chuckled as he looked at Catherine. "You're already on the softball team–and can out-slug even me. Now running–that's a different matter."

"And just what's wrong with my running?" Catherine asked with fake irritation, glad to turn the conversation away from Sophia's disapproval of her friend. "I can outrun Gil!"

"You've got to know when to slow down and when to run," Sophia told her. "There are times you want to move a little more slowly."

"I'm sure there is," Catherine started, this time, not being able to stop the spark of anger that was escaping from her. "And I'm sure you know exactly when to slow down and clamp your trap around. . ."

"Okay," Jim interrupted quickly. "This steak looks perfect. How does your. . ." He had to stop and stare at Catherine's dinner a moment. ". . .chicken look? That "is" chicken, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Catherine hissed. "It looks kind of spoiled rotten, if you ask me."

Knowing she was speaking more about the blonde woman at the end of the table, than her actual dinner, Jim simply grabbed her plate and switched hers with his. "Here–eat mine–it looks fine."

"Jim! I didn't want steak!" Catherine started to protest, then looked closer at Brass' plate. "Oh–but that does look good."

"Then eat the steak."

"But the chicken looks good, too," she almost whined.

"Fine," Jim breathed as he cut the chicken in half, then did the same with the steak, giving them each a half of the dinners. "Better?"

Catherine smiled at Brass, but her smile turned to a grimace when Sophia spoke up.

"I hope no one was watching. That isn't exactly appropriate etiquette for this occasion."

"I'll eat what the fuck I want to eat and if you're too. . ." Catherine started to stand, but Jim pulled her back into her seat.

Nick and Warrick slowly looked back to Sophia, then without a word, cut their dinners in half and slid them off of their plates onto each other's.

"If you're sharing down there," Greg spoke up as he leaned in front of Sara with his plate and handed it to Nick. "I wouldn't mind having some of that salmon."

Catherine looked at her friends with a very satisfied smile. She knew she could count on them. "So, you were saying something, Sophia?"

"Alright!" Gil spoke sharply. "Enough! Do I have to sit here like a parent and dictate what is and isn't appropriate to do at the dinner table? Jim, I would have thought that at your age, you would've had enough sense to not start this!"

"I didn't start anything," Jim said under his breath, loud enough for only Catherine to hear. "It was your damned date that started it."

Catherine smiled sweetly at Gil, then smiled even broader at Sophia as she slid a piece of steak into her mouth, clearly over-reacting to the more than satisfactory taste as it slid across her tongue.

"Now–can we eat in peace?" Gil asked the rest of the group with a stern eye.

"I'm eating," Warrick said quietly as he started on his plate that now consisted of baked salmon, filet mignon and chicken cordon bleu.

"Me too," Nick agreed.

Greg merely smiled at everyone as he started to enjoy his meal.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The lights were low with streaks of flash every so often as the strobe above them would reflect some sort of color through the air and onto the people below. Gil Grisson leaned against the bar with a whiskey in his hand. He hadn't meant to come here tonight–not really. He intended to only attend the dinner, then head back to the lab for some unfinished paperwork but as he watched the brunette sitting diagonally across the table from him, and how his crew were constantly teasing her and bringing that beautiful smile to her lips, he couldn't seem to leave the building.

It was clear to see that the men were captivated by Sara as they kept her on the dance floor almost constantly, and as the night wore on and the four men passed Catherine and Sara between them, their enjoyment was something to be envied. Catherine's eyes glowed as she danced and laughed with her friends, and she even showed an immense pride as she would look at her younger friend in the red dress.

Sara, was kept so busy that she wasn't exactly sure who was grabbing her hand for the next dance until they were holding her close and swaying to the music. She was amused when she found that despite what was said about Jim Brass–he most certainly was an excellent dancer. Every time she danced with him, he would gently tease her about anything that would come to mind, then after the song would finish, he would either wait nearby or, if Catherine was available, return to her and take her into his arms. Sara noticed how he held onto Catherine a little tighter than he held her and she thought it was adorable the way he could light up Catherine's eyes and make her laugh as she would hug the man in appreciation.

Warrick also took his turn between the two women and his times with Sara were spent holding her close or spinning her to the music, pulling her back into his embrace as he held his head close to hers, whispering things that would make her smile at her friend.

Nick wasted little time taking his turns with Sara, picking out the slower songs so he could hold her close and tell her how beautiful she looked. Sara smiled up at him, knowing he was treating her like a proud big brother who just found out that his little sister had blossomed. And he would tease her, sometimes saying derogatory remarks about Sophia and Gil, sometimes pointing out Brass' obvious attraction to Catherine, and finally, warning her about going home with Greg–seeing as he's such a dangerous type. This would make her laugh and he would join her as they looked at Greg who was sipping at a root beer and watching the colors coming off the strobe light.

Gil watched all of this from his position at the bar and envied the other men's capabilities to participate in the festivities so easily. He wished more than anything that he could go to the middle of that dance floor and request a dance of his own with the beautiful lady in red. He grimaced when Sophia stood next to him and covered his hand with hers, drawing imaginary circles on his skin with her thumb.

"What do ya say, Griss? Would you like to take a turn on the floor with me?"

Her voice was sultry, smooth–but it was grinding on his nerves. He was still angry at her insulting treatment of Sara. It was quite clear that she was trying to ruin the girl's evening–either intentionally, or out of a habit that dictated her to ridicule any female that seemed to shine above her. He lifted his whiskey to his lips and downed the contents, feeling the burn rush down his throat and pushing at the nagging anger he had right now for Sophia. He looked at the blonde woman, his face tight as he took her hand and started for the center of the floor, bringing astonished looks from Catherine and Jim. The others were too busy with Sara to notice him approaching, but he noticed them. He pulled Sophia into his arms, a little more roughly than anticipated and she smiled smugly at Catherine as they passed. Grissom hardly noticed the wanting looks that Sophia was sending to him. What he did notice was how Sara dipped her head with amusement at Nick's comments; he noticed how Nick held onto Sara's waist and held her hand as they swayed together; he noticed how Nick looked into Sara's eyes as he spoke to her, wearing that charming "I-can-get-any-woman-I-want" smile of his, the smile that Grissom wanted to knock off his face. He noticed that Sara had never looked lovelier and his arms ached to hold her, wishing that he was the one bringing that beautiful smile to her lips.

"Gil," Sophia's voice broke through to him and he looked at her. "You do realize that tonight doesn't have to end at my doorway, don't you?"

A nerve seemed to jump in his jaw line as he tensed. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can make this whole fiasco up to you after we go home tonight."

"Fiasco?" He looked at her through questioning eyes. "I don't understand."

"This," she glanced around the room, "evening doesn't have to be a total catastrophe. I can do things to you that you'll. . ."

Whatever she was going to promise was cut off when Jim danced Catherine up to them and turned in an open invitation to switch partners.

"Look at this! Gil Grissom on the dance floor."

"I never said I couldn't dance, Catherine." He gave her a small smile as he tried to release Sophia, but she held tightly onto his hand.

"Well, if you're giving out dances–I'm taking my turn before the magic spell you seem to be under ends."

"I always have a dance in me for you, Catherine." This time when he tried to release Sophia, he had the assistance of Jim as he placed his hand over the blonde woman's hands, giving her little choice but to turn to him and dance unless she wanted to create a scene.

"Shall we?" Jim asked her, quickly dancing her away from the other couple.

Grissom and Catherine danced in silence for a few moments, then Catherine leaned up and whispered into his ear. "She certainly is lovely tonight, isn't she?"

Grissom looked down at her and nodded his head slightly. "Yes, of course. Sophia is a beautiful woman."

"Ah, but Sophia isn't the one who keeps stealing your gaze tonight, is she?" Grissom looked blankly at her. "Our Sara has turned into quite the Cinderella. Too bad her prince is dancing with someone else."

"Cinderella is busy with at least four other princes tonight," he smirked at her.

"There's always room for a fifth," Catherine coaxed, quickly releasing Gil's hand as the song ended and she reached for Nick's embrace. "My turn, Nick!"

Sara stared at Gil as he looked at her. He almost took her hand in his when Greg rushed up to them and stole it away.

"Come on, Sara–I requested this song."

Sara paused as the notes to Paralyzer by Finger Eleven began to play. She continued to look into Gil's eyes until he dropped his gaze and took a step backward.

"A little too fast for my taste tonight," he told her quietly.

"Are you sure?" She asked, equally as quiet.

"Go on, enjoy the song." He gave her the tiniest of smiles before turning to leave the dance floor and going back to the bar where he quickly ordered another whiskey. He watched as Sara and Greg danced together and seemed to be having a wonderful time, and he suddenly felt very old.

"Not enjoying yourself?" Warrick asked as he approached him, gesturing to the bartender to give him a beer.

"I can't exactly say that Finger Eleven is my style of music," Grissom said dryly as he downed the contents of his drink, wincing at the burning in his throat.

"No, I don't suppose it is," Warrick smiled at him and leaned back against the bar as they both watched the couples still on the floor. "It looks like Nick's got your date cornered for at least one more song."

Grissom looked to where Warrick gestured and saw that Sophia seemed captivated by the younger man as he wooed her, showing her moves that left her no choice but to keep her focus on him or she would have slipped and fallen on the floor.

"Hmm," Grissom turned back to the bar. "It looks like your turn is coming up with Sara. You better get ready for the end of the song before someone else grabs her."

Warrick hesitated a moment, then started away from the bar, leaving Grissom to himself. Grissom looked into his glass of whiskey, watching the colors reflecting within as he heard the song end. He fully expected Sophia to take advantage of this break in the music to reclaim her date for the night, so when he felt a tentative touch to his arm, he nearly knocked it away in frustration. He looked at the single finger that slid on the cloth of his jacket, recognizing the hand immediately.

"Are you still offering that dance?" Sara asked as she smiled gently at him.

Grissom turned around, glancing out to the others in time to see Sophia walking toward him with determination, only to be sidetracked by Warrick as he pulled her into his arms and began dancing to Bon Jovi singing Make a Memory.

"Of course," he said simply and allowed her to place her hand in the crook of his arm as he took her to the edges of the dancing area. He pulled her into his arms, perhaps a little closer than he should have, but he couldn't seem to stop the desire to feel her against him. The usual stance was abandoned as his hands rested on her hips and hers were on his shoulders. Within moments their swaying brought her cheek next to his and he couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers stroke her back. "You are enchanting tonight."

She pulled her head back and gave him the softest of smiles. "You've noticed?"

He gently smiled back at her. "How could I not?"

"That's good–because I find you extremely handsome in your tux."

He simply shrugged off the compliment and leaned closer to her, and inhaled the sensual perfume she was wearing. He closed his eyes and got lost in the feel of her and she snuggled closer to him, letting the music wash over them as they stayed in the dim edges of the crowd. The song ended and the lights came on, but still they remained together, taking in the texture of one another and the electrical current that it created.

"I thought I lost you in the crowd," Sophia's voice broke through to them and when Sara tried to pull away from him, he held her a moment longer. "Gil, if you don't mind, I think I'm ready to call it a night. Would you mind going home with me now?"

Grissom felt Sara tense and look from him to Sophia, then to the crowd. She gave a slight twist, prompting him to relinquish his hold on her waist.

"If you'll excuse me, I think Nick is waiting for me." Sara took a step away from the couple.

"Sara–wait. . ." Grissom started, but she continued on her way until she stood with Nick and he

put his arm around her shoulder, walking with her as he talked jovially then disappeared into the crowd. The last thing Grissom took in was the long, sleek legs and the three-inch heels. God, but she was absolutely exquisite. He wanted to go after her, wanted to go on dancing with her all night; holding her tightly as she leaned into him, but he didn't.

"I guess she didn't hear you," Sophia told him as she put her arm through his and started walking toward the door. "I think we need to go now."

Grissom looked at her and gave a short nod. He silently walked her to his car and opened the door for her, drove her to her apartment, went around to her side of the car and helped her back out, then walked her to her door. He watched as she slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open, then he turned and started back to his car, leaving an open-mouthed Sophia staring after him in astonishment.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Every time Sara thought about that party, she could feel herself being enveloped into Grissom's arms; she could hear his compliment that he shared with her; she could feel his chest beneath her fingertips. But–then she would also remember how he jumped at the chance to (as Sophia put it) go home with the blonde woman. She had a feeling that her comrades knew her heart was breaking–again–as they tried to cheer her up throughout the night, and she had found a stronger relationship with Catherine since their argument a few months before. Somehow the addition of Sophia to their staff cemented Sara's and Catherine's relationship, mostly out of self-preservation. Catherine knew that Sophia posed a threat to her position at CSI, and Sara knew the threat was imminent regarding her heart where Gilbert Grissom was concerned. Catherine even talked Sara into going to the party that night. And, it was Catherine who went with her to pick out the dress and heels. So, when Sophia tried to criticize Sara's attire, the look that crossed the older woman's face showed a fifty-fifty chance that she was going to strangle the blonde before the end of the night.

Sara had been driven home by Greg that night and she thanked him for a wonderful evening (even though Nick, Warrick, Jim and Catherine were just as responsible for preventing her complete breakdown over watching Grissom leave with Sophia). Then, after politely telling him that she would see him at work, she entered her apartment and moved across her living room to her bedroom. She slowly dragged herself to her mirror where she looked at her reflection and wondered just what it was that Sophia had that she was lacking. Sara turned from the mirror and removed her heels and red dress, then after pulling off her stockings, she threw on a pair of sweat-shorts and a tank top, then went into the bathroom to clean the make-up off. A quick brush of her hair that she pulled back into a ponytail and brush of her teeth, and she moved back to her bed where she lay in the darkness.

She stared at the dim light coming in through the window, and let the tears fall as she thought back over how close she had become to Gil. She remembered working the case with the couples who participated in spouse swapping, and her conversation with Grissom about the jealousy gene and how she felt that if you had to go outside of your marriage to find passion–you were looking for trouble and would very likely find it. She remembered him bringing her a cup of tea and sitting with her, completely engulfed in their conversation as he looked into her eyes. But then Sophia came, and he backed away from Sara so fast that she was left with her head spinning. She didn't know how many times she had seen the two of them retreat into his office for long conversations, most of the time, their heads together as they laughed at some joke that was meant only for them to hear. And the fact that he took her out to dinner was a cold slap in the face to Sara. She vowed to close her heart at that point, knowing it was no use anymore. She would only know sorrow with Grissom.

It was at the party, he–being Grissom–managed to raise her hopes again. He had a way of speaking to her that could make her knees turn to rubber, and when he told her she looked enchanting, she thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. He held her close and she felt completely at home there, as if she had been made specifically to fit into his embrace. And then Sophia returned. The memory sickened her, so closing her eyes tightly, she let sleep take her to a sweet escape, where there was no Grissom and no Sophia. She could sleep in peace.

When Sara came to work the following night, she noticed a difference immediately. She felt it in the air; an almost crackling sensation whenever Grissom would come near her, which was often. He handed out the assignments, saving Sara for last before informing her that she was with him that night. There was a DB at a hotel on the strip and they were to investigate. She simply nodded and started for her Denali, but stopped when she was nearly halfway across the parking garage.

"Sara," Grissom called after her. "Over here–you're riding with me."

Sara turned around to look at him at the same instant Sophia entered the garage behind him and turned his attention back to her. Sara only watched a moment as they started a discussion that she had no desire to overhear. So, breathing a deep sigh, she turned and continued on to her vehicle and pulled out of the garage on her way to process another victim.

As she parked at the hotel's garage, she had no desire to discuss her decision to "disobey" her boss and take her own vehicle, so when she saw him speedily pulling his Denali up close to hers, she wasted little time getting inside the building. She was happy to see Jim Brass at the scene, hoping his presence would alleviate any tension that could be brewing between Grissom and herself. Brass turned and looked at her from a distance of about fifteen feet, his slight smile comforting her as she approached him, but the sound of the door slamming closed behind her, turned Brass' attention to the man quickly approaching his subordinate.

"I thought I told you to wait–that you were to ride with me!" Grissom said sharply.

"Really?" Sara played dumb. "I thought you were speaking to Sophia."

"Why would I be speaking to Sophia when she's not even on this case?" He continued to walk next to her as they approached the room where Brass stood, watching them.

"Well, lets see," Sara said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "I heard you say something about riding with you, then I turned to see Sophia approaching you. It only makes sense that she was the one you were talking to and she was going to get in your Denali."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically as he entered the room with a very amused Brass that neither of them realized was listening to their every word. "That makes sense. I was talking to Sophia. That's why I called you by name."

"Hmmm," Sara acknowledged Brass with a small smile. "I must not have heard you."

Within moments, they went to work with the female that was lying on the bed–back to business as they checked the room, then Grissom disappeared to process the bathroom as Sara started dusting for fingerprints. Within a few minutes, Greg showed up and went to help Grissom before they reunited back in the main room where Sara informed them that there were no prints to be found.

They left the hotel and returned to the lab where they started processing their information. Soon, Sara was leaving with Jim to look into a lead and didn't see Grissom again until much later in the day. He approached her as she was going over the information she had worked to retrieve. When she explained what exactly she discovered, she became more and more tense as she noticed that the more she talked, the closer he was watching her. Grissom never watched her like this before, as if he were hanging on her every word, and when he complimented her on her ability, she could only manage a short smile in response, being completely thankful when Greg came into the room to inform them of his evidence.

By the time they were through, she was famished, so with a quick word to Greg, she agreed to meet him in the break room for a bite before returning to their case. She hesitated when she went through the doorway; the sight of Sophia lounging on one of the chairs, making her hunger go away, but Greg was directly behind her and nearly pushed her inside so he could get to a cup of his coffee. Sophia watched Sara as she went to retrieve her lunch from the refrigerator, never letting her eyes wander from her as Sara went to the other end of the table. There was a self-satisfied smile curving Sophia's lips as Sara sat down.

"So–Sara–did you have a nice time dancing?" Sophia asked without any change in emotion.

"It was alright."

"Alright?" Greg asked as he sat opposite Sara. "Your feet should be bleeding from the amount of dancing you did. I don't think you were ever without a partner."

"Danced the night away, did you?" Asked Sophia as she glanced past Sara toward the hallway, then back to Sara. "I'm afraid I wasn't as interested in "dancing" as you were. I was busy–with "other" activities–although it definitely involved a partner. Speaking of which–if you'll excuse me, I was to meet Grissom about right now."

Sara didn't know if she felt more hurt or angry as she watched Sophia leave the room and travel down the hall where she met Grissom. Grissom looked at Sophia when she placed her hand on his arm, then glanced up at Sara, but Sophia quickly regained his attention and they turned and started back toward his office again.

Sara didn't know how exactly she managed to get through the rest of the case with Grissom. She was seeing red, but still, she wouldn't humiliate herself by being unprofessional anymore. She went through the correct moves and said the correct things, then when their suspect had all but admitted everything, she returned to the locker room and prepared to leave. She was just closing her locker when she saw Grissom enter the room with her.

"Sara?"

"Hmm?" She glanced back to her locker before looking at him again.

"I wanted to. . ." He stopped, not finding the words that he wanted to say, and she didn't want to hear anything that would tear her heart any farther apart.

"Hey, kiddo!" Nick leaned in through the doorway when he saw Sara inside. "Are you leaving now?"

"Yes. I was just about to walk out the door."

"Would you mind dropping me off at the garage? My trucks getting worked on and since I know it's on your way home–I thought. . ."

"Sure, Nick." She grabbed her things and walked past Grissom, joining Nick in the doorway before starting down the hall. "No problem."

On their way to pick up Nick's truck, they stopped at "Frank's Restaurant" and ordered breakfast, then made plans to meet at a less formal place for a night of music and dancing. Sara had a feeling it was going to lean more toward Nick's taste of country and western, but at this point she didn't mind. She needed something to distract her; something that she could do to block out the visions of Grissom in his tux, and Sophia in her slut-dress (oops, she meant blue gown), as they made love in the woman's home. As they ate, they discussed the options and decided that since they both had the following night off, they would meet at the "Blue Dixie" at around nine o'clock.

Under orders to "dress country casual," Sara stood in front of her mirror that night. She didn't know just how "country" she looked, but she was teetering on "sexy" casual. She wore a simple blue tank top with black lace around the neckline–a neckline that if looked at closely, gave you little glimpses of a set of pert breasts. She looked lower at the jeans that hugged her like a second skin–she actually thought she could count the change in her pocket. She didn't have anything that even resembled boots that would be fit for this occasion, so she slid on a pair of heels. She grabbed a black blazer on her way out the door and headed for an evening of relaxation with her friend.

As she approached the entrance to the small club, she found Nick waiting for her just outside the door. He smiled his wide "Nick" smile at her and they entered the building with the sounds of Faith Hill singing "This Kiss."

"Would you like a drink?" Nick said loudly as he tried to raise his voice above the music and the crowd.

"Soda–please," Sara said back to him as he put his hand on the small of her back and escorted her to the bar.

"Diet Pepsi alright?" Nick asked as he handed the glass to her.

"That's fine." She leaned back against a bar stool and took a sip from the liquid, then glanced up to see the impatient smile playing on Nick's lips as he watched her. "You'd rather dance right now, wouldn't you?"

"No–no! Go ahead and drink. I'm fine," he told her, but still, she could see that he was practically ready to bounce out of his boots.

She chuckled to herself then took another sip before sitting it on the bar and turning back to him. She barely had time to fully get off of the bar stool before she was being pulled out to the dance floor. Bonnie Raitt's "Something to Talk About" was playing and Nick wasted no time getting into the rhythm of the music with his partner. Sara certainly couldn't deny that Nick Stokes was a very competent dancer and within moments he had her laughing with him as they moved to the music. Their stature and physique had others staring at them in no time and backing away to watch the show, but Sara didn't seem to mind and Nick gloried in it, prompting him to move into a sort of country version of dirty dancing, being careful not to touch her too intimately–after all, he wasn't in the habit of becoming intimate with women he considered as a little sister. By the end of the song, Sara's anxieties were so relieved that she hugged Nick with appreciation. But before long, they were moving with the music of Trisha Yearwood's "How Do I Live," and as he held her close and swayed with her, her thoughts took in the words of the song and automatically went back to Grissom. Sara danced slowly with Nick and when he saw a tear slide down her cheek, he reached up and wiped it away for her. He tilted his head with a sober curiosity as he watched her.

"Girl, you've got to get that man out of your head. He's doing you no good and you deserve so much better."

Sara sniffed and tried to smile at him. "What man?"

"I'm not sure–but whoever it is, he's not good enough for you, kiddo. Come on, we better sit this one out and let you take a breather."

"No–no, I'm fine. Really."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Whatever you say. Just no more sad songs–okay?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Another two hours of songs that weren't "quite so sad" and Nick had her laughing with him as they sat at a table with her still drinking Diet Pepsi and him working on his third light beer. As Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" was blasting all around them, Nick's phone began vibrating in his pocket and he read the ID with an "uh-oh" before opening it.

"This is Nick."

"Nick, I've got a fire out in the middle of nowhere and could use the extra help. Can you make it?"

"I don't think so, boss. I'm working on my third or fourth beer–against regulations to show up with half a buzz on. Isn't there anyone else available?"

"Everyone's in the field–well, not exactly everyone. Don't worry about it, Nick. I'll try someone else. Enjoy your night off and be careful driving."

"Will do." With that Nick closed his phone and waited several seconds before seeing his "date" reaching into her pocket to answer her vibrating phone. He nodded his head, indicating that he had anticipated it and watched as she gave him a sly smile.

"Sara Sidle."

"Sara, I need some help with a fire. . ." Grissom started but stopped for a moment as if contemplating something. "Is that Bon Jovi singing?"

"Uh–yeah, I guess."

"Blaze of Glory?"

"Yes, it is."

"Are you with Nick?"

"Yes, I am."

"Where are you?"

"Um, I think it's called the Blue Dixie. It's nice. Nick's in his element here."

"I'm so glad to hear that," he said dryly. "Are you drinking?"

"My second Diet Pepsi. Why? Is there something I can assist you with?" Sara took the directions she needed, then walked with Nick to his truck. "Are you sure you should be driving? I can always take you home before I head out to meet Grissom."

"Hi, Nick," came a voice from near the front of his truck, turning their attention to a young woman with free-flowing auburn hair wearing the whole country attire including cowboy boots. "You're not going home already, are you?"

Sara looked at the girl and smiled with humor. Poor Nick, he had to beat them off with a stick.

"Um–no–I don't have to leave just yet. Carrie–right?"

"That's me–Carrie Black."

Nick turned and gave Sara a sheepish grin and she chuckled then shook a warning finger at him. "No more drinking before you drive home! Do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." He kissed her cheek and watched her get into her car and drive away before turning back to the ready embrace of Carrie Black.

Sara found her destination within a half an hour, and as she got out of her car and went around to her trunk, she glanced up in time to see Grissom approaching her. She shivered as she looked at him in his jacket, blue khakis and cap–God, he looked good in just about anything he wore.

"You cold?" He asked as he watched her. "You shouldn't be dressed like that."

"I wasn't prepared to be out in the middle of nowhere investigating a fire."

"What "were" you intending to do?" He asked a bit stiffly, but before she could answer, he reached into her trunk and pulled out a pair of work boots and a jacket. "Here, put these on. You can't do much work if you're freezing to death."

She looked up into his eyes and saw what she recognized as a bit of jealousy and she felt her temper start to rise. How dare he?! After spending the previous night with Sophia! He had no right to feel "anything even closely resembling jealousy" regarding her!

"I wonder if you would be scolding Sophia about her clothes if she had been available to assist you tonight," she said grudgingly as she half-sat/half-leaned on the opened trunk of her car and removed her right high-heeled shoe.

"Here–put these on too," Grissom told her as he grabbed a pair of thick white socks and pushed them into her hands after seeing the bare foot she had exposed. "Sophia would have had the sense not to show up dressed like this."

"I'm sure she would've," she mumbled as she shoved her foot into one of the socks, then pulled on her boot. "And if she wouldn't have, I'm sure you would've set her straight before you got here."

"At least I don't think I'd have to assist her getting dressed, as I am with you." He waited until she put her booted foot down, then reached down and yanked her left foot up; the unexpectedness of it making her lose her balance and landing her butt in the opened trunk with a heavy thud, bringing a slow smile to his lips as he pulled her other heel off, then reached for the other sock.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, but we're running a little slow here. We can't waste our time waiting for you to get clothed properly. Give me your boot."

"I can put my own boot on!" She said as she struggled to get out of the awkward position she was in, but he merely lifted her foot higher and tugged the left boot onto her foot before releasing it and letting it drop over the edge of the car. "Do–you–mind?!"

"Coat," he instructed as she clumsily climbed out of the trunk. When she finally got to her feet, he was slipping her coat over her arms and then grabbed her cap and slapped it down on her head. "Do I need to zip you up, as well? Or do you think you're a big enough girl to manage that?"

"Very funny, and I don't need my hat," she hissed as she returned the hat where he had gotten it from, not seeing the way his lips twisted up with amusement as she turned and yanked her kit and the camera from the car, then slammed the lid closed.

"I hope you didn't have your keys in your blazer pocket," he said sarcastically as they started walking toward the victim, making her stop in her tracks.

"Jesus Christ!" She groaned.

"Bob," Grissom called to the policeman standing next to his car as he kept walking ahead of Sara. "You want to pop her trunk for her? She locked her keys inside."

"You're going to pay for the repairs!" Sara called after him, then almost ran to catch up.

"Bill me," he chuckled and went to talk to another police officer closer to the burned man.

Sara quickened her step to follow him and watched as he easily transitioned into an investigator while keeping a curious eye on her, finally becoming alone again as she knelt next to him to take photos of the burn victim.

"This area was always a good place for star-gazing," he said as he stared into the sky above them.

"It's a good make-out spot, too–so I've heard," she commented, feeling the need to taunt him, and receiving a bit of satisfaction as he moved his gaze down to her with a combination of–what? Shock, curiosity, intrigue? She merely chuckled to herself as he moved away.

The discovery of a live burn victim turned all thoughts back to their work as they both became overwhelmed with the anguish they knew this woman would have to face–if she survived. They both set about discovering the means of this fire with a new determination, and as the sun broke through the sky and the temperature rose, they returned to their vehicles and changed from their jackets into pairs of coveralls and sunglasses. They were back to work immediately, and Sara couldn't help but notice the change in his demeanor as they worked side-by-side. There was an almost-tenderness that seemed to enter his voice when he spoke to her, an interest that he had shown the day before when he listened to her relaying her evidence to him. She was beginning to feel herself getting lost in his voice when he spoke to her; in his eyes when he looked at her; in his touch when he assisted her up the hillside, and was most reluctant when it came time to take their separate cars back to the lab.

By the afternoon, they both took a break as she went to the small room with a cot for their use, and he went into his office and tried to get a few minutes of sleep on his couch. It worked rather well until Jim entered the room with Sara and gently nudged her shoulder.

"Hey, Cookie–you said you wanted up in two hours. Think you can make it?" He coaxed until she finally lay blinking up at him, momentarily blinded by the light that was creeping in through the hallway.

"What time is it?" She asked groggily as she sat up and put her head in her hands a moment before looking up at his smiling face again.

"Two hours later than when you came in here–like you requested."

"Oh–yeah," she said as she got to her feet and followed him out of the room. "What about Grissom? Is he getting up? Or is he still sleeping?"

"Gil?" Jim asked as he looked at her. "He got up about a half hour after he lay down. As far as I know, he went out for some information, then came back about fifteen minutes ago and went back into his office."

Sara glanced in the general direction of Grissom's office and watched as Sophia slowly opened the door and went inside, closing the door behind her.

By the following morning, both Grissom and Sara were looking through the home of their latest victim, and she was determined to keep her mind on her work as she kept her distance from him, and by nightfall they both had the opportunity to get the rest they needed as their case came to an end.

Sleep came easily to both of them as they were both near exhaustion but they were soon called out on separate jobs with Sara being assigned with Greg. Their investigation into a statuesque body-builder rewarded them with an evacuation from his home and straight into a detoxification shower in case of contamination. Her fear that they may have come in contact with something dangerous seared through her, wanting nothing more than to get cleaned of the contaminant and not even noticing that she was standing completely nude next to Greg until minutes into the shower they were receiving. She nervously turned around and looked at her friend, hoping that he was faring well from their imminent danger and saw him with his eyes closed, clearly fearing what they may have come in contact with. She turned back to the spray that was washing over her.

Upon receiving word that they were indeed safe, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her and when she was walking with Greg through the halls and saw Grissom approaching, but lost in his own world and oblivious to her presence, she couldn't stop the bubble inside of her that made taunting him irresistible.

"Sara, I just want you to know that when we were in the shower, I didn't see anything," Greg admitted, but the spark of impishness inside of Sara wouldn't let that opportunity pass by, knowing that Grissom was well within hearing range.

"Really? Gosh, I saw everything," she lied.

A few more hours of work found her back in the layout room with Greg and Grissom and she couldn't help but notice the odd way he would look at the younger man. She held a satisfaction in that, and held her own in their own private barbs that they tossed at one another, so skillfully thrown together that Greg wasn't even aware of their quiet battle of wills. In the end, she walked away with the feeling that Grissom at least had his curiosity fulfilled and had forgotten about any possibility of her seeing all that Greg Sanders had to offer. This realization didn't go over very well at all when they walked out of the room and Sophia put her hand on Grissom's arm and sidetracked him into his office again, pausing to glance back over her shoulder at Sara and give her the slightest hint of a smile.

Sara turned and left the building. She went home and forced herself to escape within the boundaries of sleep again, but this time her dreams didn't allow her to have a peaceful slumber. Images of Grissom and Sophia flashed through her mind, torturing her until she got out of bed and forced herself to read until the call of sleep became too powerful and she drowsed on her sofa until it was time to return to work. She managed to get through several more days simply by only seeing Grissom when he passed out assignments at the beginning of the shift, and taking the passive end of the cases by letting her partners fill the boss in on their progress.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

She had been avoiding him for days–that much he was sure of. Her reasoning behind it was what he wasn't so sure of. Was she being coy? Was she still hurt over Sophia's treatment of her at the party? Or was it any one of the hundreds of other things about women that he just didn't get–or at least this woman, in particular. The night of the fire, when he found her in the "Blue Dixie" (just what the hell was a "Blue Dixie" and what was she doing there?) with Nick, he felt himself wilting inside. The knowledge that if she was interested in Nick, then her taste in men had completely changed from the science nerd that he had often heard himself described as. Granted, Nick was a great scientist as well–but there was something down to earth about Nick that allowed him to flow in and out of society like a beautiful bird that seemed to fit in wherever he wanted to be at the moment.

It wasn't until she finally arrived at the scene, as he approached her and saw the way her eyes took in his total appearance with a softness that was reserved especially for him, that he decided there was nothing beyond friendship between her and Nick. He had to believe that–for his own salvation. He couldn't help teasing her in the only way he knew and he loved the way he could turn her from the strong, self-assured vixen that she is, into what appeared to be a little girl stuck in her trunk with no idea how to get back out. She was the cutest thing he had ever seen as she sat there with her one foot raised so high that she was unable to move. The fact that he slid his fingers over the tattoo near her ankle was an added bonus. Her irritation with him only added to his levity, although he refused to let her know it. He was having a good time watching her reactions to him. She was making him feel alive again, as if he were climbing out from beneath a stack of books that had buried him for years, and he was staring at the light that shined from all around her. She was beautiful. She was sensitive. She had a body that beckoned him like no other had or ever will again. And she could make him laugh, even if she didn't know it.

He even tried a touch of romance when he commented on the stars in the sky, but her response regarding the area's other, earthier, purpose hit him like a sledgehammer in the guts (or maybe it was like an immediate caress to his groin), because he caught his breath as he looked down at her. The flash of thought of actually trying out that "make-out-spot" and pushing onto her back and covering her lips with his own as his hands roamed over her body caused a tightening in his mid-section that was immediate. He had to walk away before he got himself into a condition that would alert anyone who walked by that his thoughts weren't necessarily on burn victims at that moment.

He watched her throughout the rest of the night, seeing the extreme compassion in her eyes as she watched the second burn victim being transported out of the area. He knew most women would have looked on with revulsion, namely one female on his crew at the moment–but not Sara. He could see her heart breaking for the other woman. He took special care to see that she was coping for the rest of the night, but the next morning when heat dictated that they change from their coats into coveralls, his mind wasn't exactly on her compassionate nature anymore. He stood close to her as she took off her coat and he caught a good look at her blouse for the first time; the way it hugged her breasts made him want to reach out and cup them in his palms; the way the black lace teased his sight made him want to run his finger–just inside the lace–and feel what it was unsuccessfully hiding from him. He let his gaze travel down over the jeans she was wearing and how it clung to her like a second skin and he felt himself beginning to stir again. He was, after all, a human male–how could he not become aroused when she was standing before him, bending over with that glorious butt only two feet in front of him. True, she was merely untying her boots so she could pull the coveralls on, but from his point of view she was offering herself to him and he felt his mouth go dry at the thought of taking those two steps that would have him pressed up against her as he held onto her hips. Jesus, but he had to be careful. If nothing else, he could get a distinctly unwanted reputation as being a randy old goat salivating after a much younger girl. So, before she could see him watching her, he turned his back and started back on his investigation.

He really couldn't help watching her throughout the rest of the day. He was constantly amazed at the way her mind worked–and even more amazed at how he only had to begin a sentence and she knew exactly what he was going to say. Sometimes, all he had to say was "Sara" and she did what he was about to request without another word from him. But then, there were also times when he wanted to tell her things that just wouldn't come out–and it was during those times that he envied people like Nick Stokes the most, because Sara always seemed to take his silences negatively. He'd have to work on that. He had to somehow break through that tendency to clam up regarding his feelings around her–just as he had to break through her insecurities and show her that she was–well–everything!

It was a long, complicated case and by the time it was finished, he was exhausted. Still, he wanted to talk to her and when he searched for her, he learned that she had already gone home. He could understand that, as she was just as tired as he was–so he did the same and went home for a solid night's sleep.

The next time he saw her was when he was walking down the hall in the lab and saw her approaching with Greg at her side. Goddamned Greg. He liked the boy–he really did. But he was like a pesky terrier always yapping at his heels and even more irritating, always demanding the attention of Sara, who would patiently pet the boy's ego. He didn't want to deal with Greg at the moment, so he dropped his gaze to the papers in his hand as he walked past them. Their conversation, though, stopped him in his tracks.

"Sara, I just want you to know that when we were in the shower, I didn't see anything."

"Really? Gosh, I saw everything."

Grissom turned immediately and stared open-mouthed at the couple as they walked away. "What the. . . What shower?! And just what the hell did she see?! And, Judy, shut the hell up–I'm in the middle of a mental breakdown right now! Oh–yeah–Judy–what did you say?" These thoughts sped through Grissom's mind in a split second. He spent the next few hours learning exactly what kind of shower they had shared, and even went so far as to ask the people who were "showering" them, if either of them seemed "overly interested" in the other. They laughed at that question and informed him that Greg was quite the gentleman and never even looked in her direction, keeping his eyes closed every time he faced her, and Sara only turned to look at Greg once and her eyes never went below the boy's face. They both showed signs of distress and fear and they were sure that Sara was merely checking to see how Greg was holding up. Other than that, their biggest interest was in whether or not they were truly contaminated with something deadly.

That made the rest of Grissom's day go a lot easier, even if work-wise, it was a day from hell. He even had a bit of fun with her in the lay-out room when they discussed the victim's ability to have a real relationship with a girlfriend. He actually got a kick out of her when she threw the ball back into his court, commenting on the sexual side effects on the man's genitalia. If she thought she was going to shock him, she needed to learn a bit more about him–it would take a lot more than that to shock him. But, that was okay–he'd wait and give her the opportunity to learn those things for herself.

He had hoped to see and speak to her–at least when she would check in and give report on the cases she was working on. But, for some reason, she avoided him like the plague these past few days–seeing to it that the person she worked with was the one who did the reporting to him.

Tonight, that was going to change. He appointed her with him to cover a mental hospital killing. It would be just the two of them, and he would have no need to worry about anyone seeing if he became slightly aroused around her–after all, they would be in the middle of a building filled with people with greater problems than whether or not two strangers were attracted to one another. What trouble could they get into there?

The trouble began almost immediately upon entering the building when he saw Sara tense up as soon as she went through the doorway. He kept a keen eye on her and was suddenly glad to have Jim walking on the other side of her. At least with the two of them there, she would be doubly safe. Grissom recognized his mistake as soon as they entered the patients' quarters. Sara became an immediate target of the sexual deviants they were in the middle of. Still, as she stood next to him with her back pressed against the wall, he could see her pure determination to overcome her fear. Again, he became mesmerized by her abilities to investigate and process a scene. Her mind worked like a well-tuned machine. She was amazing. He really only saw her get rattled once, and that was while taking DNA samples and the older gentleman almost bit her. Grissom instantly regretted putting her in such a position–but still she pressed on to do her job.

That was before the incident with "Adam" in the nurses' station. When he returned with the the guard who had the keys and noticed that the door was closed, it alerted him immediately that something wasn't quite right. He looked into the room and saw her on the floor with that piece of human shit pressing something against her throat and felt like the floor fell out from beneath him.

"Open the door. Just open the door. "Please" open the door." He didn't even realize he was pleading with the gentleman next to him. All he could see was Sara's eyes as she looked at him. She was seeking his strength and he felt as if he had none to give. They were at the mercy of a madman. "Oh, please, God, don't let this be happening to her." Her eyes sought his out and he couldn't remove his gaze from her, believing somehow that if he didn't look away, she would be fine. "Open the goddamned door you fucking idiot!" Screamed through his brain. "God, she was frightened–so scared. SARA!!!" And then that bastard told her not to look at him. He could see their connection and hated them for it. He demanded that she not look at her only source of strength and sanity that she had to cling onto. Grissom could see someone running toward them from the corner of his eye, but he couldn't look away from his beautiful Sara being forced to look at the floor, being completely submissive to the son-of-a-bitch behind her. There! Someone distracted the kid! That's it! That's it! Thank God she's got enough tomboy in her that she could smash the kid in the chest and escape from his grasp. Grissom stood, still in a stupor, as she ran through the doorway; ran to the end of the hall; ran for her life; ran for her sanity. He turned around to see if there was any danger of Adam following her and saw that he now lay on the floor with blood gushing from his throat. Good for ya, ya little fuck! Thank God, he did it to himself, because at this point Grissom wasn't certain that he wouldn't have cut the kid's throat, himself, if he had the chance. Slowly, he approached Sara as she clung to the wire covering to the windows. She looked so broken–even worse than the day she told him about her father's murder and how her childhood was nothing but a complete mess.

He didn't remember doing it. He didn't know how he managed to get there as the numbness in his body gave way to tremors of fear that he was unable to feel moments before. But he was there behind her, pressed against her, wanting to share the warmth of his body with hers, needing to show her that she was safe and still full of life. His arms wrapped around her and he didn't care if anyone noticed that the intimacy of his touch was bordering on being inappropriate. He simply pulled her back against him and pressed his cheek into the darkness of her hair until he felt her shivering stop and her breathing become easier to her.

He held onto her and she grasped onto his arms that were crossed over her chest, but still she didn't turn around. She only remained in his arms for a matter of minutes, then she pulled his arms from her and moved farther away. He allowed her the space she seemed to need as they both leaned against the wall, still a safe distance from the boy who was being worked on to stop his bleeding. Grissom listened to her as she vented her fears and determination to finish the case, wanting nothing more than to be able to hold her in his arms again, to chase away any fear she may have remaining but he knew that at this point, she needed to express herself as best as she could. When Nurse McKay confronted them and blamed them for causing all this, Grissom turned on her, ready to throttle the little bitch, but before he could even take a step closer to the woman, Sara was standing right next to him, like a lioness protecting one of her own. She let her strength be shown as she accused the nurse of being intimate with the boy, and Grissom thought the woman had better back off before she really unleashed the dragons that were lying just beneath both his and Sara's surface.

Later, as Grissom and Sara watched the nurse being arrested for the murder of "Robby" and for incest with her son, "Adam," Grissom noticed, not for the first time, how much this case had affected Sara. He listened to her as she told him that both the son and mother would be better off if the mother died, and he turned away toward his office. He wanted to quickly put things in order, then he was going to drive Sara home, whether she fought him on the subject or not. He wasn't going to let her alone that day. And, the fact of the matter was that he didn't want to be alone, either.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Grissom?" Sophia said gently as she entered the office just as he loaded his arms with files he wanted to go through while at Sara's apartment. "Can I help you with those?"

"Help me?" He asked with confusion, not grasping their conversation as he was far more concerned with catching Sara before she left.

"Two heads are faster than one," she smiled up at him and reached for the files, but he firmly held onto them.

"No–thank you. I'm taking them home with me. It'll give me something to do while I'm there."

"I–could always come over and help you. Who knows, maybe if we finish them fast enough, we'll be able to find something else, more interesting to do."

"Was there something you came here for, Sophia? I'm in a bit of a hurry." His tone brought her eyes up to his, alarm showing until she lowered her gaze and sat in the chair in front of his desk. He sighed a deep breath, knowing his chances of catching Sara were getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Yes, as a matter of a fact, there was a reason. It's–about Sara."

"What about Sara?" He asked as he moved back behind his desk again and took his seat.

"I don't know if you've been aware of it, but she's been making my working environment rather difficult lately."

"I just saw her working with you when you brought up the audio. I don't see how you think she was making things "difficult" for you."

"No, it's not when you're around. It's usually when you're not within earshot."

Again, he sighed deeply as he ran his hand over his face in frustration. "Okay. So what is she doing?"

"I don't know how to explain it really. Things that, by themselves, don't sound too menacing, but when it's done over a period of time, it makes work an uncomfortable environment to come to. I'm afraid if you don't do something about her–I may have to resign from my position."

Grissom leaned back in his chair and looked at her. "Now, let me get this straight. You want me to "do something" about Sara–or you'll quit. What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Everyone knows how difficult she can be. She doesn't only treat "me" this way. I've seen her treat others the same way. Just look at how she offended Catherine a few months ago."

"What happened between Catherine and Sara has been resolved. Sara was under a lot of stress at that time."

"So, because a person's under a lot of stress, they're allowed to come in and intimidate other people?" Sophia leaned forward for emphasis. "Anyone who terrorizes other people the way she does, shouldn't be dealing with the public."

"So, what are you saying, Sophia? Is she "terrorizing" the people she works with–the public?"

"Look, all I'm saying is that perhaps she'd be happier working somewhere else. She evidently doesn't like working with the crew."

"I've never heard any complaints from Sara regarding working with anyone. She's always done exactly what she's been assigned to do. And I think you have to admit that the guys think very highly of her. At this point, so does Catherine. For some reason–you're the only one who's complaining."

"Alright–so what if it is only me? I have the right to work here in peace, don't I? Does it matter at all that she's been harassing me ever since we've been seeing each other? She really needs to get over this fantasy that she can be with you! She's delusional and needs professional help."

"I didn't realize you and I were "seeing" each other, Sophia. Taking someone to dinner once and to a formal gathering another time doesn't constitute "seeing" someone as far as I know."

"Then tell that to Sara! And maybe I can work in peace around here."

Grissom looked at Sophia for a long moment. He had great trouble believing that Sara was harassing the other woman, as she seemed to be avoiding her as far as he could tell. But, he had little doubt that if he let this thing slide, Sophia wouldn't hesitate going straight to Ecklie about it, and then Sara would be looking at some major trouble. Again, he ran his hand over his bearded face, feeling the energy drain out of him, then he looked at Sophia.

"I'll talk to her immediately."

"I'm afraid talking isn't going to do it for me, Grissom," Sophia said, looking at him sharply, having finally seen that he wasn't as interested in her as she believed. "Something better be done other than "talking."

"I'll certainly bear that in mind. But, whatever I do, I want to warn you, Sophia. If you try to bring any charges against her to anyone else, including Ecklie, I'll find as many witnesses as possible to prove your allegations are untrue. I'll start with Catherine and work my way through Nick, Warrick, and Greg, then I'll work through all the lab technicians and all the way through the receptionist pool, clear to Judy. Do I make myself clear?"

"Extremely," Sophia said, getting to her feet quickly then turning to leave, pausing at the doorway. "Ya know, this could have been so good between us."

He watched her walk down the hallway and exit to the break-room. He sat there a moment longer, amazed at how ridiculous the whole conversation had been, then suddenly looked at his watch. Shit! He'll be lucky if he even catches up to her as she's pulling out of the parking garage. He thought of grabbing his files, then thought better of it and hurried toward the exit. He burst through the door but when he looked at her usual parking spot, he found it empty. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, wishing that at times like this he wasn't supervisor and wouldn't have had to sit and listen to Sophia's crap. He slowly walked to his vehicle and unlocked the door, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine, then pulled out, leaving the night's events behind him.

Grissom's first instinct was to drive directly home and enter into his comfort zone. But, the closer he came to deciding whether to turn toward home or turn to where he knew he could find Sara, his heart began beating harder and his breathing intensified. He very nearly turned to the street that would take him home, then at the last second, he pulled in front of another car and headed in the other direction.

It was funny, on the two other occasions that he drove to her home, he had no qualms about it. He simply drove there and did what he intended to do. This time he was nervous; feeling extremely anxious. He quickly looked around the front of his vehicle and grabbed a pack of gum sitting there. He stuffed two pieces into his mouth and started chomping, hoping to accomplish two things; one, to take care of the breath he hadn't had the opportunity to take care of before leaving work, and two, hoping that grinding his teeth on something other than each other might help alleviate some of his panic.

Finally, he reached her apartment and slowly pulled up to the side of the building as he scanned the rest of the parking lot. He saw no signs of her car and felt a huge disappointment spread through him. He put the vehicle in park and let it idle as he looked toward the door to the building, wondering why fate was against him today and just where she would have gone instead of home. The bang on his side window made him jump with a start . He turned angry eyes out to see a chuckling Jim Brass looking in at him.

"Jesus Christ, Jim! You nearly made me choke to death on my gum!" Grissom scolded him as he popped open the door and looked at the other man.

"Sorry about that," Jim smiled. "What's up? Did Sara forget something? Turn off your engine, buddy. There's no reason to let it run."

"I don't see the point. Evidently she isn't here. I don't see her car. Which, brings me to–what are you doing here?"

"I brought her home. She's right there."

Sara stepped up from where she had gotten out of Brass's car and approached the window, looking a bit worried at her boss's presence at her home.

"Griss? What's wrong?"

"Why did you ride home with Brass? Where's your car?" He chose to interrogate her rather than answer those questions in front of Brass.

"It's in the shop getting repaired," she explained then gave him a small smile. "If you remember correctly, you had something to do with me locking my keys inside the trunk–then had an officer pop the lid. I couldn't lock it anymore."

"Oh," he said then glanced at a still smiling Brass who looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. "So what are "you" still doing here?"

"Why? You marking your territory, big guy?" Brass chuckled again, then turned toward Sara and gently squeezed her upper arm before heading back toward his car. "I'll see you later, Cookie. Let me know if you need a ride tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jim." Sara watched him go to his car and drive away, then turned back to look at Grissom as he sat sideways in his seat, facing her. "So–does this visit involve another possible suspension for some reason?"

"Have you done something to deserve a suspension?"

"I don't know," she said as she looked over the top of her sunglasses at him. "Have I?"

"No," he said simply as he continued to watch her.

"So, Griss, just where is that gum?" She asked and he looked back at her blankly. "Don't tell me you swallowed it."

"No, I didn't swallow it. I think it's stuck to the floor over on the passenger's side somewhere."

"Hmm," she said, looking in that general direction. "Brass really did surprise you, didn't he?"

"Let's just say I wasn't expecting anyone one to come up and rap on my window. I was deep in thought."

"Really? And what was so important that you didn't notice your best friend walking up to you?" She glanced up at the clouds that were starting to gather. "Look, I don't know about you, but I'm not in the mood to stand out here in the rain. So–either give me the bad news you've come to give me so I can go inside–or you come inside with me and tell me there."

He turned off the engine and exited the vehicle, closing the door as he started following her inside. She remained quiet as she lead the way, occasionally glancing in his direction. When she unlocked the door, she motioned for him to enter ahead of her, then closed the door and took off her coat and sunglasses.

"Would you like me to hang up your jacket? Or won't you be staying long enough to take it off?"

He silently removed his coat and handed it to her, then watched as she hung the articles in her closet before turning to look at him again. He knew he should say something–anything–but he couldn't think of what he wanted to say, so she nervously walked back toward him with her hands shoved in her back pockets.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah," he managed to get out, deciding that it would give him something to hold.

He followed her into her kitchen as she opened her refrigerator. "What would you like? I've got bottled water, beer and diet soda."

"Water will be fine."

"Okay," she pulled two bottles out and handed one to him, then continued to stare at him. "So–where would you like to do it? Here or in the room?"

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, clearly not thinking of what he wanted to "do" in the same context that she was.

"Whatever you came to tell me. Evidently I did something wrong–misbehaved somehow. You can either lecture me here or in the room. Your choice."

"Let's. . .go in the room." He lead the way as he moved toward the sofa and sat on its end, but when she moved to sit in the chair, he stopped her. "No–sit here."

"Um–Griss." She remained standing in front of him. "I think I'll stand. Whatever you've got on your mind must be serious, so I'd rather stand."

"Why?"

"Helps me feel less defenseless."

"Since when are you defenseless?" He attempted to smile at her.

"Yesterday was a good example–when that maniac wanted to slit my throat. I wasn't feeling my strongest at that moment."

"But you weren't defenseless. When the opportunity was given, you defended yourself and ran away from him. I'm the one who felt defenseless as I watched you in there."

"Why? It wasn't you he was trying to kill." A single tear slipped down her cheek as she looked down at him.

"I couldn't do anything to help you. I just stood there begging to be let in."

"Would it have marred your record to have had another employee killed on the job?" She asked, making him look away from her and concentrate on the book shelves on the opposite wall.

"I wanted to come here to be sure that you're okay," he told her quietly. "I "needed" to be sure that you're okay."

"I'm fine," she told him in that tone that told him she was anything but.

"Then allow me the privilege of spending the day with you, so "I" feel better."

This brought a small sniff from her as she looked away from him, then back again. "What's going on, Grissom? Did Sophia toss you out for some reason? Isn't she there to occupy you through the daylight hours? Fine. If you don't want to be alone because of some insecurity you got from watching what happened yesterday, then you're free to stay here until Sophia accepts you back. I'll get you a pillow and blanket, but I won't guarantee that the sofa is very comfortable."

"I didn't mean. . .," he started but she was already on her way to her bedroom then came back with the items in her arms.

"Here. You're going to have to make your bed up yourself because I'm exhausted. I'm going in for a shower, then I'm going to bed."

Grissom sat on the sofa, dumbfounded. He had always thought that when this would happen, it would be so easy. She had let him know–right from the very beginning of their relationship, back in San Francisco, that she wanted to be with him. And yet, here he sits on her damned sofa. Jesus–why can't he learn to speak his mind and get out what he wants to say when he's around her? He listened to the bathroom door close and the start of the water running in the shower, so he flipped the pillows down to the other end of the sofa and flopped his length down. He groaned with discomfort when he felt what was disguised as cushions and irritably kicked off his shoes. This–most certainly–wasn't how he had planned his day to go!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Sara stood in her shower, letting the hot water beat down on her as she attempted to alleviate the iciness that was running through her veins. She felt like she had been wrung through the wringer. Her last two days had been almost more than she could handle. And now, Grissom was sleeping on her sofa–because he evidently couldn't find the solace he needed in the arms of the blonde bimbo. Sara wondered what kind of a fool she had become? How many different kinds of fool could she be when it came to that man. She washed her hair and her thoughts took her back to the mental hospital and how she thought she was going to die. And what were her last thoughts about? "Him!" That she would never see "him" again! And then he appeared, staring at her through that window as he repeatedly told the guard to get the door open. If he only knew how much she depended on him being there; how much she needed him to be there and help keep her from surrendering completely to that madman. If he only knew that Adam picked up on her dependence on Grissom's strength immediately and wanted to kill her for it. If he only knew how much she needed him to keep her from falling onto the floor after she escaped; to keep her from shaking so badly that she would collapse in front of him. Then he was there wrapping his arms around her. At first, she couldn't think as she grasped onto his arms and leaned back against him, wanting to get what she could from him as if she could absorb his heat and strength through their union. Then, after many moments, her mind started to clear and she couldn't help but wonder if those arms–his arms that were the only things she was clinging to, saving her from falling into the pit of a hellish nightmare, would still be there for her once they left the building. She couldn't rely on those arms, not knowing that they were going to go back to Sophia and hold her later that day.

So, here he was again, God only knew why. She was so confused that she couldn't seem to function correctly. Finally, the water started to cool and she stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a terry robe, then went to the mirror and blow-dried her hair. Next, she brushed her teeth and did her usual post-shower rituals before starting for her bedroom again.

As she opened the bathroom door, she heard something bang from the front of the apartment and turned to investigate. Once she was in doorway to the living room she saw a pair of sock-covered feet lying on the floor next to her sofa, making her hurry to see what had happened.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Grissom mumbled from where he lay on the floor.

"What's wrong? What happened?" She asked through worried eyes, but when she saw how he turned over onto his back and looked up at her through irritation, she couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped her.

"Your sofa isn't wide enough," he said through grit teeth.

She covered her mouth with her hand as she stepped closer. "And so you decided to lie on the floor instead."

"No! I didn't decide to lie on the floor! It just. . .sort of happened that way when I tried to turn onto my stomach."

"Funny, I would've never thought of you as a stomach sleeper. You seem to be much more of a side-sleeper," she couldn't hide the smile any longer.

"I'm not a sleeper at all! Not on that sorry excuse for a sofa!"

"Oh–so, now it's my sofa's fault." She moved until she was next to his waist before dropping to her knees and sitting on her feet as she continued to look down at him. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Would it matter if I did? You seem to find the whole situation hysterical." He seemed genuinely offended by her humor.

"Well, I don't know about hysterical. But it is rather funny. The great Dr. Gilbert Grissom can't figure out how to keep from falling off a couch."

"And you find it amusing because I can't defy the law of gravity?"

"I find it amusing because you're lying flat on your back and look so helpless. Would you like some help getting back up?"

"To try to kill myself on your couch again. No thanks."

"Would you rather leave?"

"No."

"Then you'd rather "I" sleep out here on the sofa so "you" can sleep on my bed."

"Are you offering your bed to me?"

She laughed as she looked at him, then tried to get up and turned to hurry back toward her bedroom. "Not on your life, Grissom! That sofa is a back-killer. I'm not sleeping on it."

She had only barely gotten up before she felt his hand grab onto her ankle and she tripped, just catching herself on the edge of the sofa before she fell completely onto the floor. Her yelp accompanied his, "Well, I'm not sleeping on it either."

She quickly grabbed onto her robe where it had spread open around her legs and attempted to get back up, but his hands pulled at her feet so she couldn't rise. He twisted around on the floor as his hands climbed their way up from her ankles, first grabbing onto her calves, then her knees. She pushed at the robe to keep it on her thighs and she waited breathlessly as he next grabbed onto her waist, then crawled over her until he was straddling her hips.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she looked up into his eyes.

"I'm doing what I should have done an hour ago." He pushed himself up until he was standing above her, then started walking back toward her bedroom. "I'm going to bed."

She got up and hurried toward the room, prepared to do God only knew what to defend her rightful place in her own bed. But by the time she passed the bathroom, he was closing her bedroom door.

"Hey!" She said as she pushed the door open, fully expecting to find him attempting to sleep on her mattress, but it was empty. She didn't even have time to look left or right before he reached out and grabbed her, turning her in his arms and earning a surprised gasp before he lowered his head and used the opportunity to gently slide his tongue over her lower lip.

"I'm tired of waiting," he murmured against her mouth as he held her firmly against him, engulfing her in his arms and pinning her hands against his chest. "I'm tired of trying to explain myself to you. Every time I try, you interrupt me and assume the worst. I don't know how else to convince you that when that bastard had his hands on you yesterday, I wanted to destroy him. I still do. The thought of losing you was unbearable."

She was stunned. Granted, she had just witnessed a playful side of him that she hadn't seen in such a very long time, but this? Oh, "this," was her last comprehensible thought before she released her mind from the turmoil of trying to figure him out and let his hands and mouth begin the magic that she always knew they could perform. She only paused for a moment, allowing him the initiative to continue, and when she showed no signs of pushing him away, he did just that. With the slightest of moans, he reclaimed her lips, first gently nibbling on her lower lip, then sliding his tongue inside her mouth and exploring its depths. He slid his right hand around to the front of her, tugging on the belt that held her robe closed until it hung open around her, then he continued his exploration onto her hip and upwards until he came in contact with the bottom of her breast.

She moaned in anticipation as her arms went around his neck and her tongue savored the taste of him, letting him explore the depths of her mouth as she gently sucked on his tongue. She could feel his breathing increasing as her mouth played with his, and his left hand moved down to her backside and pulled her more firmly against him, allowing her to feel his growing need as he pressed against her abdomen. The backs of his fingers were gently stroking over the flesh of her breast now, teasing her with its feather-light caress until his thumb came in contact with her already hard nipple. The sensation made her knees go weak and they began to buckle beneath her until he grabbed her and secured her against himself. He half-carried, half-walked her backwards until she felt the mattress touching the backs of her knees and he paused, long enough to release her and slide her robe off of her shoulders. It was only then that he broke their kiss enough to take a step back and let his gaze travel from the drugged expression in her eyes, down over her slightly swollen lips and onward. She could feel his eyes upon her, just as real to her as if he had been physically touching her the whole way down her body, then back again. When he reached her face, her embarrassment was thorough and he couldn't miss the red tint that had spread across her cheeks.

"Ah, honey," he said as he half-smiled at her. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

Without turning, she lifted herself until she was kneeling on her bed, watching him as he watched her. When she moved to the center of the double-sized mattress and sat on her feet, she reached her hand to him, which he readily took then followed her, pressing her back until he was lying next to her. In her anticipation, she could only think about the sensations he had been evoking with his kiss, so she reached for him, pulling his head down so he could begin his magic again. He didn't hesitate, sliding his tongue between her teeth, alternately licking and sucking her tongue while paying equal attention to the sensitive areas of her lips.

She still wasn't positive that this wasn't some kind of a dream, so she slid her hands up around his neck, taking in the texture of his curly hair that she had always longed to touch. No, this was no dream. A dream wouldn't evoke the sensations that he was creating simply with his kiss. She turned her body more toward his, involuntarily letting him know that she wanted more, and he didn't disappoint her as his hand moved onto her shoulder. He stroked her with such gentleness and skill that everywhere he made contact, her skin seemed to turn to flames. He slowly moved on to her breast, covering it completely with his large hand while at the same time, he slid his still-clothed leg between her thighs. She could feel him growing harder with each kiss, with each squeeze of her breast, each tug at her nipple. She could hear the moans that were mingling from their throats, not sure which were his and which were hers anymore. He leaned on his elbow as he bent over her, taking his time as he slid his hand lower, moving over her flat belly, teasing her naval before traveling to her hip and around to her bottom that he squeezed and seemed to take a pleasure in. When his pressure against her hip turned to small gyrations she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her clear to her toes, and when his hand moved around to the front of her and slid into her folds, her throaty half-sob ended their kiss as Grissom looked down at her. She never saw the expression he was wearing before as he looked at her with an intensity that took her breath away. He continued to watch her as he moved his fingers, sliding them over the nub that was already throbbing before moving lower and slowly inserting a single digit inside of her. Her mouth opened with her sighs as he stroked within her several times, then added another finger, and when his thumb passed over her hardened bud in small, circular movements, her moans began. He continued to watch her for a few more moments before he removed his hand and reached down to the back of his pants and pulled a foil packet from his pocket. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the button, then unzipped himself. Wasting little time, he used his teeth to rip open the packet and tossed it over the side of the bed before taking its contents down to roll it over his throbbing erection. He pressed her thighs apart as he rolled between them and positioned himself against her. She had a flash of regret that she couldn't see him, but soon that thought disappeared as she felt him slowly pressing inside of her.

"Oh, my God," she breathed as she lay still beneath him, her eyes widening the farther he pressed into her.

Sara was no virgin, but she wasn't as experienced as most women her age. Her last lover had been Hank, and that was quite a while ago. And–he had nothing to compare with what she was feeling right now. She closed her eyes at the pressure, then opened them as she looked back into Grissom's blue eyes. He was immense! Slowly, he started drilling into her core, advancing only so far before retreating and trying again. Her fingertips moved to his bearded face, outlining it, then moving on to his other features, wanting to memorize every part of him. After several tries, Grissom lay on top of her, fully sheathed within, and still, Sara could feel herself stretching around him. He closed his eyes and she noticed how his breathing was becoming ragged and she lifted her head to kiss his lips, her slight movement making him moan. He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

"God, you're so. . .," he started, but he clamped his mouth shut and slowly started moving within her.

It only took a few strokes and Sara moved her legs over his, not finding satisfaction in feeling skin on skin as he still was wearing his pants. She wanted to touch him and right now he still had all of his clothes on. Then she realized that there was one area that was available to her and she moved her hands until they were feeling the texture of his buttocks. He ducked his head against her neck as she stroked and dug her nails into the muscled flesh. Soon, she was rising to meet him at each thrust and she could feel years of anticipation about to come to a head and explode within her–but she wanted more. She wanted–no she "needed" to touch more of him.

"Take this off," she whispered as she tugged at the opening of his shirt.

"I can't," he breathed, not pausing as he dipped down and gently kissed her lips. "Not now."

"Please." Her back was starting to arch and she wasn't satisfied with his answer, so she grabbed onto each side and pulled, popping off buttons as the shirt ripped open. "I need to touch you."

She pushed the shirt back, over his shoulders and he slowed down enough to let her pull it off his arms, one at a time.

"You're very insistent," he said as he gave her a tiny smile before moving his lips over hers again.

Her arms went around him immediately, feeling his back and sides, letting that satisfy her for now. She was getting completely lost in sensations as he moved his kisses back to her neck, and the bristling of his beard only added to the pleasure. His lower body was doing things to her that she had never felt with any other man. He was hitting areas inside of her that was making her head reel and soon she was making noises that she had trouble identifying as her own. She felt her climax hit and explode within her and somewhere in the distance she heard him hiss loudly, but her mind couldn't comprehend why he would be making such a sound. She was practically seeing stars as the power of her sensations arched her against him.

She vaguely heard his growl above her before his final, powerful thrusts shook him and he lowered himself onto her body. She lay very still as she listened to his breathing slowly come back to normalcy, her arms now raised so that she was stroking the back of his head. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about the possibility of him leaving to return to Sophia whenever she chose to take him back. Instead, she basked in the immense glow that she was holding Gilbert Grissom in her arms as he was still deeply embedded inside of her.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sara had expected Grissom to fall asleep almost immediately. It had been her experience that this was the thing men did. Hank certainly did. But when he lifted his head and started kissing her again, she certainly didn't complain. He slid his arms beneath her and started to turn onto his side, but stopped at Sara's urging.

"No! Don't turn! Don't turn!" She grabbed onto the night stand next to them and stopped his complete turn onto his back. She looked at him with a bit of embarrassment when he tried to turn his head to see what the problem was, then turned back to look at her. "My bed isn't quite that steady. It has a broken leg and I stuffed books under the frame. Anyway, it's not big enough for you to roll over to that side. You would have fallen on the floor again."

He gave her one of his mind-blowing smirks before flipping over to the other side of the mattress and rolling her on top of him. "Are we in danger of the bed collapsing on this side?"

"I don't think so." His smile eased her awkwardness and she moved to get off of him.

"Where are you going?" He asked as he tightened his grip on her.

"I think we need to finish undressing you–unless you plan to get up later and trip over your pants."

He released his hold on her and watched as she got to her feet, then got up next to her but before he could reach for his pants, she was pushing them down his thighs. He stopped her from pushing them all the way down when he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Could you. . .?" He asked, indicating that he wanted her to hand him the trash can.

She did as he asked, then turned slightly, allowing him the privacy to remove the condom they had just used, then completely remove his pants and pull off his socks. Before she had a chance to turn back to him, he gently placed his hands on her waist and moved up behind her. He reached around her and placed his hands on her breasts as he leaned down and nuzzled her neck where it met her shoulder. She reached behind her and cradled his head, then turned her face to receive his kiss.

This time, though, her mind wouldn't let her free to enjoy his kisses; his caresses. Thoughts of being "the other woman" again nagged at her. And even though she wanted to be with this man more than anything in the world–she wasn't going to share him. She allowed him to move her back to the bed and even lay where he positioned her, but her eyes must have shown him her anxiety.

"There's something wrong. What is it?" He traced her lips with his fingertip as he lay next to her.

"Why are you here?" She asked quietly, knowing that she had to understand what was going on before it made any sense to her.

"Because there isn't any other place I want to be," he told her, then let his lips tilt upwards slightly as he looked at her. "Well, maybe my place–with you. My bed is bigger."

"But, what about Sophia?" Sara was having trouble looking at him.

"It never happened," he whispered. "I only brought her to the event for Ecklie because she invited me, and I "had" to go. I hadn't even planned on staying past the dinner until I saw you there. Then I didn't want to leave."

"You took her home and spent the night with her."

He looked very closely at her. "No–I didn't. I took her home and dropped her off. I never even entered her house."

"Are you saying she lied to me," Sara whispered.

"Evidently."

"But–you took her to dinner."

"I was stupid. And, again, nothing happened. It was more a gesture to keep her from leaving, than anything else."

"But–you only bought me a plant when I wanted to leave!" She said with a bit of fire beginning to shoot from her eyes and he smiled at her.

"If you want dinner–I'll make it for you. But not now." He lowered his head and kissed the top of her chest, then moved lower as he grasped onto her breast and he moved his mouth over her nipple. The sensation very nearly blocked all thought out of Sara's head, but she snapped back and forged ahead with her questioning.

"That's not the point!" She told him as she pulled his head back up until he was looking at her and his slanted smile almost did her in again, but she closed her eyes and refused to look at it until she heard him give a short laugh.

"What?" He asked as he looked down at her.

"You know I can't think straight when you smile at me like that."

He raised a brow, then smiled again. "Then I better not smile at you while we're working."

"You're changing the subject!" She told him, bringing the fire back to her eyes.

"Okay," he said with resignation. "When I sent you the plant–I thought it would be something "you" would want." He looked up at the object in question that was on top of her dresser. "It looks like you must have wanted it."

"I did. And I loved it. Until I heard you took Sophia to dinner. Then I felt like just another employee, while you were taking the crowned princess on the town. Why?"

"Because I was hungry," he said simply, then after moving his gaze back down to the breast he still held in his hand, he tried to lower his head again to his intended target, but she wouldn't let him and he looked back at her. "What?"

"You took her to dinner because you were hungry. What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, I sent you the plant because it was something "you" wanted. I took her to dinner because "I" wanted some food. We just happened to talk while I was eating it."

"But you convinced her to stay."

He shrugged his shoulders then seemed to give up on his attempts on her breast as he lay his head next to her and she turned onto her side to face him. He reached down and grabbed her leg and pulled it up over his hip.

"It wasn't difficult. Evidently all I had to do was feed her and she agreed to stay."

Sara looked at him through irritated eyes. "In other words–she was only saying she was going to leave, just to get your attention and have you take her out. She wasn't really serious."

"I don't know," he said truthfully, now more concerned with the curve of her hip than he was with the conversation, but when she squeezed him with her leg, he looked back at her. "Okay. I guess she wasn't really serious. Now, can we forget about her? I've got other things to do than talk about someone that I "don't" want to be in bed with."

"And that person you "do" want to be in bed with is–me?"

"It's you," he agreed.

This time when he moved back to capture her nipple with his lips and tongue, she turned onto her back and cradled his head to her. He moved more fully on top of her and slid his lower body between her legs, allowing her to spread her hands across the expanse of his back and feel the muscles rippling beneath her fingers as he held her. But when she felt the uneven surfaces going down both sides of the otherwise pristine skin, she raised her head slightly to look down at him.

"Griss?" She breathed, being rewarded with only a small grunt as he continued to feast upon first one breast and then the other. "Griss–what's on your back?"

He stopped what he was doing and lifted his head to look at her, wearing that half-smile again that could send her to the moon and back. He slowly crawled back up her body until his face was even with hers.

"It seems my little kitten turns into a tigress when she reaches her sexual fulfillment."

Her eyes widened when she realized what he had said and she realized what he was hissing about earlier. "Turn over! I want to see!"

"No," he complained. "It's not that bad."

"But–I want to see. I've never done anything like that before."

He raised a brow at her. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment for doing so well? Or an insult that you had wanted me to stop?"

She giggled as she looked back at him. "Oh, I definitely didn't want you to stop. Now turn around."

He sighed in defeat and turned over onto his stomach. She rose up onto her elbow and traced the long scratches with her fingertips, feeling him tense as she did so. She bent over and kissed each spot, whispering her apologies as she went. He remained silent as he allowed her to spread her kisses across his back, then even lower onto the muscles of his buttocks before returning to the top of him again to notice that he was clutching the pillow beneath his head. She spread her kisses across each shoulder and when she reached his right shoulder, he turned back toward her again. She continued her butterfly kisses to his neck. She got her first good view of his chest and she felt her heart skipping a beat. He was absolutely beautiful with strong but not excessively large pectoral muscles that were sprinkled with salt and pepper hair. She let her gaze travel over his stomach, not quite taut but not flabby either, down to his semi-rigid erection and she marveled again at his size. She caressed his chest with her lips and tongue, reveling in the taste of him as he lifted his hands to stroke her hair. She moved lower, letting her tongue circle his navel before moving lower to the line of hair that trailed off to the patch below.

"Sara," he breathed as his fingers continued to run through her hair. "You don't have to."

No–she didn't have to, but she wanted to and at an unhurried pace she moved lower still, then took him between her lips. She moved her mouth on him, feeling him growing until he was at full girth, but when she tried to go on, he lifted her back until he had her facing him and he pulled her head down as he devoured her mouth. He urged her body over until she was lying on top of him and he ran his hands over her back and sides, then down to her bottom that he seemed to have taken a liking to. He continued to kiss her deeply as he reached for her legs and pulled her knees up around him so that she was straddling his mid-section. He reached down between them and took hold of himself, then nudged her until she raised her hips. He positioned himself before raising his hips while pushing down on hers at the same time. This time, she broke their kiss as she released a hiss between her teeth. When she opened her eyes and looked down at him she could see the curiosity in his gaze.

"You okay?" He asked.

"It's going to take some time," she whispered her explanation as she tried to press herself more fully onto him. "You're . . ."

"I'm. . .what?"

"Big," she said simply with a sigh.

He raised his brow as he watched her sit up until she was pressed completely down against him.

"Surely you jest."

"No–I'm not jesting–and you know it fully well."

He merely smiled as he entwined his fingers with hers and lent her support as she slowly lifted herself and dropped back down. She grunted at the intrusion into her body, feeling that if he were one centimeter bigger, he'd be hitting her lungs! She rose again and again, each time experiencing new and more intense sensations as he reached areas of her that seemed to be controlling her very being. She was beginning to feel euphoric as she moved upon him and when he released one of her hands to splay his fingers across her abdomen, dropping his thumb down to massage her now throbbing nub, she nearly fell as her climaxed exploded within her, but his hold on her remained strong to support her, then after a moment, he quickly pulled her down and flipped her onto her side as he continued to pump inside of her. He rolled over on top of her, pressing her against the mattress with his weight then lifted her beneath her knees to gain greater access as her velvety core milked him, cajoled him to his own meteoric ending.

She held him in her arms and waited for him to catch his breath, then watched him lift his head to look down at her, blue eyes meeting brown. His satisfied expression charmed her. He shifted his weight to pull out of her and in so doing he tensed immediately–his smile fading as he stared at her. In an instant he pushed himself back onto mattress and covered his face with his hands in complete frustration.

"Shit," he released in a half-angry groan.

Sara watched him, not understanding his sudden change until he slowly removed his hands and looked over at her. He reached for her hand and took it in both of his, placing it over his heart so that she could feel its rapid beating.

"Gil? What's wrong?"

"You'd think at my age, I'd know better."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, a tinge of fear spreading through her. Did he regret his decision to be with her today?

He turned on his side to face her, then brought her hand up to kiss it. "Honey, I forgot. I just wasn't thinking."

"You forgot what?"

"Are you using any type of birth control?"

"Oh," she said, realizing that they both had forgotten to use a condom this time. "Yes. I get the Depo-Provera shot every three months."

"Okay." He dropped his eyes from hers, as if he were afraid to ask the next question. "I'm so sorry I have to ask this."

"There hasn't been anyone in over a year," she said, already knowing where the conversation was going. "And we always used a condom. Before that, it was quite a long time."

"Ah," he said with obvious irritation. "The boy-wonder, Hank."

"Do I have to ask you the same thing?"

"No," he told her as he pulled her over until she was lying with her head on his shoulder. "You've nothing to worry about."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're the first woman in over twenty years that I "haven't" stopped to wear a condom for."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Grissom woke slowly, stretching his body leisurely at first, then feeling the aches that were new and unfamiliar to him. He squinted at the bright light that was flowing in through the doorway and had to think a moment to remember just where he was. He ran his hand over his face, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, then slid his hand across the mattress in search of the person he had been with all day but found only the coolness of the sheets. He wondered about what time it was, then saw the red numbers sitting on her dresser across the room. It was only after nine, so he had plenty of time to get ready for his shift at work. He listened a moment and heard some movement coming from the bathroom, then watched as Sara walked down the hall toward where he was lying. She was wearing her robe again and she quietly moved to her closet where she started going through her clothing, pulling out a sweater and being careful not to make any noise as she held it toward the light from the hallway to try to look more closely at it.

Grissom reached over and turned on the lamp and watched as she turned quickly to look at him.

"You're up," she said with wide eyes. "I'm sorry–did I wake you?"

"No, I've been awake for a few minutes," he answered, finding his voice a bit hoarse.

She moved closer to him, carrying the blue turtleneck sweater, and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"You sound like you're coming down with a cold."

"I don't think so." His hand absently went to her thigh, slipping beneath her robe to stroke the silkiness of her skin as he studied her closely, seeing the reason behind her choice of a turtleneck sweater. "We both got our share of battle marks. I think I've strained my throat. I haven't used my mouth quite so vigorously in a long time."

"Oh, is that so?" She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips before sitting up again. "Ya know, the more you exercise it, the stronger it will become."

"So, tell me," he smirked at her. "Am I in need of a turtleneck as well?"

Sara looked at him as if to study his neck and throat as he tilted his head for her inspection. "No. But then I'm not very good at "giving" hickeys–evidently I'm quite good at "receiving" them, though. And as far as I know, my beard isn't bad enough to cause whisker burn like yours is."

"Your skin is younger; not as tough as mine," he explained, then glanced toward the doorway. "Do you have any objections to me using your shower?"

"No. Of course not. Although you may not want to go to work with your hair smelling of citrus. I don't know what kind of shampoo you usually use." She got to her feet and watched as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed where she had been, then got to his feet, not caring in the least that she was inspecting his body again.

"Citrus will be fine. And," he said gently as he walked toward her and placed his hands on her upper arms before leaning in to kiss her. "If you continue to look at me like that–we won't make it to work tonight."

"Mmm." She smiled as he released her and started toward the bathroom. "I don't think my boss would like that very much. He's a stickler for attendance."

He merely smiled over his shoulder at her before going into the bathroom to clean up after such a strenuous day. He stood under the heat of the shower, letting its jets massage his back, and he felt muscles ache that he hadn't used in years. Even when he spent the night with. . .well, he wouldn't go there. He just knew that his day with Sara had been a true workout. He looked forward to exercising with her a lot over the future. He scrubbed down then stepped out of the shower, towel-drying his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and heading back toward her bedroom. He stopped in the doorway as he watched her pulling on her jeans with her back still to him, quite clearly not realizing he was behind her. By God, but she was a goddess. Whether she be in a sleek evening dress with three-inch heels, made up to compete with any fashion model, or wearing jeans and a t-shirt, or spread across the mattress beneath him–she was a work of art.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" She whispered to herself as she pulled her jeans over her hips then zipped and snapped them. She placed her hand down between her legs and evidently was trying to rub the pain from the area. "Oh my God–I think I'm going lame."

He moved to stand directly behind her, a smirk covering his face as he watched her tenderly try to adjust her pants.

"Now it can't be as bad as all that," he said, making her jump with a start and turn around to look at him with obvious embarrassment. "Remember–you're the one who said the more you exercise it, the stronger it will become."

"So then you're saying there will be more exercise to come?" She stepped up against him and he put his arms around her waist as he looked down at her.

"Marathons."

She let out a throaty giggle but stopped when she heard knocking at her front door. She looked up at him questioningly. "Stay in here, and I'll see who it is. I'll send them away as fast as I can."

Grissom watched her walk out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed but not closing it completely so he could hear what was happening out there. He found his socks, underwear and pants and replaced them as he listened to the voices coming from the front room.

"Jim! Hi! Uh–what brings you here?" Sara said a bit nervously and Grissom could picture her with her hands shoved in her back pockets–an common stance when she's feeling at odds.

"I thought you might need a ride to work," Jim answered. "I was heading that way and might as well take you with me."

"Um–o-kay," she said hesitantly. "But, I haven't eaten anything yet. I wanted to eat before I left. So, maybe you should just go ahead and I'll call a cab or something."

Grissom looked around for his shirt, finally finding it halfway beneath the bed and he pulled it on, realizing that he couldn't close it and remembering when Sara pulled it off of him earlier. He looked for his shoes, then remembered they were laying somewhere out in the middle of the living room.

"No, that's okay," Jim said, coming a little closer to the bedroom but far enough away that Grissom knew he was still in the living room. "I'll just wait for you to eat. I don't mind."

"But, Jim. . ." Sara started, but didn't seem to be able to find a reason why he shouldn't wait for her.

"Ya know, Cookie," Jim started slowly. "I know you have to wear durable clothing for work and all. But when did you start wearing Griss's shoes?"

"I. . .I" Sara stuttered as Jim picked up the shoes in question, looking them over as if inspecting them for any clues.

Grissom gave a heavy sigh, realizing it was no use trying to hide anything from Jim. He walked out of the bedroom and saw how Jim glance up at him, showing no signs of surprise at all. "Looking for these?"

"Give them here," Grissom took them and moved to the chair to sit down where he proceeded to pull on the shoes. "I–fell asleep here today. She let me sleep on her couch."

"Uh-huh. That explains why your shirt is hanging open–without any buttons." He turned and looked at Sara. "Cookie! You vicious little thing."

"I. . .I" she started again.

"Yeah, I know. You already said that," Jim smiled gently at her, then turned back to Grissom, his smile, not so gentle anymore. "Your car gave you away, big guy. It's been out there all day, and I didn't think you were in here playing canasta."

"It's none of your business what we were playing," Grissom told him as he pulled his other shoe on then stood up and moved to stand closer to Sara. "And I'd like to keep our business to ourselves if you don't mind."

"No. No, I don't mind. But I've got to tell ya, if you want to keep this little secret to yourselves, you better stop your bickering at work like you've been doing. You both sound like an old married couple. Oh–and I've noticed the looks a lot lately too. Anyone with twenty-twenty vision can see what's going on."

"But nothing happened until today," Sara spoke up, realizing too late that she just admitted everything to Jim.

"That's what you think," Jim told her. "I've seen this thing building for months. And, I don't think Ecklie will approve of interoffice relations. I think you both better learn to hide your feelings a little better, or you'll be called in on the carpet before you know it. And, I wouldn't let anyone on the crew in on it either–the way they spread gossip back and forth, the whole lab would know by the end of the day."

"We'll work on that," Grissom told him, then turned to look at Sara. "He's probably right. There's no sense in us jeopardizing our positions right now. Anyway, it's no one's business what I do with my personal life."

Sara nodded her understanding, then looked back at Jim. Jim gave her a reassuring smile in return.

"You sure you don't want to go home and get dressed before you head into the lab?" Jim asked Grissom, and the other man glanced down at his torn shirt, then back at Sara and nodded his head. "I'll see you at work." He reached out and touched her hand as he looked into her eyes, already toning down his responses toward her. "Jim, do mind bringing Sara in to the lab?"

"No, not at all. But wait for me–I'll walk you out." He turned and looked at Sara. "I wouldn't mind that food you said about making. A sandwich would be great."

Grissom watched as Sara turned back toward the kitchen, and he grabbed his jacket and started out the door with Jim following closely.

"You've got something to say, Jim. Say it." He didn't alter his walking, just kept heading toward his vehicle, then stopped to look at his keys, setting off his clicker to unlock his door.

"Yeah, I've got something to say." He looked at the taller man, then went on, knowing he wouldn't rest until he made his feelings clear. "I've watched you tear that girl up for years now. I don't want to see you destroy her."

"What makes you think I'll destroy her?" Grissom looked at him with annoyance.

"Your preferences this past year tells me that you'll destroy her."

"My preferences?"

"Alright–your bad judgement."

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it, genius. When you can think back to something you did that hurt her so much she started drinking, then maybe you'll understand the harm you can cause her."

Grissom knew what he was talking about–but that was a part of his life that he would have preferred not discussing.

"Heather has nothing to do with Sara."

"Don't be an ass, Grissom. Heather has "everything" to do with Sara."

"I'm not going to discuss this with you, Jim."

"What's the matter with you, Grissom?" Jim asked angrily. "That slut is nothing compared to Sara!"

"Enough. I said I'm not discussing it." He opened his door and got behind the wheel, started his car, and left his friend behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Grissom hurried from Sara's apartment and Jim Brass's presence. He didn't want to talk about Heather. He refused to talk about Heather, and Brass had no right to bring her up. One thing had nothing to do with the other. He tried to focus on getting home to change clothes when his cell alerted him that he was needed at a scene. A quick step in and out of his apartment and he was on his way again.

Working the case with Catherine was something he hadn't been in the habit of doing since their team split, but given that it gave him the opportunity to be somewhere that he wouldn't run into Sophia, it was an added benefit. The fact that he faced Brass a lot throughout the next twenty-four hours was a bit distressing though. He could see that the man was still obviously upset with him, but Grissom tried to push past it. He didn't need to worry about Brass's problems with him. He'd get over it soon enough.

Working the case with Catherine was something he hadn't been in the habit of doing lately, since their team split, but given that it gave him the opportunity to be somewhere that he wouldn't run into Sophia, it was an added benefit. The fact that he faced Brass a lot throughout the next twenty-four hours was a bit distressing though. He could see that the man was still obviously upset with him, but Grissom tried to push past it. He didn't need to worry about Brass's problems with him. He'd get over it soon enough.

He had fully expected to run into Sara at some point through the night, but he only managed to glimpse into the layout room to see her working with Catherine once–and they seemed to be gossiping among themselves and didn't even notice him. Their paths didn't cross at all after that as they both worked a double–he in the field for the first shift and in the lab during his second shift; and she in the lab at first, then in court the second.

He went straight home that day, prepared to take a shower and go to bed, but he no sooner got inside his apartment than the dimness of it seemed suffocating. He went into the kitchen and started making tea, then waited for the water to get hot. He was becoming increasingly inpatient as he leaned against the kitchen sink. His mind kept returning him to the day before when he was experiencing the most intimate interaction he could remember having. He finally decided that he wasn't going to get any relaxation at this rate, so he pulled out his cell and speed-dialed Sara's number.

"Sara Sidle," came a tired response from the other end.

"Hey," he said simply as the sound of her voice eased the frustration he was feeling.

"Hey," she answered, clearly recognizing his voice.

"I-um–noticed that you got your car back. Does the trunk lock now?"

"Yes, it does," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Will you be sending me the bill?" He smiled back.

"I don't know yet. Maybe. But then maybe I can hire you to do some little chores for me and you can work off the expense."

"Little" chores?" He asked with a raised brow, and he heard her giggle.

"No," she said slowly and in a very sultry voice. "Definitely not "little."

"What are you doing?"

"Almost climbing into bed. What about you?"

"The same thing–but. . ."

She waited for him to continue, but he suddenly felt a bit awkward asking her to come over. She would probably feel he only wanted to use her for sex and he didn't want her to feel insulted.

"Griss?"

"Yes, Sara."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," he breathed with relief. "I–I was–uh–I–I'd like you to spend the rest of the day with me. I–know you're tired. So am I. We can simply sleep if you want to. I–just. . ."

"Griss?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"You're rambling. Give me half an hour to gather some clothes for tonight, and I'll be there."

Grissom looked around his kitchen, wondering what, exactly, he could throw together that would even remotely resemble a vegetarian dish. He tried to recall what she would order whenever she would go out for breakfast with the gang but his mind was coming up blank. Out of shear frustration, he picked up a take-out menu and ordered an all vegetable pizza and was told that it should be there within half an hour. He went into his bathroom for a quick shower, then got dressed in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He was just coming back into his living room when someone knocked on his door and he went to retrieve the pizza from the delivery boy. He heard someone else walking up the hall and glanced up to see Sara coming toward him with a small backpack slung over one shoulder. Her jacket was opened, exposing a short top that ended only an inch below her breasts. Her bare midriff screamed to be noticed as she approached him with her sweat pants hanging low on her hips and rolled midway up her calves. He was about to give her a greeting when the delivery boy turned and let out an unsuppressed moan of appreciation.

"Wow," escaped the boy's lips before he turned to look at Grissom. "She can't be coming "here."

Grissom just looked at the boy, not knowing how to respond, but Sara took that option out of his hands when she overheard the boy and moved between them. She wrapped her arms around Grissom's neck and kissed him deeply, then let her hands slide down over his chest. Grissom was so dumbstruck that he had trouble holding the pizza box with one hand as his other automatically came to rest on her waist.

"That's for the pizza," Sara told Grissom.

"I'm the one who brought it," the boy blurted out.

Sara moved around behind Grissom and lay her chin on his shoulder as she looked at the boy. She slid her hands around his waist and up his chest. "But you can't make me scream like he can."

The boy sniffed with indignation and turned down the hall, leaving Sara to grab the pizza box from Grissom and take it inside. Grissom turned around and entered the room with her, watching as she removed her jacket then sat the pizza on a small table in front of the sofa.

"Was that necessary?" Grissom asked with a raised brow as he looked down at her as she perched on the arm of his sofa.

"The little shit deserved worse than that. Imagine him thinking he could even compete with you."

"It didn't help that you walked up to him half-dressed."

Sara smiled up at him as she removed her sneakers, leaving only her socks on that were folded down around her ankles, then turned on the arm until she was resting both of her feet on the cushions. "Half dressed? I am not half dressed. And if that little creep can get that excited from a woman twice his age wearing sweat pants, then he needs to go work off some of his testosterone."

"I think that's what he had in mind. Anyway–it's not the sweat pants that he was looking at. Where are your clothes?"

"In my backpack. You "did" call me just as I was getting into bed. I didn't want to change again, so I just came over like this."

"Next time warn me and I'll pick up the pizza myself and I won't have to deal with some delivery boy's overactive fantasies."

"Dressed like that?" She looked at him with a smirk. "I know where you ordered the pizza–and there are two women built like Jane Mansfield who would be all over you before you had time to place your order."

"Jealous?" He sighed, finally taking a seat and opening the box.

"I told you before–everyone has a jealousy gene." She looked at the pizza as she slid down on the cushion next to him. "I didn't know you liked vegetarian pizza. I thought you liked pepperoni and sausage."

"I'll adjust."

"Do you have anything to drink?"

He pointed to a bottle of Diet Pepsi he had on an end table and she reached for it, pulling her sweat pants tighter as she moved and giving him an adequate view of her tight butt. He leaned back against the sofa and watched her as she opened the soda and sat it on the edge of the table in front of them, then reached for a slice of pizza. He silently watched her take a bite of the food before looking back at him, then smiled gently as she chewed.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He asked quietly, not really knowing if he said it out loud or just thought it to himself.

She started laughing at him and covered her mouth with a napkin. He merely gave her one of his raised eyebrow looks that said she should be reprimanded.

"Beautiful," she giggled. "Right. An old, ratty pajama top that I used to wear when I was a teenager, rolled up sweat pants, ankle socks, my hair pulled up in a sloppy ponytail and my mouth full of pizza. I must be a real gem."

"You "are" a real gem," he told her, still not talking very loudly.

"Do you want my slice of pizza? Is that what you're after? Because I can hand you a slice and you won't even have to compliment me for it."

He simply looked at her and she seemed to melt with a smile so sweet that he felt as if he were having a vision of some heavenly body. She got to her feet and moved to stand in front of him, then moved forward until she was straddling his thighs. She placed her feet on the sofa, near his back so that her knees were raised and she held the pizza in front of herself. He knew there were no intentions of seduction on her part, but her gesture of familiarity and earthiness of her posture absolutely enchanted him.

"Here," she said as she leaned forward and held the slice of pizza for him to take a bite. He complied, then lay his head back against the sofa again as he chewed it. His fingers found their way to the midriff that had been teasing him since her arrival, holding onto her sides and letting his thumbs gently stroke the soft skin. He continued to watch her as she took an interest in the pizza again, then looked back at him. "You're not really hungry, are you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, still watching her through lazy eyes.

"Then we'll put this in the refrigerator and eat it when we wake up tonight." She moved off of his lap and took the pizza to the kitchen, then returned to find him standing near the sofa, waiting for her.

He took her hand and walked with her to his bedroom then, motioned toward his bed and she crawled across the mattress and slipped beneath the sheet. He continued to watch her–for some reason not being able to get enough of the sight of her, and yet he was in no hurry to do anything other than sleep with her in his arms. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and heard her intake of breath, bringing his eyes back to her to see how she was watching him. He couldn't stop the small smile when he realized she was staring at him, evidently liking the sight of him dressed only in jeans. He unbuttoned them, then lowered the zipper and pushed them down and kicked them off, leaving his boxer/briefs in place then lifted the sheet and got in bed next to her. He felt completely exhausted and yet, he couldn't find the rest that he wanted. He looked over at her, seeing how she was trying to get comfortable and he turned on his side to face her. She lay on her stomach with her head turned his way and he knew he needed to touch her. His hand slid over her exposed back, then up, beneath her short top. She let a soft moan escape as he stroked her skin and soon she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I want you," he said as he stared at her.

She looked up at him and gave him that smile wasn't exactly her mega-watt smile that he loved, but a softer smile that held a soft glow around her. She's been looking at him with that smile a lot these past few days, and it never ceased to amaze him how quickly it affected him. It always left him with a longing that was indescribable; the need to hold her and completely dominate her so she knew that she belonged to him and no one else.

"I know," she said quietly as she reached up and touched his bearded cheek.

"And how would you know that? Especially lying all the way over there?"

"Because I can see it in your eyes." She moved onto her side and slid closer to him. "They're beautiful, ya know. And when you give me that look, I have no doubt that you want me–right then–right there."

"Then I think you ought to come right now–right here."

She sighed, or was it a moan, he wasn't sure, he only knew that the sound went directly to his groin. She moved herself again until she was partially leaning over him and he rolled onto his back as he continued watching her.

"I'm here," she whispered as she dipped her head and kissed his lips.

He reached for her waist and slid his fingers up inside of her top, pushing it upward until she lifted her head and allowed him to remove it completely. But she went back to his lips, teasing them with little kisses and lingering caresses from her tongue. He let his hands further their exploration as he was now sliding his hands down from her hips, pressing the sweat pants down over her bottom where he felt the lace of a thong riding up from her luscious cheeks. She got to her knees as she moved her kiss down farther until she was kissing the top of his chest and she turned her body so that he could reach her legs more easily. This gave him the opportunity to push her sweat pants down her thighs, and by the time her tongue and lips were tasting his stomach, he was lifting her legs one at a time so he could remove the pants completely, taking her socks off with them. Her hands were roaming over his skin, making it tingle everywhere they went. She traced them down over his hips as she continued to kiss his abdomen, then let her fingers trace their way to his thighs.

This time he didn't stop her when she pressed his boxer/briefs down to let his erection free; he merely lifted his hips and allowed her to push them down on his legs. He anticipated her next movements, wanting nothing more than to have her take him with that beautiful mouth of hers. She didn't disappoint him as she pulled him up to her lips and let her tongue slide over his tip, making him buck against her in his initial reaction. He tried to regain his control as she lovingly let her tongue slide along his length then took as much of him as she was capable into her mouth. He reached for any area of her that he could find and with one hand let his fingers slide through the hair on her head, and with the other let the sensation of her lace thong (that he now saw was red) wash over him as he alternated between sliding it between his fingers and gliding his hand over the tightly rounded orbs of her buttocks. He made no attempt to retaliate and give her any release and she made to attempt to encourage him to do so. She was merely satisfying him in a way that showed her adoration toward him. He could control himself for quite a while, letting the sensations of her sucking and licking crash through him in exquisite waves. When he could no longer control himself and started rushing toward his final release, he held his head back on his pillow and arched toward her. His hips were moving in a rhythm that pleased him the most, and yet wasn't too rough for her. And when his release finally came, he growled her name before collapsing, completely drained. His heart was beating so hard and fast he wasn't sure it wouldn't pound right through his chest and when he finally looked down at Sara again, he watched her take the final drop of what he had to offer, then slowly sit up until she was sitting on her feet next to him. She ran the back of her hand over her lips in such a erotic display of sensuality that he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her and pulling her down until she was lying halfway on top of him again. He slid his fingers through her hair as he held her to him and rolled until she was on her back. His mouth devoured hers, a hunger so desperate that it almost frightened him. Finally, he had to break free for air and in so doing, she gave him another one of her soft smiles.

"What did I do to deserve you?" He whispered to her as she looked into his eyes.

"I don't know. But keep doing it, okay?"

He smiled a real smile at her this time and this made her chuckle, then put her arms around him and pull him down with his head resting on her chest where she stroked his hair until he fell into a fitful sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Sara followed Grissom and Jim down the corridor in the university's dormitory with Greg bringing up the rear. She was in awe of the man walking in front of her although she wasn't really allowed to show it here, while working. The mere sight of him as she walked behind him sent tingles through her. From this angle, his presence was immense. He walked with the air of authority that everyone seemed to notice as he passed by, and she couldn't stop the thought from bombarding her brain, that only hours before, she had him at her mercy, taking charge of their lovemaking and satisfying him completely. She even soothed him to sleep as he clung to her, then fell into her own slumber. When it was time for them to get up for work he seemed refreshed and full of energy, then stopped suddenly as he was getting dressed and came over to hold onto her upper arms to gain her full attention.

"I'm so sorry." He looked at her imploringly, as if looking for some understanding in her eyes.

"Sorry, for what?" She asked as she finished buttoning and zipping her jeans.

"I never had the chance to. . ., I mean. . ." His expression showed his difficulty in mouthing the words, so she stepped in and helped him.

"You're upset because I performed oral sex on you–and you didn't reciprocate the favor?"

"Yes," he breathed, thankful that she voiced his thoughts.

"I enjoyed doing it to you. I enjoyed the fact that you enjoyed it. You did enjoy it, didn't you?" She asked with a bit of doubt now in her voice.

"Oh, yes," he told her as he moved his hand to her neck and pulled her close for a deep kiss. 'Immensely."

When he looked down at her again, she was smiling her satisfaction at his answer, and his reaction.

"Then, I certainly have nothing to complain about," she in a voice that she hardly recognized as her own. It was full of love as well as lust.

He traced his finger across her long neck and glanced at her again. "Turtleneck again?"

"Make-up and a scarf," she winked as she lifted the magic components from her backpack.

When they arrived at work they were early and went into his office while he looked at their assignments and after a once over, he got up from his desk and went around to the front of it where he sat back against its edge. As Sara was sitting in the chair directly in front of him, and was very comfortable as she lounged there, their close proximity allowed him to nudge her legs a bit farther apart so his outstretched ones were slightly between them. Their discussion seemed to take on a different direction than at home as he discussed work in general, but she noticed that he was letting his calves come in contact with hers, and when she would look up at him, his eyes told her that this was an intentional gesture that he was using just to keep in physical contact with her. His eyes moved toward the hall, indicating that Greg was heading toward the break room, so he levered himself up and indicated that she should proceed him. No one else noticed as she was about to come out the door and his hand slid down over her bottom before closing the door behind them. She glanced up at him but he continued on his way, both knowing the gesture was a last attempt to touch her, and both relieved that they knew the opportunity would arise many times throughout their nights together.

When she entered the break room, she saw Greg seated in his usual chair, while Sophia was sitting in the chair closest to where Grissom usually sat at the head of the table. But when Sara attempted to go to the other end of the table, she nearly walked into Grissom as he accompanied her and sat in the chair next to her. He was quick to hand out the assignment to Sophia, sending her to a DB on the strip, while he assigned Greg with himself and Sara.

"I'll be waiting in the Denali," Greg told them as he got up from his seat and with coffee in hand, left to get his kit.

The few seconds that passed were uncomfortable, until finally, Sara started to get up.

"I'll be waiting with Greg," she told Grissom, then looked back at Sophia and smiled slightly. "Sophia."

Sophia merely nodded as she wore that self-assured half-grin that grated on Sara's nerves. She could hear the other woman's remark to Grissom as she went through the doorway.

"Looks like our little duckling has found another boyfriend," Sophia said slowly, almost cooing it to Grissom.

"Really?" Sara heard his chair scrape across the floor and his steps coming up before he walked next to her and said low enough for only her to hear, "I think someone has seeing through your scarf."

"Hmm," Sara said as she continued toward the exit. "The witch has x-ray vision. Oops! Did I say that out loud? I mean–I didn't mean to say that! I mean–I shouldn't have said that!"

Grissom chuckled next to her as he held the door open. "After you, my dear."

So, during the ride to the dormitory, Sara felt lighter than she had in months. She would glance over at Grissom, and almost as if he could sense it, he would glance back with a half smile. They both semi-listened as Greg rambled on in the back seat, but Sara's major concern was whether or not she could control herself enough to not reach over and grab onto his hand. God, he had beautiful hands–and arms–and the things they could do to her. . . Okay–stop that! She looked out the windshield at the cars going by, but soon her eyes traveled back toward Grissom, this time, feeling it would be safe to look at the floor. Not so, as she looked from his shoe-covered feet up his legs to the thighs that were clothed in blue work pants. Those thighs that were so well muscled and seemed to fit perfectly between her own thighs.

"Sara," Grissom said slowly in a low tone only loud enough for Sara to hear as Greg still continued to ramble behind them. Sara looked up at his face and felt her blush spread across her cheeks. "You've got to behave right now–Junior's in the car."

Sara giggled at this and turned her attention back out the windshield, satisfied to know that he was getting as much enjoyment out receiving her visual caresses as she was giving them.

So, as they entered the dorm room and found the young couple on the floor, Sara was already set on auto pilot as her body shivered from just standing next to him, and when he quoted Shakespeare from Romeo and Juliet, she could have just swooned–that is until Greg popped up with a condom wrapper that he thrust between their faces. She didn't know whether to laugh or slap the little bugger.

She went about doing her work as usual, but with an added excitement as she would turn and see Grissom casually leaning against the wall–supposedly supervising the case, but interestingly enough, his eyes were more often than not on portions of her that would somehow become exposed, such as bending over in front of him and allowing him a birds-eye view down her blouse, or when she bent to retrieve a piece of evidence near the wall and he took an inordinate amount of interest in how well her jeans seemed to fit over her bottom.

Once he received his cell call informing him that he had to show up for court, she couldn't tell if he was disappointed at having to leave the show–or relieved that he didn't have to watch it while in the same room as Greg and David. He told her that she was in charge, then turned and left after taking note of her warm smile she had just for him.

Her day went on without anything notable. She enjoyed working with Greg, always did. He had a way of cheering her up, even during her darkest days. The fact that he still had a bit of a crush on her was flattering, but she'd rather just play at being big-sister. When she was finishing up the last details to her case, she had the good fortune to see Grissom walking toward his office wearing a suit and tie. Damn! Could that man wear anything that he wouldn't look good in? She watched as Catherine went into his office to talk with him, so she didn't approach them to intrude. Instead, she stayed in the layout room and would glance in his direction from time to time. By the time she finished up, Catherine was still with Grissom, so she packed up her things and decided to head home. She didn't want to push the situation, so she decided that if he wanted to be with her, he would let her know like he did the night before.

Once she arrived home, she started cleaning up what had been let go the past few days. Laundry was a must, so she stripped her bedding and took it into the small closet the landlord liked to call a laundry room. After her laundry she went to the kitchen to finish up some dishes that she had stashed in the sink. A few more minutes of cleaning up the rest of the kitchen and she decided she was ready for a warm, soaking bath. Her inner thighs could definitely use the heat of the water to help soothe the ache that Grissom had put here.

She pulled her hair back into a haphazard bun, turned on her stereo, poured bath oil into the water then stepped in and eased her way back into a reclining position. She felt completely relaxed when her cell went of and she grabbed it from the little stand nearby.

"Sidle," she said almost breathlessly into the phone.

"Sara?" Grissom's voice questioned. "Are you alright?"

She smiled at his question. "I'm great. As a matter of a fact, there's only one way I could be better."

"And how's that?"

"If you were right here, with me."

"And where, exactly, might that be?"

"Why, Dr. Grissom, I'm in my tub with the water nearly up to my chin. I was just thinking how nice it would be if you were sitting right behind me, letting me sit between your thighs and lean back against your chest as you held me and I'd be rubbing soap all over your arms and legs." The silence she heard, concerned her. "Gil? Are you there?"

"Um–yeah. I'm here. I–uh–I was just wondering if you wanted to go somewhere tomorrow."

"Gil?"

"Yes?"

"Did I upset you?"

"About what?"

"Inviting you into the tub with me." She watched the water drops slowly fall from the faucet.

"No." He said as if she should have known better. "I just didn't think you really wanted me rushing over there and jumping into the tub with you. It might prove to be a tight fit."

She couldn't help but chuckle at his comment. "I thought that was the idea–having a tight fit."

"Sara," he warned half-heartedly.

"What? You're the one who said it." She dipped lower into the water and let its warmth spread over her breasts. "Anyway, I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't mean it."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because I find the idea of getting stuck in a bathtub rather unappealing. It would defeat the purpose of becoming intimate in there in the first place. The mood would be ruined."

"So, do you have a better idea?" She was teasing him with her sultry voice, now watching her feet as she caught one of the droplets of water with her toe.

"I have many, but, unfortunately, I'm on my way out of town. There's a case that opened and no one else is available. That's why I was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere tomorrow after our shift."

"Any ideas where?"

"I thought I'd leave that up to you."

"I gave you my suggestion already–but you didn't want to do it," she pouted.

"Well, at least think about it. I've got to go now. I probably won't see you when you get in tonight–but I should be back by morning."

"You're going to be exhausted by then," she said with concern, still playing with the water drops. "Let's just play it by ear, okay? You may just want to go home and go to bed."

"Alright, then, we'll wait and see. I better go. I just pulled up and they're waiting for me at the door."

"Okay. Goodnight, Gil." She paused and then thought she'd forge ahead. "I'll miss you. . .and Gil?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"I love you."

Goodnight, Sara," he said gently after a few moments pause, then hung up.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Sara didn't run into Grissom at all that night, and only got a glimpse of him as she was about to leave for the day. She knew something was wrong when she saw him tossing down some pills at the water fountain, then go straight into his office and turn down the blinds. She had known him long enough to realize what the problem was, and she retreated to the locker room where she found two wash cloths and ran cold water over them. She returned to his office, but noticed this time there were lights showing through the sides of the blinds–something she doubted very much that he had done. The light would have been excruciating to him during one of his migraines. She approached the door, not wanting to knock as she knew that the sound, also, would provide him with more pain. So, slowly, she pushed open the door and apprehensively entered the room. The sight of Sophia pacing back and forth in front of him, as he sat on the sofa with pain written plainly across his face as he squinted at the blonde woman.

"Look, Gil, I just wanted to say I was sorry about anything I've said to insult you. I just, well, sometimes my temper gets the best of me and I don't realize what I'm saying, and I didn't want to lose you, ya know? I mean, we were getting on together so well. Ever since I moved to your crew, I've felt that extra bond that we share. You can't deny that. So, what I'm trying to say is that I'd like another chance–a fresh start, so to speak."

Grissom only briefly raised his glance to her before dropping his gaze away from the light source again. "Whatever you say, Sophia. Fine, we'll wipe the slate clean. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just about to leave for the day."

Sophia made no move to leave, and Sara knew the last thing Grissom needed at that moment was to actually have to get up and move out of his (what was supposed to be a) darkened office.

"Um, Griss," Sara said softly, alerting both of the others that she was standing just inside the door. "I brought those things you asked for."

"Thanks, Sara," he said without looking at her. "Could you bring them here so I can go over them before I leave? Sophia, would you close the door on your way out?"

Sophia looked at Sara with daggers. "Of course. I'll see you then at work tonight."

"Yes." Grissom said, still not looking at either woman. "Tonight."

Sara waited until Sophia walked past her and closed the door, a little more forcefully than normal, which brought a wince from the man on the couch. She could see how Grissom was trying to look up at her through eyes that were very nearly closed as he tried to block out the overhead light, so she flipped the switch to allow the dimness to take over. She moved to the couch an placed her hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him until he turned and lay on its length. She saw how he was resting his head on the arm of the piece of furniture and thought that it wouldn't do at all–it probably would make his head feel worse. She looked around and found nothing to help his situation, so she removed her jacket and folded it, then told him to lift his head until he allowed her to cushion the hardness of the sofa's arm.

"I've got a couple of cool cloths. I know it won't cure it, but I thought it might help."

He nodded his head with his eyes closed and tension running through his face, waiting for her to apply first one to his forehead, then the other to the back of his neck.

"I was wondering what it was that I "requested" you to bring to me," he said softly, trying to smile, but failing miserably. "I couldn't, for the life of me, think of what I told you to bring. How did you know?"

"Know what? That you had a headache? Or that the coolness of the cloth might help?"

"Both."

"I saw you as you went into your office–and one of my foster mothers used to get migraines. But she, actually, used to spread the entire wash cloth across the top of her head." She picked up the cloth on his forehead and spread it open, then covered the top of his head with it. "Like this."

"Are there many people out there?" He asked about the rest of the lab.

"Catherine, Nick and Warrick just came in. Hodges is in the lab. I think Wendy's there too."

"Then lock the door. I don't want them to come in."

Sara moved to do as he suggested, then came back to the sofa where she sat on the edge of the seat, near his hips as she faced him. "Is there anything else I can do?"

He didn't answer, simply reached for her hand and took it in his. Sara watched him suffering, wishing she could take his pain away, but knowing that unless he wanted a trip to the doctor for an injection, he had to wait it out. The only control she could have over it would be "how" he spent his time as he suffered through it. If she could make it as comfortable as possible, and keep anyone from coming in and turning on bright lights or making noise around him, she would . She didn't care if the whole lab started gossiping about the fact that she holed herself up in Grissom's office with him. More than likely ridiculing her for being so faithful to a man who wouldn't return her affection. At this point, she didn't care what they thought. She was more concerned with his pain.

As his breathing began to become relaxed, she reached to touch his face, but stopped herself.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I touch you?"

He opens his eyes and looks at her through his squinted eyes even though the lights were dimmed significantly.

"Touch me–where?"

She gave a tiny amused chuckle as she watched him. "No where like that–I promise you. I just wondered if it would help or hurt if I stroked your head."

"I don't know." He looked at her doubtfully.

"Tell ya what," she said quietly as she moved until she was sitting on her feet on the floor, much closer to his head, then slipped feather-light caresses across his forehead. "I'll start, and if it makes things worse–or even doesn't help at all. You let me know, okay?"

He slowly nodded his head as he watched her, then after a moment, let his eyes close again as her fingers traveled in various areas; from his cheeks to his temples, his forehead to the back of his neck; anywhere she felt tension, she gently rubbed him. After a while, she could feel the muscles begin to relax and before too much longer his even breathing told her that he was sleeping. She continued to caress the tenseness of his muscles for another five minutes, then slowly moved down to the top of his back (as far as she could reach with him in that position) and felt such a tightness that she wondered if it wasn't some kind of muscle spasm. Gently, and quietly, she worked with that muscle, then came around to the top of his chest and did the same. Finally, after another fifteen minutes, she removed the cloths from his head and neck and moved to a chair, not wanting to leave him in case his headache should get any worse; but not wanting to get accused of being locked up in the office with her boss, either.

That decision was taken out of her hands though, when a loud banging began on the door to the office. Sara jumped from her chair to try to quiet whomever was intruding on their peace while at the same time Grissom turned onto his side and groaned, his hand moving up to his forehead with pain.

"What? Please! Be quiet!" Sara hissed as she swung the door open, only to see Ecklie standing on the other side with a very suspicious expression covering his face. Sophia stood back the hallway, watching from a distance.

"What's going on?" Ecklie demanded. "Sophia said the two of you were locked up in here."

Sara glanced back to see Grissom was now sitting up, and managed to get to his feet as he moved toward them. "What's the problem, Conrad?"

Ecklie looked at Grissom as if he had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, watching him get off the couch in the darkness of the room, but when he entered the light and the bald man got a good look at him, his expression changed to that of concern and he quieted his voice from the roar he had been using.

"Another migraine, huh?" Conrad asked. "That's why you had the lights off and the door locked. Sensitive to the light and noise, right?"

"Right," Grissom sighed. "Sara locked the door so no one would come in and make it worse. And before you ask, Sara was here because I asked her to bring me some reports, then the headache got extremely bad while we were going over them."

Ecklie looked at Sara and she looked back, wide-eyed. "I didn't want to leave him alone. What if it was a stroke–or something like that? He would have died in here alone and I'd have to process the scene–and I really am not up to processing my boss."

"Yes," Ecklie agreed as he looked back at Grissom. "You really don't look too good, Gil. Maybe you should just have Sara drive you to the hospital or something."

"She can drive me home," he told him, then pointed toward the couch, indicating that Sara should get her jacket. "I don't think I can take the light outside, so she'll have to be my eyes for another hour or so. I should be fine by the time our shift starts tonight."

Sara retrieved her jacket, as well as his and helped him put it on as Ecklie watched them, still concerned with the condition of the other man, before glancing back up at Sara. "Do you need any help getting him to your car? I can get Nick or Warrick."

"No," Sara sniffed. "I can handle him. You can walk, can't ya Griss?"

"I can walk."

"I'll just guide him in the right direction, and he'll be fine."

"Well, okay then. Just take care of yourself, Grissom." He turned and started back down the hallway.

Sara and Grissom stood still for a few moments, listening to the muffled conversation at the end of the hall, not much of which they could make out besides Ecklie's, "He's got a damned migraine–all you had to do was look at him to see it. Jeez–maybe if you'd have spent more time actually looking at him, and less time being concerned about what Sara was doing, you would have helped ease his pain instead of adding to his tension."

Sara and Grissom looked at one another, then with Sara holding onto his arm and guiding him in the right direction, he spoke quietly to her. "You didn't want to leave me alone in case I had a stroke and you'd have to process the scene?"

"Overdid it, huh?"

"Do ya think?"

"Yeah, I overdid it." She chuckled as she guided him through the halls, receiving a few odd looks from the people they were passing before she'd hear whispered "migraine" from the people who were familiar with Grissom's problem, to those who were not.

"I'm not making a spectacle of myself, am I?"

"No," she lied. "No one's even noticing us."

"Liar," he said with his half-smile.

The ride back to Grissom's place was filled with frustrated stops in traffic as Grissom sat in the passenger's seat with his head leaning against the headrest. By the time she pulled up to his parking spot, he got out of the car on his own, but took her hand when she came around to meet him. She smiled at him, her relief that he was getting better showed as she looked at him. Once inside, she took her coat off then reached for his, putting them both in the closet before coming back to where he waited for her.

"Where do you want to go? Sofa or bed?"

He half-pointed toward his bedroom and she preceded him so she could pull down the sheet and fluff his pillow. As she was bent over, smoothing the sheet for him, he walked up behind her and she felt his hands on her hips. She started to stand erect, but he stopped her with a slight pressure on the small of her back. At first she had no idea what he was doing, but it didn't take long until she felt him pressing himself against her backside as he pulled at her hips. She very nearly fell on the bed as her knees went weak and she inhaled quickly at the pleasure that shot, so unexpectedly, clear through her.

"Shh. Don't move," he whispered as he gently gyrated against her.

"What–are you doing?" She asked in a rush of breath.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since yesterday morning when you made a point of dropping everything you had your fingers on. On most occasions there was a black lace thong peeking out at me as you'd bend over. Did you do that on purpose?"

She had trouble concentrating on what he was saying as she felt his erection pressing against her through both her pair of jeans as well as his own pants.

"Yesterday?" She breathed.

"Mm-hmm."

"In the dormitory?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I was dropping things?"

"Yes, you were."

"Oh, God, I might not have been doing it on purpose yesterday, but I will from now on, if it puts you in this mood."

He gave a little chuckle and released her, then kicked off his shoes. Without another glance, he moved to the edge of the bed and sat down, then lowered himself until he was lying quietly with his eyes closed.

"Too bad I have a headache."

Sara stared at him through huge eyes. She was a pool of mush right now! And he did it! And now he's going to go to sleep!

"You did that on purpose!" She accused him.

"How's it feel?"

"Fine!" She turned and started out the door. "Just wait until you eat your lunch and find out I added a little blue pill to it. Then "I'll" go home and take a nap."

"Anything you'll prepare for lunch will be fine," he called after her, making her smile in spite of herself as she entered the kitchen and started looking through his refrigerator for ingredients for said lunch.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Grissom slept for about two hours before the smell of something from his kitchen drifted into his bedroom. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he knew that he was suddenly very hungry. His headache had dulled to an irritation, rather than a handicap, so he got out of bed and went to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would help alleviate the pain even more. When he came back to the bedroom he threw on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt, then went out to investigate what that aroma was. He found Sara putting a casserole dish on the counter with what looked to be some type of lasagna. He noticed that the size of it would leave leftovers for at least a week, but he could always freeze it if he wanted to.

He moved up to stand directly behind Sara, looking over her shoulder at the food she was dishing up for them and noticed a hot loaf of garlic bread sitting next to the casserole, and a large salad next to that.

"You must be feeling better," she said as she turned to look at him, her eyes seeming to dilate as she looked down at his jeans and bare feet. "You certainly are "looking" better."

"Did I look that bad before?" He smiled at her.

"Bad enough to get Ecklie's sympathy." She reached out and ran her finger over his sweatshirt-covered chest. "Now you look. . ."

He smirked at her then gave her a quick kiss, before looking back at the food on the counter. "Is that ready? I'm kinda hungry."

"As soon as you sit down, I'll give you your lunch." She waited until he moved to a chair, then brought the dishes to him. "I hope you like it. It's vegetable lasagna."

"I'm sure I will." He looked up at her and motioned toward the other chair, indicating that she should sit and eat with him.

She was just getting into her seat and lifted her fork for her first bite of salad when the knock on the door sounded throughout the apartment. The two of them looked blankly at one another, then Grissom got to his feet and padded to the door.

"Hey, Grissom," Greg said as he walked past Grissom and into the apartment. "Ecklie said you were sick and Sara got stuck taking care of you. We decided we'd come over and help out. At least, with you sick, we can entertain Sara so she isn't quite so bored."

"We?" Grissom asked with a raised brow as he watched Greg walk directly to Sara and look at her food.

"Wow–is that lasagna? And garlic bread? Man, I love lasagna." He turned back to Grissom. "Yeah. Nick and Catherine are coming. They were still parking the car, but they'll be right up."

Sara's eyes went from Greg's big "feed-me-and-I'll-always-be-your-friend" smile to Grissom's less enthusiastic expression. She swallowed her bite of salad and waited until Grissom shrugged his shoulders, then she got up and started toward the casserole dish, but Greg stopped her.

"No–that's fine. Sit down and eat, Sara. I'll get it, myself." Greg looked around for a moment. "Where do you keep your dishes, Grissom?"

"I'll get it for you," Sara said, getting up again and handing him the things he needed.

Grissom watched this without saying a word, still not quite grasping that his quiet (or not so quiet, as he had planned to eat lunch then get Sara into his bed where he would have her screaming his name in that guttural tone that sends electrical shocks throughout his entire body) day with Sara had just disappeared before his very eyes.

"Hey, Griss." Catherine walked past him as he still held the door open as he watched Greg. "You look a lot better. Ecklie said you looked like you were at death's door. Mmm, what smells so good?"

Grissom watched as Catherine went straight to where Greg was standing as he started eating his food.

"It is good," Greg told her after his first bite.

"What is it?" Catherine was already getting a dish out of the cupboard and heading toward the casserole dish.

"Vegetable lasagna. Sara made it."

"Hey, Grissom." Nick walked past Grissom and paused to smile at his ex-boss, then sniffed the air.

"It's vegetable lasagna and its down there with them." Grissom said dryly, then watched as Nick went to join the others. He looked back into the hallway. "Are there any more of you going to show up?"

"No," Nick said over his shoulder, taking the dish that Catherine offered him. "Warrick couldn't make it. He said to tell you he hopes you're feeling better though."

"Well, I don't know about you guys," Catherine started after taking a bite of her meal. "But I don't want to stand here to eat this. I want to find some place to put the bread."

"Here," Sara got to her feet again. "You can have my seat."

"No," Catherine dismissed the thought. "Don't be absurd. I'm not taking your seat."

"Here," Nick said as he looked into Grissom's living room. "We can all eat around his coffee table. Does anyone know if there's anything good on TV this time of day?"

Greg and Nick both started toward the living room, and within a few seconds Catherine was joining them as they turned on the television and tuned it to an old "Dragnet" episode. Grissom looked at Sara, who raised both brows, then sat back down and started eating her salad again. Grissom sighed heavily, then moved back to where he had been sitting when he started eating his meal. He glanced at the casserole dish on the way and saw that there definitely would be no leftovers to freeze. The garlic bread was gone and there were a few pieces of lettuce left in the salad bowl. He looked back at Sara, who was now eating her salad as she looked down at her plate with an amused smile. When she glanced up, he gave her his "What-the-hell" look and she shrugged and smiled again.

"I notice you're only eating the salad," Grissom whispered only loud enough for her to hear. "I hope that doesn't mean that you really did sabotage the lasagna with the "little blue pills"–because if you did–we're in for some mighty big trouble."

This made Sara laugh outright. "I'm not eating any lasagna because there isn't any left." She whispered back, then worked on her salad again.

"Isn't that guy the guy who played on "MASH?" Greg asked the others.

"Yeah. He was Dr. Potter," Nick told him.

"I can't say I was ever a "Dragnet" fan," Catherine told them as she grabbed the remote control and started flipping through the channels. "Ah–here! I like this movie."

"Sleepless in Seattle?" Greg moaned. "I don't want to watch a chick flick!"

"If it's such a chick flick–then how did you know what it was so quickly?" Catherine chuckled. "Greggo's into chick-flicks!"

"Well, I like it," Nick told them as he looked at the screen. "I mean, are there really any such things such as man movies and woman movies?"

Catherine and Greg both looked at him as if he had lost his mind and said, "Yeah!"

"For instance," Greg said when he took the remote control from Catherine and flipped back several channels. "Now "this" is not a chick-flick. This is a good movie!"

"I don't know if I've ever seen it before," Nick told him.

"Oh, I have," Catherine cooed as she looked at the handsome actor filling the screen. "Johnny Depp, I'll watch him any day. How about you, Sara? Does Johnny Depp do it for you, too?"

Sara looked at the others, noticing the movie that was on, then slowly got to her feet and moved with her salad bowl until she was sitting next to Nick. "I don't know about "him" doing it for me. But I love this movie!"

"Yeah," Catherine chuckled at her. "That's why you couldn't take your eyes off the screen the whole time you were walking in here. You could have tripped and broken your neck and you wouldn't have ever noticed."

"No–really," Sara told her. "I mean, he's very handsome in his own way–but the movie's fantastic."

"But what is it?" Nick asked again.

"From Hell," Greg told him. "It's about Jack the Ripper. The scenes are really graphic–and if you have the DVD, and go into Special Features, they have pictures of the real Ripper victims. It's kinda gross and hypnotizing at the same time!"

"You've got a Johnny Depp DVD?" Catherine asked Greg.

"Yeah–so?" He asked defensively. "I bet you've got Meg Ryan movies! So what does that have to do with anything?"

"But Meg Ryan does chick-flicks," Catherine told him.

"And Johnny Depp "doesn't," he told her.

"Hey, ya know what Depp movie I like?" Nick asked. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." He's great in that one."

"Oh, I've seen that," Sara told him. "That's with Christina Ricci, right?"

"Why do you think I like it so much?" Nick smiled at her.

"They are cute together," Sara agreed.

"If you like her in "Sleepy Hollow," Catherine told them. "Have you seen "the Man Who Cried?"

"I have that one on DVD!" Nick said with excitement. "WOW!"

"I don't think I've ever seen it," Sara said with interest. "I really liked them in "Sleepy Hollow." I wouldn't mind seeing some more of them together. They have a nice chemistry."

"Well, I'll tell ya," Catherine rolled her eyes at them. "If you thought they were "cute" together in "Sleepy Hollow"–you've got to see "the Man Who Cried." They absolutely burn the screen! They are so hot in that film." She turned and looked at Nick. "You've got that movie? Now, I'd say that was chick-flick."

"I don't care. It has Christina Ricci in it, and she's a doll."

"Oh–look!" Greg pointed toward the TV. "This is a good part!"

There was a squishing sound and all four of them went "Ewww!"

"And another one bites the dust!" Greg said with excitement.

"You're horrible!" Sara laughed at him.

"Yeah, but I'm cute."

"In your dreams, Casanova," Nick told him. "Anyway, back off. Our little Sara's already gotten herself another boyfriend."

"How do you know?" Catherine asked as she looked at Sara, who by now was getting back to her feet and returning her dish to the kitchen sink, trying to hide her reddened cheeks.

"Sophia told me. She said she came to work this week with some marks on her. Seems like whoever it is–likes to bite necks. Must be half vampire."

"That's enough," Grissom finally entered the conversation. "I've no interest in any one of your personal lives. So, if you wish to discuss office gossip, do it when I'm not around."

"What gossip?" Catherine asked. "She's right here. It's not like we're talking behind her back."

"Who is it Sara?" Greg asked quietly.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Sara scoffed. "Jeez, can't someone wear a scarf once in a while without it turning into a scandal?"

"Sophia said it was a turtle neck," Nick told her.

"Alright then–a turtle neck. I've had a sore throat this week."

"Griss was sick this week too," Catherine told her. "You two are working together too much. The other night he showed up and had a frog in his throat."

"I'm going back to bed," Grissom grumbled as he got up and put his dish in the sink with Sara's. "I'm getting my headache back again."

"Don't worry, boss. We'll be right here to take care of ya," Greg called after him, while keeping his eyes on the gore on the television. "Woe! Did you see that? He nearly took that guy's head right off!"

Grissom paused a moment and looked at Sara. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. Granted–it was nice to know that the others cared enough about him that they'd come over and check on him–or maybe they just cared enough about Sara, that they didn't want her to be lonely and bored with the "old, mad, scientist." Either way, he couldn't really fault them for wanting to be there for him. He probably would be there for any one of them as well–but it was completely unnecessary. He knew he had the option to chase them all out–but he suspected that they would quickly put two and two together and come up with "Sara and Grissom are having an intimate relationship!" No, he thought, as he looked into Sara's amazing brown eyes, he'd be better off to just let them carry on with their gathering and he'd be better off getting more sleep. He saw how Sara reached her hand toward him, safely concealed behind the counter and hiding her gesture from the others. He took her hand and stroked his fingers with hers, then without stopping to think about it, he pulled her hand down to the front of his jeans, letting her feel how very much he wanted to be alone with her. Her eyes widened as she looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders, then released her hand and went back to his bedroom.

It took a long time for him to get to sleep this time, mainly because there was a constant discussion about which movies were made for women and which were made for men. He heard little coming from Sara and had an idea that she was just as unhappy about their situation as he was. Finally, around seven that evening he woke up to darkness and silence in his apartment. When he made his way to the kitchen he found a note on the counter.

Griss,

Sara and I did up your dishes, so you don't have to worry about them. Me and the guys sent Sara home. She looked like she was exhausted and since she already took her shift with you this morning, we felt she deserved a break. We all decided that you were doing well enough for us to go home too, around four. So, if you're not–call one of us and let us know if you need anything. Hopefully, we'll see you tonight.

Catherine


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

It had been two days since his lasagna disaster, and he still hadn't had a moment to be alone with Sara. There were no major cases of their own, but each time one of them had a spare moment, the other was called out to assist either day shift or Catherine's team. Their times spent together were always in the company of other lab techs or crew members. Grissom knew that Ecklie's eagle eye had turned to look at other, newer problems, quite satisfied with the fact that Grissom is a common sufferer of migraines and Sara was a compassionate care-giver.

The fact that their most intimate times together now were spent sharing microscopes, made the lab a favorite place to be. Although he had, on occasion, walked into the room with a cot and found her fast asleep, trying to catch up on the rest she had been denied lately. Today was just such an occasion as he finally had the opportunity to slip away inside the room with her without anyone noticing. There was just enough light to make his way to the cot and sit on its edge as he looked down at her. He liked watching her sleep, finding a peace there that didn't always show while awake. She had such a fiery personality, that she seemed to range from a hot, almost physical temper (to the point of him having to restrain her from attacking abusive suspects), to a glowing smile and contagious laugh when she was having an extremely good day, and, not to be forgotten--the times he had had her in the throes of passion. He definitely was no virgin–at his age, he must have had at least two dozen different women since his initiation into sex at the age of sixteen–but he it would be hard for him to recall a woman who responded so quickly to his touch. Hell, all he had to do was "look" at her with a certain thought on his mind, and he could see her melt in understanding. Her responses in bed were hotter than any of the others–even. . . Well, he wouldn't go there. It was Sara's "in-between" times that he could watch her mind at work–quick and brilliant. It was probably the first thing that attracted him to her–well, maybe not the very first thing, he thought as he remembered back to the lecture he had given so many years before. He thinks it was the skirt she was wearing that showed off those legs that seem to go on forever, and her butt that even then, made him want to corner her somewhere and grab onto it until he had his fill of her. Funny, he thought, he still hasn't gotten his fill of her.

She turned slightly on the cot, more onto her side and facing him, and after a moment, opened her eyes and looked up at him. He wasn't greeted with the smile he half-expected, but rather an intense stare before she sat up and placed her hands on the back of his neck. She pulled him into a kiss that was blazing as she pulled him down on top of her. He had to twist his lower body so he could stretch out on the cot with her, but before long he was returning her kiss as their bodies pressed against one another. Before he knew it, she had drawn his leg between hers and was rubbing in a manner that didn't hide her arousal. Each time she moved on his leg, her hip rubbed against his groin and it didn't take long to have him straining against his pants.

"Hey," he stopped their kiss as he touched her forehead with his own. "You know we can't do this here."

He watched her close her eyes, as if she were in pain. She nodded her head, letting him see that she would stop her actions, but she wasn't exactly very happy about it.

"Where "can" we do it?"

"What do you want, Sara? To start something and have anyone walk in on us? Not only would we be reprimanded for having a relationship; we'd be dismissed for unsuitable actions on lab property."

"But it was always okay for you and Sophia to escape into your office together? I'm the only one you're not allowed to be alone with?"

"I told you–nothing ever happened between Sophia and myself. If we were alone in my office, I don't think we were exactly "hidden away." The blinds were always open–we were in full view of anyone who was looking. Evidently we were in full view of you." He knew he shouldn't have added the last part as soon as the words exited his lips. He felt her stiffen next to him, then climbed over his body and was started for the door. "Sara! Don't!"

But she didn't stop. He sat up and watched her leave the room, closing the door behind her, then waited for a minute or two, and went back to his office. He knew he hurt her, but didn't exactly know what to do to fix it, so he decided to let her have her space for a while. He stayed pretty much to himself for the last hours of his shift, working on paperwork that needed caught up.

"Hey?" Sara's voice came through his office doorway, not its usual strength, sounding somewhat quieter than usual.

He looked at her over the top of his glasses, then finished signing the paper he was working on. When he looked at her again, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. Neither said anything for a long moment.

"I'm going now," she told him.

He acknowledged her statement with a nod. He didn't know if she was saying that she wanted to be alone–or if she was waiting for an invitation to come to his place, so he kept quiet, hoping she would elaborate. Instead, she only looked at him a moment longer, then turned and started down the hallway toward the exit. He sighed deeply, then started to put his paperwork away, to be worked on another day. He grabbed his jacket and turned off the lights in his office. By the time he reached the parking garage, he saw her in the distance, closing her trunk, then going around to get in the driver's side. He knew she would have to drive in this direction to leave the building, so he moved until he was standing in the middle of the lane with his hands shoved in his pockets. She came around the corner and started toward him, slowing when she saw him, then stopping completely when she was only about ten feet from him. He stood there, looking at her as she sat behind the wheel, and she watched him in return. There was a crowd of people coming out of the building and heading toward their cars, no one taking particular interest in what was taking place between the CSI supervisor and his employee. She continued watching him for long moments before he finally moved and walked around to the driver's side of her car. She kept her eyes directed in front of her as she held onto the steering wheel with both hands until he finally tapped against her window. He waited until she lowered the glass, but still she wouldn't look at him.

"Go to my place. I'll be there right behind you," he said simply then watched as she closed the window again and drove off.

He wasn't one hundred percent sure that he would find her at his place when he got there, but as he parked his car, he saw her leaning against her fender with both hands shoved in her pockets. He got out and slowly walked to her, then took hold of her upper arm and pulled her along with him. She didn't hesitate as she walked next to him and after a moment, he removed his hand and put his arm around her waist. He unlocked his door and held it open for her, then closed it behind them, took off his jacket and removed hers as well before taking them to his closet. He nodded toward the sofa, but she went to a chair and sat in it, watching him expectantly, somewhat reminding him of a child who was waiting to be reprimanded. When he moved to stand in front of her, she still remained quiet.

"Do you want to tell me what I'm supposed to do with you?" He asked.

She simply looked at the far wall. He watched her a moment longer before grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the chair . At this point he didn't care if she was mad at him. He only knew that he didn't want to fight with her and the only thing he "did" want was to lose himself in her. Her eyes grew larger, and he knew she wasn't used to being handled in such a way. But still, she allowed him to position her before him. He reached for her neck and pulled her to him, meeting her lips in a kiss that showed his hunger for her. She moaned her response as her hands moved to the front of his shirt, quickly sliding up, beneath it and splaying her hands across his chest. He kept kissing her, letting his tongue slide along hers; tasting her as his hands moved down her back until they firmly grasped onto her bottom and pulled her against him.

"Is this what you want me to do with you?" He whispered against her lips as he ground his growing erection against her and she whimpered in defeat. "No response?"

She pulled her head away and looked at him and he saw a bit of fire shoot from her eyes. "Don't!"

"Then what do you want?" He asked a bit too harshly.

"I want to be able to trust the fact that if I show any affection toward you–you won't reject me! The way you didn't reject Sophia whenever I saw you deep in conversation in your office–whenever you had your heads together laughing at jokes you had no desire to share with anyone else!"

"I thought we agreed that our business was our own–that we weren't to invite anyone to invade our privacy?"

"That has nothing to do with it! You condemn me for showing my feelings toward you in front of the people at work–but yet, when I bring up the fact that Sophia and you were behaving even more blatantly than I ever did–you accuse me of spying on you!"

"I'm sorry," he sighed as he released her and moved to the sofa where he sat down heavily. "I shouldn't have insinuated that."

"But you "thought" it," she almost whispered, then started walking toward the closet.

"Sara–don't," he told her, but she reached for her coat and started for the door. "I said DON'T!"

The fact that he raised his voice in such a manner not only surprised her into stopping where she stood, but he surprised himself. He never spoke to a woman in such a way. He watched her as the initial shock of him yelling at her wore off, then she turned to look at him with that fire in her eyes again. She threw her coat on the floor and stormed back to him. She didn't give him any warning as she immediately straddled his lap and captured his mouth with hers. His hands went to her back, pulling her to him in an overwhelming passion that tore through him.

"Is this what "you" wanted?" She growled a milimeter from his mouth. "Is this why you didn't want me to leave?"

"Shut up, Sara," he whispered as his mouth moved to her neck and he started nuzzling the most attractive throat he had ever lain eyes on.

She threw her head back, giving him greater access to her throat, but her hands moved to his shirt and tore at it, popping at least three of the buttons.

"Don't "ever" tell me to shut up!" She threatened.

"Shhh." He turned with her and flipped her onto her back as he remained between her legs. "Just don't talk right now. Not now."

She grunted at the impact on the sofa cushions coming in contact with her back, but she made no other attempt to speak, her hands holding onto his shoulders for balance. He immediately lifted her shirt, shoving it above her satin bra where he practically dove for her breast. He couldn't explain the complete need that coursed through his body, only knowing that he had never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted her at that moment. His tongue moved over the fabric, quickly saturating it as he sucked her already hardened nipple into his mouth. He quickly slid his hands down her legs that were still wrapped around him, and grabbed her shoes, yanking on them until he heard first one drop to the floor, then when he released the second, he tossed it behind himself, hearing it crash into something, but he had no desire to find out what. He grabbed the top of her jeans next, flicking the snap open with quick fingers, then opening the zipper so fast that he nearly broke it. He continued lavishing kisses across her chest and on down to her stomach as he lifted his body and jerked on her pants.

"Lift," he said hoarsely then gently bit the area around her navel.

She complied and lifted her hips so he could pull her jeans over them, then held them snugly as she drew her legs from the denim, then they were tossed off to the right side of the room. He would have pulled her other barrier down also, but he noticed that she had started to take a liking to lace thongs, and it just didn't seem to be much of an obstacle for him. He held her right thigh against the back of the couch and pushed down on her left, nipping at the sensitive skin of her legs and hearing her whimper. He could feel her edging him on as she tried to lift herself to him, but he didn't need any encouragement. He dropped his head lower and stopped long enough to find her hardened nub and run his tongue over it, but he wanted more right now, and he went even lower, finding her very core which had already made her thong moist with want. He ran his tongue over her several times, but found that he wasn't satisfied with the fabric in the way and in a matter of seconds, the thin strap was torn and pushed aside, allowing him the freedom to taste her completely. He knew it would be like this–he always knew. He wasn't always an enthusiastic participant in this act, but he somehow knew she would be different. She was like a drug, blurring his mind and dazing him to the rest of the world. Her taste would be something he knew he would crave until his dying day, salty and sweet at the same time. She was nectar to his lips. He relished the sensation of her fingers clutching at his hair, urging him on as he turned her beyond words. An array of sounds were escaping from her throat, and he could feel her thighs begin to tremble. Normally, by this time, he would be lifting himself to join in the woman's climax as he would enter her and please himself while pleasing her–but he was only concerned with her–only her. He inserted two fingers inside of her and moved his attention back to her throbbing bundle of nerves as he alternately sucked and flicked his tongue over it.

"God! Gil! Gilbert!!" She nearly shrieked as her back arched violently and he could feel her muscles squeezing his fingers.

When she lay limp and her breathing ragged, he lifted himself and half-crawled up her body until he was directly over her. His mouth covered hers immediately and he thrust his tongue between her teeth, licking the roof of her mouth until she gradually began to return his gesture. He only allowed himself to kiss her for a minute before lifting his head and looking down at her. He couldn't stop his satisfied smile as he looked into her beautiful brown eyes; eyes that somehow reminded him of huge dark pansies.

"That's the second shirt you ruined," he said softly. "I'm going to start making you go shopping with me and replace them."

She merely nodded her head, silently telling him that at this point, she would do almost anything he asked.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Sara woke up to the dimness of the room. The blinds were closed and the only light was coming from the living area of the apartment. She lay on her stomach, looking around, then lifted her head and pushed her hair back from her face. She noticed that she was completely bare with only the sheet covering her bottom, exposing her back and legs. She slowly moved as she attempted to turn over onto her side and she felt the pull of her muscles at the workout she had been through that day.

It all started because Grissom woke her up up at work and the sight and familiar smell of him made her want sex so badly she thought she'd absolutely die if she didn't get it–then things turned bad as they said things to each other that could have been left unsaid. But, perhaps it was something that "needed" to be said–at least on her part. She still was bristling over Grissom's retaliations that she took so harshly. He had a way of hurting her more significantly than anyone else in her life. Perhaps it was because his opinion was the one that counted the most–or the fact that he was the only person who she wanted completely to herself. It was odd, how when she found out that Hank was engaged to another woman, she felt foolish, but not extremely hurt by the fact. She simply moved on. The thought of Grissom with any other woman (at this moment, Sophia) made her feel as if her heart were being ripped from her chest.

In the end, she had gotten what she wanted. His performance in the living room surpassed anything she had ever expected from him. By the time she had climaxed, she couldn't verbalize a single word to him, let alone tell him how she felt. He wasted wasted little time getting off of her and pulling her from the sofa, then maneuvered them both to the bedroom where he removed her shirt and bra. He immediately feasted upon her lips as he lowered her to the bed and came down on top of her, then made love to her quite thoroughly, and with a force that put a dent in the drywall behind the bed. She smiled slightly as she looked at the damage the headboard had done to the otherwise pristine wall.

Sara wrapped the sheet around herself and moved into the bathroom, hearing movement from the kitchen area, so she wanted to make sure her hair had some semblance of order to it and didn't make her look like a wild-woman. She moved to stand before the large mirror over the sink and was taken back at the marks on her upper chest, traveling even lower, beneath the sheet she was using to cover herself. She slowly slipped the sheet lower and winced when she saw the damage done to her breasts. She thanked God (or some higher power that she could thank) that she didn't have any doctor's appointments scheduled for an examination, she'd be embarrassed to death to present her body in this condition. Well, at least he steered clear of her neck and throat this time.

She glanced around the bathroom, trying to come up with something other than a sheet to cover herself, but remembered that her panties were in a shambles at the front of the sofa, and her jeans were (the last she glanced before disappearing into his bedroom) hanging off of the lamp. She could at least get her shirt from the bedroom, and her bra. Within moments she was rummaging through his dresser drawers until she came across a pair of sweat-shorts and pulled them on, tightening the drawstring until they didn't drop immediately to the floor when she released them. They still hung low on her hips, but at least they were covering her. She neglected her bra and pulled on her shirt, then hesitantly moved toward the kitchen where she could hear Grissom moving about.

She leaned against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen, folding her arms over her chest as she watched him go about making, what looked to be a homemade vegetable soup. She took in his appearance as he wore jeans and a sweatshirt, but remained barefoot. When he noticed her, he smiled his crooked grin then went back to stirring the ingredients in the pot.

"Is this a special occasion?" She asked him.

"I "do" know how to cook, ya know," he told her. "My mother made sure of it."

"I see." She moved over to look into the pot. "Is this one of her recipes?"

"It is."

"I must say, I "did" work up a bit of an appetite." She moved her gaze to the bottle sitting on the counter, then looked back at him. "Peanut butter?"

"It seems that I may have worked up an appetite as well, and I couldn't wait for the soup." He moved to the jar and took off the lid, sticking his finger in it and putting it in his mouth.

Sara felt herself clench as she watched him taking the sticky condiment from his forefinger, taking his time about getting it off, but he hardly seemed to notice her predicament. She moved toward him again and watched him, letting her tongue glide over her suddenly dry lips.

"Ohhh," she moaned. "You shouldn't do that."

"Do what?" He asked, then laughed when he looked at her. "Eat peanut butter? I like it."

"I can tell." Her eyes remained on his mouth then she looked up at his eyes. God, they were so blue that she could get lost in them. "I think I better go sit down."

He smirked as he watched her turn around and go into the room, then went back to finishing the soup. They finished their meal on the sofa, then each leaned back against an arm of the couch as they let their legs sprawl across its cushions with Sara's feet on Grissom's lap. Grissom slid his large hands over her ankles, taking care to outline her tattoo with his forefinger.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" Grissom asked quietly, but received no response as she simply looked at him.

She didn't want to respond. She didn't want to fight again. She didn't want to think about Sophia.

"I know I hurt you today," he went on, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I–don't always say things–the way they should be said. I want you to know that you can count on me. There's nothing that Sophia could ever do that would change that. I want you to know that. At least say "something."

"I–don't know what to say. You started hurting me long before your comment today, and I think you knew as you were doing it. How can I count on you, when you seemed to flaunt the fact that Sophia was ready to jump into bed with you at any moment, and as far as I–or anyone else knew–she was doing just that."

"I won't say that I was aware of "how much" I was hurting you," Grissom started slowly, but Sara interrupted him.

"But, you "were" aware of it." She waited for a response that wasn't going to come, so she slid her feet off of his lap and tried to get up, but he grabbed her wrist as she was about to stand, and pulled her down on top of him, then turned on his side so he was facing her as she was pinned between him and the back of the sofa.

"This. . ." He made a gesture with his hand between the two of them. ". . .isn't going to work unless we start out clean. Trust me, that I won't intentionally hurt you again."

"And I can count on you to be there?" She asked quietly. "Not out spending time with every good looking woman who sees fit to flirt with you?"

He chuckled on that one. "I promise. What about you? There will be no more showers with Greg–now more Hanks?"

"Ahh, so you did hear what we said about the shower?" She smiled slyly at him.

"Of course. I hear everything. What makes you think it would've gotten my past attention that two employees had take a Hazmat shower together?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it "together." There were other people in there with us. They probably got more of a look at me than poor Greg did."

"Yes, and knowing Greg, he stood there the whole time with his eyes closed, not looking at you."

"Well, he's too much of a gentleman," she explained.

"What you mean is, that once he had the chance, he didn't have the courage to look."

"The courage?" She chuckled. "You make it sound like I'm Medusa or something; like if he would've looked at me he would've saw I had snakes for hair and he would've turned to stone."

"Well, I don't know about him–but when "I" look at you–I tend to turn as hard as a rock. Does that count?" This response got him a little shove and made him chuckle. "But, that wasn't what I meant. Greg's worshiped you from afar for years. Once the opportunity was before him, he couldn't bring himself to gaze upon the one he idolized."

"I idolized you–I had no problem looking at you naked the first chance I got."

"Yes, but you weren't standing in front of a small crowd of other people, in fear of getting an erection from the sight of me." Another small shove and another chuckle. "Anyway, I wasn't talking about him looking at you–I already knew he didn't look at you. I was talking about you looking at him."

"Oh? So you already know this? And how do you already know this?"

"I have my sources. I also know that you didn't look any lower than his head–not this time, anyway. I just want to make sure it never happens in the future."

"I think that can be managed." She lay her head on his arm and cuddled closer to him, sliding her knee between his thighs.

"That's good–because I have no intentions of sharing." He let his hand slide up under her shirt and stroke the small of her back. "I think I can become a spoiled child where you're concerned."

He kissed her forehead as he continued stroking her, both relaxing against one another and eventually falling asleep. When Sara woke up this time Grissom was standing next to the sofa, bending over her as he gently shook her shoulder. With a gentle smile he informed her that it was time to head into the lab and she reluctantly got up and took a shower, dressed, then preceded him to the office. Grissom and Greg went on a case together as Sara was sent on her own, and Sophia was sent on another case. By morning, Grissom and Greg hadn't returned and Sara had wrapped up her case over two hours before. She called Grissom to see if he needed her to do anything to help, but he sent her home, letting her know that he and Greg could handle it.

Instead of going straight home that morning, Sara decided it was time to do a little shopping. She hadn't done any serious clothes shopping in years, but now she had a purpose. Her first stop was Victoria's Secret where she browsed through the bras and panties, selecting things she thought would be comfortable enough, while at the same time, getting the reaction out of Grissom that she had had the day before. She next went to invest in some sleepwear, and since she wasn't quite up to lace nighties, she went for something more casual which included tank tops and sweat shorts. Not very feminine, she knew–but she would feel comfortable and when he unwrapped the package, he would find the feminine side of her.

She paused in front of a boutique as some dresses caught her eye and she wondered just what was getting into her. "Gilbert Grissom," she answered herself with a chuckle. She didn't know if she ever would have the opportunity to wear anything like this–but she knew he certainly approved of how she dressed at the dinner last week. "Well," she thought as she entered the store to get a better look. "There are at least three events coming up for the people at the lab coming up in the next few months." One was semi-formal and the other two were formal.

By the time she made it to her car, she had her arms loaded with boxes and bags. She rolled her eyes when she realized she had spent more on clothes in this one day than she had in the last five years. Oh well, no one can blame a girl for buying four dresses in a five-year period.

She went home and settled in with a good book, waiting for Grissom to call when he finished work for the day, but the call never came. By the time she turned in for several hours of sleep, she hoped that he didn't pull a triple because that would mean he probably wouldn't be in to work his regular shift tonight–and if he was, he'd probably be locked in his office, sleeping. As she nestled against her pillow, she recalled his words from earlier in the day and felt a huge relief at his promise to always be there for her. Things were still rocky, but if they both tried, it should go relatively well from now on.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

The night started out normal enough with Sara and Grissom working together to try to find out whose blood was splattered across the wall. By putting their heads together and a bit of gun-play on Grissom's part, he figured out that the victims were identical twins. Of course, his deduction impressed Sara, as always, then after a few teasing remarks concerning his certificate of ownership for Roy Rogers' horse, Trigger, they were both ready to put in a leisurely night for the rest of their shift. But they had only just settled in when Grissom was called out with Catherine. Sara remained in the lab, helping with fingerprints on cases that Catherine and her team had pending. She hardly expected to be alerted by Grissom that he was on his way back to the lab with some evidence he wanted her to print. She agreed, but wondered why he actually called her to let her know he was coming. He usually would wait to tell her what he wanted done after he returned to the lab. When she asked what was wrong, he paused a moment, then said.

"Someone took Nick."

Her initial response was, "Nick–who?" Simply because the thought of something actually happening to "their" Nick was incomprehensible.

"Nick Stokes," Grissom answered, as if she should know whom he was talking about.

"What do you mean–someone took him? Took him where?" Still the thought just wouldn't come together for her.

"I'll talk as soon as I get there."

Sara looked at her own cell as she stood in the hall of the lab, slowly letting his words sink in and unscramble in her unprepared mind. There had to be some kind of a mistake. She wouldn't accept that anything bad had happened to "her" Nick, but when she saw Grissom barreling down the hall toward her, she knew it was true as a numbness began to spread throughout her body. Within moments Greg was joining them just as Warrick and Catherine came from the same direction that Grissom had. After a very quick briefing, they each stepped into their professional modes and went to work. Sara's purpose was to do anything she could to get her friend safely back. She was disappointed at not finding any prints on the plastic bag that contained a styrofoam cup that Grissom had brought in, and she really wasn't too surprised when, after filling him in on her findings, he stormed out of the room and on to his next resource. She knew he was completely consumed with finding Nick.

Soon, they all centered in the conference room, each going over their own thoughts and ideas, each trying to figure out why such a thing would happen. The arrival of a package to the department soon explained everything as they all watched in horror as Nick suffered before them on a computer screen that was picking up his predicament through a remote camera transmitter. Sara's heart seemed to explode with sympathy for Nick as she watched the desperation, the hopelessness, the absolute fear coarse through him. She composed herself as they all separated and dug into their investigation with force.

Sara entered Grissom's office two hours later, wanting to see what else he had learned that perhaps hadn't worked its way back to her yet, but she found his office empty. She moved to Catherine's office next.

"Where's Grissom?" Sara asked from the doorway.

"We came up with the money," Catherine said slowly. "He's going to make the drop."

Sara felt as if she had been dealt a significant blow to the stomach as she looked at the other woman. "Who's going with him?"

"No one. He's doing it himself." Catherine moved from her chair and grabbed a jacket. "He's to go alone."

"What do you mean–no one? There's got to be some kind of back-up!"

"Of course there's back-up," Catherine assured her, knowing that Sara had much deeper feelings for Grissom than she lead on, although Grissom seemed oblivious to it. "But he has to go in on his own. I'm going to be back with Brass, as will Greg, Warrick and the other back-up."

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" She asked angrily.

"I–don't know," Catherine told her. "I suppose you aren't the first priority right now, Sara. All of our minds are on Nick."

"But Greg and Warrick "are" priorities? Evidently "they" were informed."

"Okay," Catherine sighed as she started out the door. "Get ready. I'm sure it was simply an oversight. They were probably on their way to get you and you just crossed paths. Get your stuff and meet us in the garage so we can get started."

They all met in the garage and followed Brass, holding back from the area Grissom had already gone in by a significant distance, not wanting to alert anyone of their presence. Sara couldn't seem to stop fidgeting as she rode in the back of the Denali that Warrick was driving and once they were at their destination she couldn't confine herself in the vehicle any longer. She was the first one out as she nearly burst through the door then started pacing in the desert sun. The explosion shook the ground and stopped her dead as she stared in the direction she knew Grissom to be. She felt as if she had just died, herself. It was a second before everyone was back in their vehicles and racing toward the point of explosion.

Warrick sped through the desert, getting the four of them at their destination just behind the ambulance and Brass. Sara was racing from the car as soon as it stopped, but Brass caught her in his arms.

"Let me go!" She cried.

"Sara!" Brass shook her slightly until she looked at him. "Sara! Stop! You've got to get yourself under control. You're no help to him if you're hysterical."

Sara glanced around at the others, glad to see that they were more concerned with getting to the scene of the explosion than what Brass was doing with her. "I want to go to him, Jim."

"You can go–but not until I know what shape he's in. Do you got that?" Brass said firmly, but when he saw the tears and terror in her eyes, he went on. "Just stay here. You know he wouldn't want you seeing him if he's in bad shape–and if he isn't–then he wouldn't want you jeopardizing your jobs by revealing to everyone how it really is between you two."

Sara slowly nodded her head, not being able to take her eyes from the paramedics who were running inside the building that showed signs of devastating destruction. "O-okay."

"Do you promise?" He looked into her eyes and again, she nodded her head.

She watched as Brass turned and ran into the building behind the paramedics as the other CSIs all waited anxiously nearby. Sara thought time stood still, until finally she saw Grissom walking with assistance toward the back of the medic van. She had to hold back as she watched Warrick and Catherine lead the way to where he was seated and the paramedic started taking vitals. Sara could see the blood on his face and on his clothes and felt herself begin to panic. She wasn't even listening as they were told what happened. She could only concentrate on how Grissom seemed to be babbling, clearly in a state of shock, and unaware of her presence. She had to stand behind Catherine and Warrick as Catherine walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck, showing the relief that they all were feeling. Finally, he looked at Catherine as his hand came up automatically to her back.

"He just blew himself up, Catherine. He gave us nothing to work with. He just pressed a button and blew himself up."

Catherine glanced at Warrick and stepped back, allowing the paramedic to continue with his examination. Once the initial testing told them that nothing was life-threatening, Catherine instructed the others to suit up–they had work to do. Sara hesitated as the others went to the Denali for their supplies, wanting and waiting for him to acknowledge her–even if was only to look at her. But, he didn't.

"Sara! Let's get started!" Catherine called to her, and when Sara noticed that even the mention of her name didn't faze him, she turned away from him and slowly joined the others with her heart seeming to have cracked a bit.

The recovery of the corpse's thumb was a break that she was hoping for, but when she returned to the lab and tested its print only to find no match she felt as if they would never get anywhere with this damned case. Ironic that the most important case to all of them–and the leads were not to be found. The feeling of defeat was so overwhelming that she needed to break away from the process, if even to go into the dimness of the hallway. That was when Mia found her and informed her that she found DNA that connected the victim with Kelly Gordon–a woman previously convicted because of evidence interpreted by CSI.

She knew Grissom had returned to his office some time ago and was back pretty much to himself not (having been seen by herself, but hearing it from Warrick) so she took her findings to him immediately. He barely commented as he listened to her, then upon finding other evidence that connected Nick's case with Kelly's, he instructed her to follow up on it with a visit to the prison where Ms. Gordon was located.

"So, how are you holding up," Jim Brass asked as he drove the two of them to the prison.

"I just want to get him back, Jim," she said quietly.

Brass looked at her a moment before looking back to the road. "Who are you talking about? Nick or Gil?"

Sara looked over at him, knowing that he had been witness to everything that happened between the two of them that day. She couldn't deny that Grissom was definitely "separated" from her–but then, they all were focused on Nick. Nick was the important thing right now. Not whether or not Grissom gave her a smile of encouragement or not. Quietly, she answered Brass.

"Nick, of course."

"You know, this is eating Gil up, don't you? What he's doing–he's doing because he is so hell-bent on getting Nick back."

"Yes. I know it. I'm fine. I can deal with it."

Brass looked at her again and she knew he doubted her. The interview with Kelly Gordon had been disastrous and by the time they were ending it, Sara wanted nothing more than to strangle the other woman. Their chances of getting Nick back were getting slimmer and slimmer as each lead went bad; with each moment passed. The ride back to the lab was in a deflated silence; both of them with their minds on the man who was still missing.

Once back at the lab, Sara joined Grissom and Archie as they kept vigil over the growing desperation of Nick Stokes. Sara couldn't take her eyes from the man as he became more and more despondent. Her heart ached for him; wondering why this should happen to such a good-hearted person. She seemed mesmerized when she saw the torture he was now going through with the invasion of ants that were feasting on his body. Watching as there seemed to be absolutely no hope until she noticed how Grissom suddenly became excited as he observed the scene. In a matter of minutes he had determined the first real clue that would open the door and start a chain of events that lead Sara to discover and reveal the area that Nick had to be in.

The area was inundated with police cars as well as the vehicles of the CSI agents. They all burst into the area and started their massive search until finally finding the grave that Nick was buried in and finally Sara felt as if she could begin to breathe again. They had found him! Now all they had to do was get him the hell of there and get him to a hospital. But it all shattered when Catherine informed them that the coffin was rigged with explosives. Sara wanted to scream. She wanted to reach inside and pull him out and rush him to safety. Nick was her only concern–until she saw Grissom jump on the coffin to try to calm the other man. Sara was torn between wanting Grissom away from the danger, yet wanting him to get Nick out at the same time. The precise mind of Gil Grissom, along with the muscle of the whole crew and Brass yanked Nick from his death trap as he flew through the air to land in a heap on the ground. People were running to him, providing him with the ability to touch someone–to feel anything besides the solitude he had faced for the last twelve hours.

Sara watched as they loaded Nick into the ambulance and Catherine and Warrick jumped in with him. Her relief finally allowed the stress-filled tears to collect in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She stood between Grissom and Brass as the ambulance drove away and heard Grissom say that he wanted his guys back. She watched as he walked back to the Denali and got behind the wheel, allowing Ecklie to get in the passenger's seat as Greg went to the vehicle Warrick had driven there. She merely watched how Grissom still seemed oblivious to her presence, then felt a hand gently touch her elbow.

"Come on, Cookie," Brass said quietly. "You can ride with me."

She didn't stop to see if Grissom had actually waited for her or not as she went with Brass. She knew that their destination was going to be the same, all of them wanting to make sure that Nick was stabilized before they could go home for a much needed rest. When they got to the hospital there was a wait of nearly two hours before the doctor finally came out and announced that Nick had been moved to a room and other than dehydration and the effects of the ant bites, he seemed to be doing well. They were going to keep him overnight for observation. Grissom and Catherine were told that Nick's parents were with him, so they decided to allow them some privacy and moved to the two vehicles available to take them all back to the lab for their individual cars. Sara watched as Grissom automatically got behind the wheel and Catherine took the passenger's seat. Warrick and Greg got into the other Denali, insisting that Sara should get in the back, but upon Brass's invitation, she road to the lab with the detective. By the time she and Brass arrived, the others had the vehicles unpacked and were leaving the garage. She looked around, but noticed Grissom's car was already gone. She got into her car and drove home alone.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Upon going into her apartment, Sara went straight into her bathroom and removed her clothes. She stood in her shower, letting the hot water beat down upon her tensed muscles, and for the first time, she allowed the tears to fall that had been threatening her since Nick had first been abducted. She cried as a relief of all the stress she had felt at the prospect of losing her good friend; she cried at the fear that had been coursing through her, nagging at her, screaming at her that Grissom could have been killed numerous times. She finally managed to recuperate enough to turn her sobs into quiet hiccups as she faced the water again, hoping the spray would wash away her tears. She finally got out and pulled on her white terry robe, wrapping it around herself then quickly towel-drying her hair before heading for her bedroom.

She knew he was there before she even entered through the doorway. She could feel him. She could smell him, and if she remained very still she could hear his breathing. She hesitated at the opened doorway, not wanting to go in to him, not understanding why he was here. She slowly took a step backward and tried to turn around, but his voice stopped her.

"You're always leaving when I want you to stay," he said quietly, almost as if he hadn't intended for her to hear. "I thought you said I could count on you."

This turned her to face him as he stepped out of the shadows, still wearing his jacket. He moved to stand no more than two feet from her. A fury was coursing through her that she didn't know she was capable of.

"What–did–you say?" She asked in astonishment as she stared at him.

"I need you–and you're leaving again. You told me I could count on you being there for me."

Her hand connected with his face before she could stop it.

"You bastard!" She hissed as he took a step forward to grab onto her arms, trying to still them so she couldn't hit him again. "You! You dare to say that to me? You're one who didn't think I was important enough to let me know you were doing something so dangerous that I may have never seen you again! You're the one who decided that you'd rather leave me in the dark–like someone off the street–like someone who doesn't mean a thing to you! I had to find out from Catherine that you were already on your way there! You tell me–how can I count on "you?"

"But I "didn't" get blown up," he said as he struggled to hold her still.

"But you didn't know that when you left the lab! You didn't know if you'd ever come back again!" Her struggling slowed as she let her arms drop in defeat. "You nearly got killed–and you didn't even notice that I was standing there with my heart racing so fast it hurt. I wasn't important enough to even want solace from. You didn't even know I was there."

"I'm sorry–but I had just been blown halfway through a building, how could I help it if my mind wasn't clear enough to see you?"

"Your mind was clear enough," she said in a barely audible voice. "Your mind was clear enough to make you decide you had to go out there and risk your life in the first place without considering how I would feel about it."

"I knew how you'd feel about it!" He said forcefully. "I knew you'd be angry! I knew you'd be frightened! So, I left without telling you–I wanted to spare you all that!"

She looked up at him slowly, sad brown eyes meeting irritated blue ones. "Instead, you left me feeling hurt, plus frightened and angry. It was so much better this way."

"You can't fault me for wanting to keep you safe."

"Keep me safe? How does your going off to be blown up–keep me safe?"

"By not letting you know. By telling Catherine to not let you know, so you wouldn't have the opportunity to go with them. By having you stay here."

"You told Catherine not to tell me? How? What reasons could you possibly have come up with for her not to tell me? You certainly didn't let her know you wanted to keep me safe because you "cared" about me."

He dropped his gaze from hers. "I told her you'd be a liability. . .because you'd let your emotions for me overrule your head."

This time, she dropped her eyes from him as she tried to step out of his arms. "Oh, let me go, Grissom. I'm not going to hit you again."

He released her and watched as she went to the side of her bed and lay down, pulling the sheet and blanket over herself as she curled herself into practically the fetal position.

"Sara. . ."

"Go home, Grissom. I'm feeling extremely tired right now. I think I need to get some sleep."

She listened as he walked out of the room, then turned her face into her pillow, wanting to simply get lost in the bliss of sleep. It was only a moment before she felt her mattress dip under his weight as he got in on the other side of the bed, having evidently left the room to put his jacket in the closet, and removed his shoes. She knew she should tell him to leave, just so she had a shred of self-esteem left, but she was stripped of all her strength, both emotionally and physically. She felt his hand touch her shoulder, then move down around her waist as he pulled her back against the hard length of his body, moving his other arm to pillow her head. He pressed his legs behind hers, spooning her as he lay quietly for a moment. When he finally spoke, he sounded reluctant to express what he had been holding inside, but quietly–gently, he began.

"I wanted you to stay away from the danger. You can blame me for that much. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. As for what I told Catherine–it was the only thing I could think of and I believe, that to a certain point, she agreed with me. She was concerned for your welfare also. If you want to know why I didn't acknowledge you after the explosion, I can only say that I hadn't seen you. If you remember, I thought you were safe and secure back at the lab." He paused as if trying to think how to go on. "I can't say I was very pleased with you when I "did" find out that you had insisted on going along. After that, my focus was on getting Nick back–that meant not stopping to ask how you were dealing with everything, because I knew it wouldn't be enough for me–I'd want to take you aside and comfort you, give you the support that I know you needed. But I couldn't to take the time to do that. I had to get Nick back."

"I know that. I knew you were completely absorbed with getting Nick. I never said I didn't understand that. Do you know how much I wanted to pull you off that plexiglass box so nothing could happen to you?"

"Yes–I know. You had to have felt the same as I did when Catherine told us it was rigged–and I looked down to see you about to lift the lid to release Nick. I never had a fear rush through me as I did when I watched you so close disaster." He kissed the back of her head and pulled her more tightly against him as if he wanted to make sure she was there, safe in his arms and not blown up by a madman's trap. "I knew you were mad at me. I "needed" you out there–did you know that? All I wanted was to get you in the Denali and drive back to the hospital, but Ecklie got into the front with me, and when I looked for you, I saw you getting in the car with Brass. You barely looked at me while we were at the hospital. I would have easily taken you to the coffee shop for something to drink, just so I could pull you aside somewhere and hold you as I'm holding you now. Then when we went back to the lab–you rode with Brass again. I knew you were angry."

"I wasn't angry, Griss. I was hurt. As far as I could see, you didn't want me to ride with you, so I went with Jim. I thought "you" were avoiding "me" at the hospital." She turned around and faced him, allowing him to slide his thigh between her legs in a comfortable position that they were getting used to. "And when you left with Catherine–I assumed you were avoiding me again. And–you had already left the lab by the time I got there with Jim."

"Because I was filthy, sweaty, and smelled. All I wanted to do was go home, get a quick shower, then get over here so I could hold onto something full of life–something warm and eager for my touch."

She smiled weakly at him. "And you got a slap in the face for the effort."

"I wasn't really counting on that part of the deal." He smiled back at her. "The beard cushioned the blow, though. Just don't make a habit of it."

"As long as you don't make a habit out of running off into danger without letting me know first."

"I guess I can inform you from now on. No point in not doing so–you were there anyway. I'm finding that you're very insistent when you want to be." He reached up and rubbed his face where she had made contact.

"I'm–so–sorry."

She reached up and traced her finger over the area she had struck, turning his head slightly so it was available for her gentle kiss. She watched as he closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing her the freedom to do as she wanted. She repeatedly kissed him with gentle caresses, gradually moving toward his mouth and when her lips touched his, he took over, moving her onto her back. He was a master at the art of kissing. She was always lost when he kissed her like this, letting his tongue play with her; tease her, then build up to a scorching flame. His hand slipped inside of her robe and splayed across her chest, just below her breasts, moving slightly until he was lightly teasing her stomach with his touch.

"So, am I," he told her, making her pull a millimeter away.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, too."

"Oh, I forgot what we were talking about," she said almost in a sigh.

"You forgot." He smiled at her.

"I can't seem to help it. When you kiss me, I can't keep my mind on anything else."

"Ohh," he teased. "I'll keep that in mind. It comes in handy when we're fighting–you forget what we were fighting about."

"I didn't forget." She tugged on his shirt for emphasis.

"You didn't forget the fight–just the apology part."

"Gilbert?" She asked softly as she looked at him.

"Hmm?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

He didn't disappoint her as he did just that, but when she normally would have pushed farther and started caressing him, she simply ended the kiss, then looked up into his amazing blue eyes. She allowed him to slowly peel open her robe and let his gaze wander down over body, sending a thrill through her as he seemed to drink in every inch of her.

"We don't have to do this," he said gently as he looked back up to her face. "This isn't why I came here. I only intended to hold you, or have you hold me. I was searching for your strength–your warmth."

"I want you to make love to me, Gil. I want to feel you needing me."

He resumed his kiss, sliding his hand over her arm and shoulder, stroking her throat, then traveling back down to her breasts. She slid her hand up his shirt, carefully unbuttoning each button until she pressed it back from his shoulders. She took in the texture of the hair on his chest, tracing her fingernails down over his skin and feeling a shiver run through him. She let him skillfully work his magic on her, beginning to tremble as he reached between her thighs with feather-light caresses. She immediately opened his belt, then undid his pants and pushed them down over his hips, watching as he paused long enough to push off them the rest of the way before kicking them off the end of the bed. His hands were back on her instantly as his mouth moved to her breast, taking her nipple in complete gentleness as he slid his tongue over it, circled it, then suckled until the gentleness was gone. She couldn't seem to stop her hands as they moved through his hair, cradling him against her as she moaned her pleasure. She could feel his length pressing against her hip, feel the hair of his thigh as he moved his leg over her and gently rocked against her. When his fingers slid between her folds and slid her length, her breathing went shallow, and when he dipped lower and pushed his two large fingers inside, her breath caught in her throat. He moved against her, just as her hips were rolling against his hand, both seeking satisfaction. He settled himself between her thighs and positioned himself then sunk deeply inside of her.

"God, Sara–this is what I needed. I needed to feel you surrounding me, holding me so I have something stable to grasp onto." He lifted his head and looked down at her. "You are so beautiful."

"Even with wet hair?" She breathed as she held her arms around his back and watched him intently.

"Even with wet hair," he assured her as he started moving within her.

She could feel him watching her as he took her to a level of pleasure she was quickly becoming very familiar with; was becoming addicted to. He held onto her tightly as he pumped against her, watching her the whole time, even as she arched against him and threw her head back against the pillow, letting the waves of bliss flow through her. He let out a low moan and pressed deeply, once, twice, and the third time she could feel him shudder as his seed flooded through her. He collapsed almost immediately, then turned onto his side and pulled her with him as he hugged her to him tightly.

"I love you, Gil," she whispered, but knew he was already sleeping as his complete exhaustion finally took its toll.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

It took several weeks, but Grissom finally got what he had requested. He had his guys back. As he pulled on a blue polo shirt and a pair of jeans that were a bit tighter than he usually wore, he wondered at the logic of this. They were celebrating their reunion as a crew; an idea that Catherine came up with and Warrick and Nick vehemently supported. Nick had suggested the Blue Dixie, while Warrick thought the Fire and Rain would be a good place to meet. Greg said they should compromise and came up with Sundyle which was a combination of country, soft nostalgic rock and new hits. After a brief discussion, they all agreed to meet at the Sundyle, which was a little bar, off the beaten track so far that its closest neighbor was nearly half a mile away.

It had been agreed between himself and Sara that they would arrive separately, each deciding they wouldn't be drinking so they could be the designated drivers for the others if they were needed. Grissom also thought they could maintain better control if they weren't inebriated. Grissom sat in his car for a few moments, seeing Nick and Greg already standing outside, waiting for the rest of them. He took a deep breath and opened his door, joining them in the neon lights that shone from the blinking sign above them. After a few minutes, Brass pulled into the parking lot, looking a little foreign in his jeans and button-down shirt that had the top three buttons undone. He received raised-brow glances from Greg and Grissom as Nick merely smiled, happy that he joined them. It wasn't long before Catherine pulled up, getting out of her car and receiving a low whistle from Nick as Greg voiced his appreciation with a low "Wow!" Seeing Catherine in three inch heels, a denim mini-skirt and a tank top that was so tight it didn't cast a shadow, was nothing new to Grissom. He had seen her like that enough in the past, especially while she was still married to Eddie and they would go out. It was the hiss coming from Brass that sounded like a tire going flat, that turned Grissom's gaze to his friend. Another raised brow occurred as he saw the way Brass seemed mesmerized by the woman. Grissom couldn't understand how a man could get so manipulated by a woman's attire so quickly. The surprise came when the next car pulled in, and Sophia exited her car.

"How did she know we'd be here?" Catherine asked as they watched her approaching from the distance.

"I ran into her earlier today and I might have mentioned it," Greg said.

""I thought she moved to Boulder City," Catherine said distastefully.

"She did. She said she came back to handle some unfinished business."

Grissom watched as Sophia singled him out and wouldn't remove her gaze the entire time she approached them. A quick glimpse showed her tight jeans and blouse she had opened, exposing the tops of her breasts and some of her bra. He gave a deep sigh, hoping this evening wasn't going to turn into a complete disaster once Sara discovered the other woman's presence.

"Grissom," Sophia walked up next to him and leaned against the log fence that he was leaning against.

"Hello, Sophia," Grissom said politely, then saw the next two vehicles pull into the lot almost simultaneously.

Warrick got out of his car, and seeing Sara, waited for her then they walked together toward the

group. Grissom could see the black lace that trimmed her white blouse, dipping so low that he was sure Warrick was getting a million-dollar-view of breast as he looked down at her on their journey to the bar. Grisoom couldn't quite see past the row of cars that blocked Sara's lower half until they finally rounded the last vehicle and strolled down the wide lane to the entrance. He felt a tightening beginning at the very top of his head, and he was certain that his hair must be standing on end. The tightness went to his chest as he inhaled sharply, and his first instinct was to meet her before she could come any farther, and either take her by the shoulders and shake her for coming to a bar dressed like that, or simply pull her along until he was in his car and driving home where only he could look at her and touch her.

A quick glance at Greg and Nick showed the younger man almost salivating as he watched Sara approaching in her heeled sandals and black leather skirt that traveled no farther than three inches below her bottom, and if he actually measured it, it might be closer to two inches. Nick, again, was smiling broadly as he stood erect from the slouched position he had occupied on the other side of Grissom.

"Woe! Look at you!" Nick called to her. "I can see you're ready to turn the town upside down."

Grissom watched how Sara's eyes went from Nick, to whom she gave a brilliant smile, then to Sophia where the smile diminished significantly. By the time her eyes met Grissom's he could see that she wasn't happy about the other woman's presence. As he felt Sophia's hand settle on his forearm, he glanced over to see what the woman wanted and received a smile that he didn't know how to react to. Quickly turning his attention back to Sara, he saw that she was already reaching for Nick's arm that he had extended for her. He watched as the whole gang entered ahead of him and Sophia and noted how Sara and Nick's head were tilted toward each other as they walked and she laughed at his comments.

They found two tables near the corner of the bar and as Grissom moved to the one closest to where Nick and Sara were standing, Sophia quickly took the seat next to him. Without even glancing at the two of them, Sara moved with Nick to the other table and was quickly joined by Catherine, who was soon joined by Brass, leaving Warrick and Greg to sit with Grissom and Sophia.

Grissom's seat faced the other table and he watched as orders were placed for drinks, seeing that Sara had, as planned, ordered a Diet Pepsi, then when the waitress came to their table, he similarly ordered a non-alcoholic beverage.

Grissom vaguely heard Sophia saying something and when he glanced back at her, he saw that she was waiting for some kind of response from him.

"What?" He asked blankly.

"Looks like I should have went with a skirt, as well, tonight."

"They are lovely, aren't they?" He asked as he looked back at Catherine and Sara, who already seemed to be enjoying themselves as they laughed at teasing comments coming from both Brass and Nick.

"Well," she said slowly, bringing his attention back to her as she looked at him with that inviting smile that he had seen numerous times over the past several months. "I might have a denim skirt or two in my closet–but I don't think I could go so far as to wear one made of leather."

"Why not?' Greg asked sincerely. "Sara looks great in hers."

"Get your eyes back in your head, Romeo," Warrick told him then sat back in his seat as he looked over at the other table. "Why don't you go start the music?"

"Any suggestions?" Greg asked as he got up and looked at the other three.

"Something slow and sweet," Sophia purred.

"Anything that will make the ladies move," Warrick told him.

"Anyone want to go pick songs?" Greg asked the occupants of the next table, getting Catherine and Nick out of their seats immediately.

Within minutes the jukebox was programmed with their selected songs, and Nick and Catherine went to the middle of the floor.

"I love this song," Catherine said as she put her hands on Nick's shoulders and he held her waist. "I haven't heard it in years."

"How about it, Cookie?" Brass asked Sara. "Want to have a go at it?"

Sara nodded her head and got up to the music of Johnny Rivers singing "Swayin' to the Music." Grissom watched as Brass held Sara's attention, making her smile at him as he evidently was teasing her about something.

"Sophia?" Warrick asked. "Want to dance?"

Grissom didn't hear her answer; he was more interested in watching the way Sara's hips gently moved to the music. Finally, he heard Sophia's chair scrape across the floor as she went to dance with Warrick.

"Well," Greg sighed as he took his seat across from Grissom. "Just you and me."

"What are you saying, Greg?" Grissom asked. "That you want to dance with me?"

"No!" Greg said with a pout. "It's just that we should have gotten more girls to even it out."

"I'm fine sitting here. And I'm sure if you wait for this song to end, one of the ladies will gladly fill your dance card."

Greg picked up the beer that was waiting for him and drank some, watching with Grissom as the song changed to the Temptations "Just My Imagination." Sara and Brass seemed to be so involved in their conversation that they scarcely stopped dancing between songs, while Nick and Warrick changed partners. After that, Nick released Sophia and approached Sara, asking her to dance to Garth Brooks' "On a Prayer," as Brass returned to Grissom's table and sat next to him. Grissom watched as Sophia started toward him, but Greg got to his feet and took her hand, escorting her back to dance with him.

"I don't think she wanted to dance with Greg," Brass chuckled as he watched Greg and the now-stone-faced Sophia.

"Give him a minute–he'll win her over. He can win anyone over. Hell, he's so good at using those puppy-dog-eyes that he almost had me convinced to go out and dance with him."

Brass chuckled again, as he lifted his glass of whiskey and took a drink, then looked back at his friend. "Are you going to let all the young pups corner the market on the women?"

"I guess I am."

"Ah, that's a shame," Brass looked into his drink. "Because I know of one of those ladies who's a joy to dance with."

"So I've seen," Grissom smiled at Jim. "So, why haven't you danced with her yet? Nick and Warrick are keeping Catherine so busy out there that buy the time you work up the courage to ask her, she'll be too tired."

"Ah-hah," Brass sneered. "Very funny."

When the song finished, Sophia wasted little time returning to her seat next to Grissom and although Greg was eager enough to dance with either Catherine or Sara, they both came back to get their drinks. Grissom noticed that when they returned to their chairs, Sara sat with her back to him while sitting across from Nick, and he could have sworn that the dark-haired man kept a constant gaze on her cleavage.

"Alright," Catherine got up from the table and pulled her chair back, clearly beginning to feel a little "happy" from her drinks. "I've had enough of this. Let's push the tables together so we can socialize. I feel like I'm abandoning Jim and Griss."

"Well, Jeez," Greg moped as he got up from his seat so they could push their table against theirs. "Thanks a lot."

"You too, Greg!" Catherine assured him, then turned to face the bar. "Hey–we need refills over here."

"Okay, Red," Brass said to Catherine. "Now how are we all supposed to sit around the table? We lost two sides. Only six can fit."

"We–cuddle," Catherine chuckled as she pushed the chairs closer so that there were three on each side with one at each end.

Brass moved to one of the end seats, adjacent to Grissom, and Sophia leaped at the opportunity to take the seat on the other side of him, even if it did mean she had two table legs invading her space. She simply moved even closer to Grissom. Greg took the next seat, while Catherine took the end seat opposite Brass. Sara sat next to Catherine, followed by Nick and then Warrick. As the drinks continued to flow, Grissom noticed how the music was getting faster and faster, and it wasn't long before Catherine couldn't seem to control herself and was up, grabbing Greg's hand to join her on the dance floor.

"Sara?" Warrick asked, and after a quick glance at Grissom, she took Warrick's hand and went out to dance to Cher singing the "Shoop Shoop Song." Nick and Brass simply remained seated, evidently neither being interested in dancing with the blond who was sitting so close to Grissom by now that he could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"So, Nick," Sophia asked. "Are you the mysterious new man in Sara's life?"

Nick simply looked at her and sniffed. "I should be so lucky."

"Then it must be Greg–I can't imagine her finding anything outside of work. She never leaves the lab."

"Sara leaves the lab," Grissom assured her. "She might be a dedicated employee, but I see that she has an adequate amount of time away from us."

Tina Turner started singing "Better Be Good to Me" and Nick smiled over at Grissom. "Hey, boss-man. If I were you, I'd run out there and dance this one with one of those two. I'm sure they'll dance this one to death."

"What do you mean by that?" Sophia asked as she put her arm on the back of Grissom's chair and leaned closer to him.

"I mean–they both know how to move their bodies to this kind of music and make a man glad to be alive."

"Uh–that's only if that man can keep up with her," Grissom explained with a smirk, watching both women doing just as Nick had described. They seemed to be poetry in motion.

"I'm sure any woman in here could do just as well as Catherine and Sara," she said, then smiled as she watched them; a smile that never reached her eyes. "They do make an odd couple, though, don't they? Catherine short and pudgy, and Sara tall and skinny."

"I'd hardly call Catherine pudgy," Brass spoke up quickly. "And she isn't short for a woman. She's average height. As far as Sara being tall and skinny–she's got curves in all the right places. I don't see a man in here that's taking offense to watching them out there."

"You seem to be quite a fan of the two of them, Brass," Sophia turned to look at him. "Everyone knows Sara's into older men–maybe "you're" her secret boyfriend."

"Sara's personal life is her own to deal with," Grissom told her as he stared at his glass of soda.

"Yes," Sophia agreed. "So, I've heard. So private, in fact, that her last boyfriend's fiancé wasn't aware of her."

Nick looked over at Sophia, he seemed to study her with a distaste that he rarely showed for another human being.

"You guys sure neither of you wants to go take a turn?" Nick asked, trying to change the subject.

"I think I'll sit the next few out," Brass told him.

"Okay, have it your way–but I'm not passing up the chance." Nick's brows raised with interest as the song changed to Robert Palmer singing "Addicted to Love." "Ah, man! I can't pass this one up."

Before poor Greg realized what was going on, he was again without a partner as Warrick moved to Catherine and Nick moved up to dance with Sara. Catherine displayed all of her skills she must have had as a dancer in her earlier years, keeping Warrick's attention firmly on her as he tried to keep up. Nick, on the other hand, moved to stand behind Sara, both moving their hips simultaneously to the beat of the song, his hands sliding up over her arms and down again before holding her hands as they moved together.

Grissom's eyes were cemented on Sara and Nick, wondering just how much longer she could dance with him before the sight of her hips grinding to the music overwhelmed the man. It certainly was effecting him, Grissom thought as he moved uncomfortably in his chair. Another round of drinks and Sophia was so close now that as she held her arm on the back of his chair, she leaned into him, then turned her face to whisper into his ear.

"What do ya think, Griss? Think you can manage that?"

But Grissom didn't answer as he watched in fascination as Sara suddenly stopped dancing and stormed up to the table. She stopped at Catherine's seat and grabbed what was left of the other woman's drink and downed it then slammed the glass back down on the table.

"What's the matter, Sophia? You cold?"

"No–why?" Sophia smiled at her. "Anyway, if I were cold, I could always cuddle up against Griss. He's got plenty of body heat."

Grissom, as usual, couldn't think fast enough to counter Sophia's remark, so when Sara then grabbed Nick's beer and started drinking from it he could only stare at her.

"Sara," Grissom began slowly, as if talking to a child. "I thought you were going to be a designated driver tonight."

Sara smiled wickedly at him, then turned around and re-joined Nick while keeping the bottle in her hands and drinking from it as she danced with him. Nick hardly seemed to notice as he was having the time of his life adjusting his body to fit with hers as they moved in what could only be described as complete symmetry. Whether they danced facing one another, or with Nick plastered up against Sara's back with his hands spread across her abdomen, it was getting hard to distinguish between the two bodies. This time when the waitress brought another round of drinks, Grissom ordered a double scotch and tried to ignore the chuckling coming from his friend sitting across from him.

"Ah, this is getting better all the time," Greg said as he watched the four on the dance floor, then quickly jumped from his chair and went back to the jukebox, stuffing more bills into it.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Santana filled the bar with "Smooth" and Nick gave no indications that he was ready to stop, but when Greg stepped up, he reluctantly gave up Sara. Grissom watched Greg give his best attempt to keep up with Nick's moves as Nick returned to the table carrying two bottles of beer.

"Wow! That girl can move," Nick said, his face somewhat red from exertion, then noticed the bottle of scotch sitting in front of Grissom. "I thought you were doing the soda-thing tonight; someone to drive us home if we need it."

"I'm taking over that job," Brass told him. "I stopped when he started–that was about three shots ago."

"Man, you ought to be feelin' fine by now," Nick looked at Grissom with wonder. "An hour ago, you weren't even drinking yet."

"I figure a few more shots and he should be out there, dancing with me to "Addicted to Love," Sophia told him.

"I'm not. . ." Grissom started, but Nick interrupted him.

"You have to get your men drunk so they'll dance with ya?"

"No!" Sophia said indignantly as she sat a little straighter, but still kept her arm across the back of Grissom's chair.

"Hey!" Catherine's voice came from directly behind Nick, making him jump with a start. "Did Nick say you have to get your men drunk to dance with you?"

"I do not!" Sophia argued.

"Hey! Sara! Come here–you gotta hear this!" Catherine called.

Grissom leaned back in his chair, knowing that although he was starting to feel a bit fuzzy, both Catherine and Sara ought to be feeling no pain either. He watched as Sara moved with Greg until they were standing next to Catherine. At this point he didn't know what to expect, but as he leaned back in his seat to watch the scene unfold, it didn't occur to him that it looked very much like he was leaning back into Sophia's embrace.

"Really?" Sara asked as she looked coldly at Grissom. "What do I have to hear?"

"Nothing," Sophia spoke up.

"I'd say it's something," Catherine laughed. "Sophia, old girl, has to get her men drunk to dance with her."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Sara said civilly enough as she eyed the Grissom and Sophia.

"I do not!" Sophia insisted.

"So, that's why Grissom's off his "designated driver" wagon tonight?" Sara asked.

"I'm not drunk," Grissom said sternly as he watched the gorgeous brunette standing before him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to amputate Greg's hands as they rested on her waist. "And I'm not her. . ."

"Oh, come on. I'll show her how to make a man dance." Catherine had Grissom's hand before he realized it and pulled him to his feet.

"I'm not dancing to Santana, Catherine," he told her.

"That's alright," Catherine urged him. "I've got that covered. Just wait a few seconds."

They listened to the final notes of "Smooth" before it changed over to Bad English doing "When I See You Smile."

"Did you have this planned?" He asked as he walked with the redhead to the center of the floor.

"Of course," she laughed at him as he put his arms around her and they started moving to the music. "I had Greg play something slow so we could get you out of your seat and away from that poison."

"Get "me" away from that poison? You've been drinking just as much as I've been."

"That's not the poison I'm talking about, and you know it, Dr. Grissom. You know, you're not looking like the happiest camper tonight. Is there somewhere you'd rather be?"

"Back at the lab would be an improvement."

"Other than that. There isn't a certain CSI agent that you're sitting there pouting over, is there?"

"I never pout," Grissom told her.

"Okay, not pouting. How about sitting there sizzling, instead?"

"Oh? So, now I sizzle? I'm glad to hear that."

"Well, sizzle or not–you can't seem to take your eyes off of our lovely little girl in leather."

"Really? And just how can you know that when you've been occupied with Warrick, Greg and Nick all night?"

"I'm not that drunk, Gil. I can see things."

"Yes, you are." He smiled down at her.

"I'm what?" She looked confused.

"That drunk. You're seeing things now."

"Oh, I don't think so, Gilbert Grissom." She giggled. "Go on, admit it. You want to kiss her."

The fact was that he wanted to do a lot more than that, but he'd not admit it to Catherine. "You're imagining things."

"Okay. Whatever you say. But be warned–we've got more songs coming up that will put Nicky-Boy in the mood for some dirty dancin', and the two of them fit together so well."

He simply smiled down at her then paused as he noticed Sophia standing next to Catherine and tapping her on the shoulder.

"Catherine–my turn."

"What do you want? Go away," Catherine moved her hand as if swatting at an irritating insect.

"I'm cutting in."

"Women don't cut in!" Catherine still refused to give up Grissom. "Only men can cut in!"

"Women's rights, you know. Step into the twenty-first century."

"No. Now, go away. Gil and I are having an amazing conversation about how to disengage unwanted parasites. Now–shoo!"

"Come on, Sophia," Brass took the blonde's hands and turned her into his arms and across the dance floor.

"That was nasty," Grissom told Catherine with a smirk.

"I know! Can you imagine?" Catherine retorted, keeping a warning eye on Sophia as they continued to dance. "Trying to cut in on me–how rude!"

"I meant, you were nasty to her."

"Gil?"

"Yes, Catherine."

"Who fuckin' cares?" She moved with him until the song finished, then he walked her back to their tables where she grabbed onto Warrick's hand when Kiss's "I was Made for Loving You," started.

Grissom glanced around and didn't see Sara immediately, then found her at the bar waiting for a drink. He approached her, then reached into the peanut basket and started shelling one as he leaned his elbows on the bar next to her.

"You look like you're having a good time tonight," he said casually, turning her gaze toward him.

"I could say the same about you. I noticed that you took the seat toward the back, so no one could see what her other hand was doing beneath the table."

Grissom nearly choked on the peanut he just popped into his mouth, then turned to look at her. "That isn't why I sat there. And she hasn't been doing anything with her other hand. You're the one out here dancing with Nick an Greg, running your hands over them so much it could be considered a full body massage."

When ELO's "Hold on Tight" began, Greg was standing between them so quickly that he nearly knocked Grissom over.

"Come on, Sara! We can do this!"

"Oh, I don't know, Greg." She looked at him with apology. "I'm getting a little tired."

"Ah, come on–no one can pass this song up!"

"She said she's tired," Grissom told the younger man sternly.

"Don't," Sara said quietly to Grissom, "I'll dance with whomever I want." She took Greg's hand and started the fast acceleration across the floor.

Grissom picked up Sara's drink, noticing that she was once again back to Diet Pepsi, and he took it back to the table for her. When he saw Sophia approaching him, he excused himself and went to the restroom. He took his time washing his hands in the bathroom, not in any particular hurry to rejoin the party, but once he did, he felt his pulse speed up significantly with irritation. He first noticed the song, "Do You Love Me" by the Contours, then he noticed "her." Sara was dancing with Nick again, only it seemed more like something straight from a Patrick Swayze movie. They got so involved in their performance that Catherine and Warrick stopped their interaction to watch them. Eventually, Greg joined the audience as they started edging the dark-haired couple on with their comments and when the song finally ended, Sara and Nick were laughing and had their arms around one another from sheer exhaustion.

"Wow," Sophia told Grissom. "They sure know how to turn up the heat."

Sara moved off the dance floor and went in the direction that Grissom had left only minutes before, and after waiting a few seconds, Grissom got to his feet again.

"Excuse me–I–have to use the restroom."

"You just went," Sophia objected, but he kept walking.

"He has a sensitive stomach," Brass explained. "IBS."

"IBS?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah–it's called irritable bowel syndrome. It causes him all kinds of trouble when we're working a case together." Jim lied to the woman sitting with him.

Grissom went down the dim hallway that lead to three doors, one on either side (the men's room and the ladies' room), and one at the end of the hall, only inches away from the other two. He tried the end door and found it lead to the back of the parking lot, then he turned around and waited. It was about five minutes before Sara, opened the door and started to take a step into the hallway, but stopped when she saw him standing there.

"Did you get lost?" Sara asked. "Sophia isn't in there. You might find her out at the table where she's. . ."

She didn't have the opportunity to answer as Grissom pushed her back against the wall and stared at her. She was about to open her mouth to make another comment but he covered her lips with his own, sliding his tongue inside and tasting the beer and wine she had consumed. He felt her hands pushing at him for a second or two, then he felt her give in to her desires as she grabbed onto his neck and started kissing him back. Even as he kissed her, he glanced around, then pulled her with him until they were standing outside the back door, where he moved her farther along the wall until they were standing completely in the shadows.

"What are you doing?" She breathed against his mouth as his hands ran over her waist and hips, pulling her against him until he grasped onto her leather-covered behind. "Shouldn't you be in there with. . ."

"Don't say it," Grissom pushed her back against the wall again and pressed himself against her. "You know better. You know I've been watching you all night. Every time you'd move against Nick, you knew you were making me want you more and more."

"By being with Nick?" She asked in a confused whisper.

"No! By wanting to be where Nick was. I told you before–I don't share."

He moved his kiss down her neck, stopping only when he got to her breasts that were partially revealed beneath the black lace. He impatiently grabbed the bottom of her blouse and yanked it up, showcasing the flimsy bra she was wearing, then he pushed that up, also, freeing her mounds of flesh for his enjoyment. He dipped his head, taking first one nipple between his teeth, then the other, then moved his kiss back to her lips as his hands took over where his mouth had just been. She grabbed onto his belt loops and started pulling his hips against her more tightly and as she was unable to find the satisfaction she was seeking, she pulled his thigh between hers.

"I want to go home. Now!" Grissom said, pulling himself away from her before he disgraced himself by spilling his seed while still inside his jeans. He certainly couldn't explain the wet area of his pants once he returned inside.

"We can't," she responded through a haze of desire as he massaged her breasts and she continued to seek pleasure on his thigh. "Everyone will know, if we both leave now."

"I'm telling you–I "have" to go home now!" He said more insistently this time, forcing her out of her semi-focused state as he began covering her breasts again with her bra and blouse. "If I don't leave right now, I'll never be able to explain the mess in my jeans."

She stared at him blankly then gave him a devilish smile. She grabbed his hand and started toward her car which was about fifty feet from where they stood, and about one hundred feet from the front entrance where the neon sign still blinked its welcome. She opened the passenger's door and sat down then switched off the dome lights so they were almost completely in darkness. As he looked around, he saw that they were parked so far from the building that even if anyone had been searching for them, he'd see them long before they would even glimpse him. He looked down at her long, sleek legs as they flowed out the car's doorway and he felt his erection grow even tighter, but when she turned back toward him and ran her tongue over her lips, he knew he was lost. He had never really done this before–not out in the open like this. He was much to conservative to do such a thing–and all the women he had dated over the years were as conservative as he–well, almost all of them. But he certainly didn't want to think about that one right now. His eyes darted around the area as he held onto the top of the door with one hand and the roof with the other, and he could see that he was in no danger of being exposed.

He felt a moment of discomfort as she tried to release him from the confines of his tight pants, then he was suddenly free and throbbing. Her hand surrounded him, stroking him only twice before she leaned into him and let her tongue slide over his tip. He swallowed a moan and couldn't help but watch as her dark head moved closer as her lips enveloped him and she took as much of him as she was capable into her mouth. The combination of her tongue sliding up his length alternating with her sucking and nipping at him had his hips jerking forward involuntarily, then after nearly five minutes of this delicious torture, he couldn't help it but put his right hand to the back of her head and help guide her to coincide with his movements. When he came, he had to bite his lip in an effort to keep the sounds from escaping his throat. He slowly pulled back and watched as she looked up at him with that peaceful smile he had fallen in love with. She took a tissue from its holder, then dabbed at her lips, watching him as he readjusted himself and closed his pants. He took a step back and held his hand out to her, assisting her to her feet, then closing the car door. But instead of leaving right away, he held her against the car and brought his mouth to capture hers again.

"Mmm," Sara sighed into his mouth, then pulled back slightly. "Gil, if you don't stop it right now, you'll never be in any condition to go back into the bar."

He leaned his forehead against hers in resignation, then pulled back and looked at her. "I'm still ready to go home right now."

"But, we can't. You drank too much, and we can't leave together."

"We could have if you hadn't started drinking too. You could've been "my" designated driver."

"Now, why didn't we think of that before?" She teased as her hand went to his cheek in a gesture that was becoming familiar and very welcome to him. "Come on. We'll just have to go back in and try to act normally."

"No more dancing tonight–okay?" He asked and she smiled gently as if he were a child that needed reassurance. "I can't take watching you like that anymore tonight."

"Alright," she said slowly. "As long as you sling that piece of shit off your arm that's seemed to have been firmly attached all night."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he chuckled and gave her another kiss, then took her hand and started walking toward the back entrance that they had come out of earlier. "So, how are you going to fight off your admirers once we get inside?"

"I wouldn't exactly call them admirers," she said a bit self-consciously. "But, to answer your question–I'll tell them I have a blister from my new shoes. That should satisfy them."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Grissom had been sitting in the seat closest to the corner of the room as Sara sat adjacent to him with her back to the wall. She managed to slide the edge of the tablecloth over her lap so no one really noticed that she was slouched slightly in her seat, just as no one noticed that she had her foot sitting on Grissom's thigh as he massaged the soreness from her. She had only exaggerated mildly when she told the guys that she was getting a blister on her foot. The fact was that she hadn't danced like this in heels for years, and she was quite unaccustomed to them. So, while the two of them finally had the opportunity to be alone at the table, Grissom reached under the table to place his hand on her knee, then reached farther and pulled her calf up until her foot rested on his lap. He leaned back in his seat as he unbuckled her strap and pulled the shoe off, then dropped it to the floor. She couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped her lips as his thumbs and fingers went to work on her foot. She also couldn't stop the smile of absolute adoration that spread across her lips as she watched him. He was so goddamned handsome as he leaned carelessly back in his seat, looking more relaxed than he certainly had been all night, maybe more relaxed since they had last made love two days before. The way he was looking at her made her heart race madly, and she was truly beginning to read that look and knew exactly what he had on his mind. She knew he was very vividly remembering what had occurred in the parking lot before they came back inside. She knew her evening was only just beginning where Gilbert Grissom was concerned.

"Well, do you think you're in any shape to drive now?" Brass asked as he walked up to the table with his arm around an unstable Catherine's waist. "You've been downing soda for the past two hours."

"If he isn't, I am," Sara told him with a gentle smile. "I haven't had a drink since around ten o'clock."

"Sounds good to me," Brass told them, then turned to look at the redhead in his arms. "What do ya say, Red? Time to call it a night?"

Catherine snickered as she looked at Sara, then held her hand to the side of her mouth as if sharing a secret with her. "He called me Red."

Sara chuckled at them, and watched as Nick and Greg sauntered up to the table and plopped in seats. Warrick moved to stand behind them, then glanced around the room, seeing Brass escorting Catherine out of the building.

"Looks like Catherine's gonna have to come back for her car tomorrow."

"I think maybe Nick and Greg should come back tomorrow as well," Grissom told him as he watched the way Nick was staring at something under the table with complete fascination, and Greg was completely absorbed in trying to catch a fly that was walking across the top of Nick's shoulder.

"Hey! What are ya doin'?" Nick asked when Greg's hand came down on his shoulder with a sharp slap.

Greg smiled as he held his hand closed, then opened it to reveal his treasure. "Fly," he explained, then saw that his hand was empty.

"What's this?" Nick finally reached for the object he had been staring at, retrieving a heeled sandal from the floor. He held it up and inspected it more closely. "Someone lost their shoe."

Sara put her foot back down on the floor, then reached across the table and took her shoe back. "It's mine. I told you they hurt my feet."

"Oh," Nick smiled a huge grin at her. "And here I thought I had found my Cinderella–glass slipper and all."

"Yeah–well, come on Prince Charming. I'll give you a lift home." Warrick waited for Nick to get to his feet.

Nick started to leave, then turned back toward Sara and Grissom. He bowed slightly, then leaned over the table and kissed Sara's cheek. "You were wonderful tonight, Sara. We've got to go dancing again real soon–okay?"

"That would be nice," Sara told him, not wishing to get into too much of a conversation with the gentleman as she knew he was quite inebriated and probably wouldn't remember most of what happened this night anyway.

Nick stood erect again, or as erect as he could manage, and Warrick put his hand on his shoulder to steady him, then nodded his goodbye as they left the building.

"Hey," Greg said as he tried again to catch the fly, this time wandering across the table. "Has anyone see Sophia lately? The last I saw of her, she was rushing toward the bathroom. But that was about an hour or so ago."

"Greg, she was just talking to you and Nick about fifteen minutes ago." Sara jumped in response to Grissom's hand that now moved to rest on the inside of her thigh, his message still quite clear as he watched her.

"Oh yeah?" Greg asked. "It seemed longer. Should I go see if she's okay?" Greg started to stand, but Grissom reached over and grabbed his back pants pocket, yanking him back down into his seat. "Hey!"

"You're not going into the woman's bathroom to check on Sophia," Grissom explained. "I don't plan on trying to explain to the police what you were doing in there."

"I'll go check on her," Sara sighed as she slipped her sandal back on then got to her feet and made her way to the other side of the bar.

Sara pushed the door open to the woman's restroom and slowly entered, hearing the retching almost immediately. She felt Sophia had had more than her share of drink when she came back inside with Grissom. The woman very nearly knocked Sara over on her way to get to Grissom and ask how his stomach was. Of course, neither Sara nor Grissom knew just what she was talking about until Brass reminded Grissom about his IBS. Grissom looked at Brass as if he had lost his mind, until Jim informed him that he had been "in the bathroom" for such a long time that he figured it must have been his irritable bowel syndrome acting up again. Sara giggled at that, knowing that if anything had been irritated the last half hour, it certainly wasn't that part of his body.

Sophia started drinking a little faster than before, especially when she noticed that Sara was going to be at the table with no signs of getting up to dance any more that night. When Grissom turned in his chair to face Sara, entering in a conversation that seemed to go on and on without including Sophia, her indignation was complete. She spent the next two hours ordering more beer and trying to get Grissom to have some more scotch, but when that failed, she turned her attention to Warrick and Nick. Evidently the more she drank, the more suitable they became for her superior attentions. She tried to get them to dance with her, but by then, they were both past the point of dancing and were playing pool, so she joined them in a few games.

Now, as Sara entered the restroom, she crossed over to the last stall, seeing the woman's legs, beneath the door, and realizing she was sitting on the floor.

"Sophia?" Sara asked gently.

"What?" She gagged.

"Are you–alright?"

"No!" She spat, then Sara heard the undeniable sound of vomit hitting the inside of the toilet followed by a loud moan. "That goddamned Catherine poisoned me!"

Sara had to smile at that and she moved a little closer, pulling the door open to see her leaning heavily against the toilet rim.

"What makes you think Catherine would poison you?"

"She kept talking about poison to Grissom. She probably planned to use it on me all night."

"Oh, I don't think Catherine wanted to poison you. You must be mistaken."

"No! Of course "you" wouldn't believe it! You're on her side."

Sara didn't answer that, mainly because she most certainly was on "Catherine's" side. But, she knew she couldn't leave Sophia stranded here in the bar, so she resigned herself to help her home as best she could.

"Sophia–do you think you can make it out to my car?"

"No! I want Grissom to take me home." She moved to try to stand, but slipped and fell back onto the floor.

"I'm sure you do," Sara mumbled as she reached in and tried to lift the woman under her arms. "Jeez, you're all dead weight. Can you "try" to get to your feet?"

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Sophia looked at her with accusing eyes as she pushed herself up until she was leaning heavily on her.

"No. I'd never tell anyone they were fat."

"Good–because I'm not! You're just so damned skinny that you look like a starving survivor from a deserted island."

Sara sighed heavily on that, but continued to try to get her out of the stall. "Well, at least I look like a survivor."

"Ya know, I don't know why you hang on to Grissom the way you do. Anyone can see that he isn't interested–at all. He laughs at you–did you know that?"

Sara closed her eyes to try to shut the woman's comments out of her mind. She didn't need to hear this–not when she was just starting to trust Grissom with her heart. She didn't need any doubts rumbling around in her subconscious.

"Grissom is a difficult person to make laugh. I'm flattered that he can laugh at something I've said."

"Yeah–but what's that old saying? He isn't laughing "with" you. He's laughing "at" you. He thinks you're clingy. He thinks you should try to get another paramedic so he can walk through the halls of the lab without worrying if you're around the corner, ready to pounce on him."

"Well, he doesn't have to worry about me pouncing on him at the lab," Sara said stiffly as she started toward the door to the restroom.

"Good," Sophia giggled. "Like he'd be interested in you, anyway! You know, you're not very pretty. You should try someone like–Greg! He's young enough that he won't care that you're so plain." Sophia looked back at Sara with a superior expression (drunk, none the less), as Sara put her hand on the door's knob. "I'm going to have him in my bed tonight. Did you know that? You can go out there and dance in your little leather skirt–but he doesn't even notice. It must really hurt to be ignored like that. But then, you're probably used to it."

It really was an accident–or at least Sara thought it "might" have been an accident. How was she supposed to know that the dumb bitch was going to try to walk through the door just as she was opening it? The bang as the door came in contact with Sophia's head knocked the blonde to her knees. Sara gasped with surprise as she tried to hold the woman up, but when she turned furious eyes on her, she simply let go o her.

"You stupid bitch! You hit me!" Sophia growled at her and tried to get up, clearly in an attempt to charge into Sara, but Sara side-stepped her and watched in shock as Sophia hit her shoulder against the paper towel dispenser and was knocked to the floor a second time. This time when she looked up at Sara, she held her head and looked dazed, on top of being drunk. "What happened?"

"You tripped and hit your head–twice," Sara said to her as she grabbed her upper arm and helped her to her feet again, this time being careful to open the door fully before trying to push the other woman through it.

Once she got her to the front of the bar, Sophia caught sight of Grissom and hurried to him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.

"Oh, Gil–I hit my head! And she wouldn't help me! She was useless!"

Grissom pushed her back at arm's length and looked into her imploring eyes. "You do realize that she almost "carried" you out here, don't you?"

"I just want to go home now, Gil. Can't you just take me home?"

"Of course," he said as he looked over Sophia's head at Sara and Greg. "Looks like you're the only one sober enough to drive, Sara. Let's go."

The fact that Sophia was being escorted to the car by Grissom helped her steps to become more steady. The fact that she was being taken to "Sara's" car went by unnoticed. There seemed to be a glint of triumph when he opened the back door and sat her inside, then went around to the other side. Sara watched in amusement as Grissom opened the other back door and maneuvered Greg in with Sophia, then got into the front seat with her.

"All set?" Sara asked.

"I think we need to go to Sophia's place first."

Things remained quiet in the back seat for about six blocks before Grissom felt a sharp kick in the middle of his back and heard Greg yelp.

"Hey!" Greg said loudly. "What the hell?"

"Come on, honey," Sophia purred. "You know you want to."

"No I don't!" Greg sounded like a frightened child. "Now, stop that!"

"Ohhh, baby," came Sophia's voice again. "You're a big boy, aren't you?"

"Jesus Christ!" Greg nearly jumped to the front seat as he pushed himself farther away from the wondering hands of his backseat companion.

"Are you okay, back there, Greg?" Sara asked, glancing in her rearview mirror to see Sophia begin to bend forward, aiming for Greg's midsection.

"Stop it! There are people in the car with us!" Greg's shock was sounding throughout the car.

Grissom sighed deeply, clearly not wanting to have to deal with this, then turned in his seat. "Good, God!" He grumbled, then shouted loudly. "Sophia! Don't touch Greg anymore! Greg, pull up your zipper!"

"I didn't pull it down! She's like a damned octopus!"

Sophia gave a throaty chuckle as she leaned in to Greg again. "Come on, baby. Make momma happy."

"Oh my God! You want to pretend you're my mother–and you want to do "that" to me?!"

"Does Sara have to pull this car over?" Grissom threatened loudly.

Sophia sat upright and looked around herself, focusing in on Grissom staring at her from the front seat, then she looked at Greg, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Don't touch me, ya little perv!" She said angrily to Greg.

"My pleasure, lady," Greg mumbled.

"Pull in here," Grissom advised Sara as they came to Sophia's home.

Sara no sooner had the car stopped than Greg was outside, standing on the sidewalk, then starting to walk away. Grissom joined him, as did Sara.

"Greg! Where are you going?" Sara called.

"I'm not riding with "that" thing! I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Get back here," Grissom ordered. "We've got her almost there. Come help me carry her inside."

Reluctantly, Greg did as ordered and between the two of them, they walked her to her front door.

"Where are her keys?" Greg asked, looking at Grissom with fear, hoping they hadn't lost them somewhere and would have to put up with the woman until she got sober enough to find another way into her home.

"I don't know," Grissom told him, doubt entering his eyes as well.

"Did she have a purse when she came to the bar?" Sara asked, receiving a shrug and a negative shake of the head. "Then they're probably in her pocket."

"I'm not reaching into her pocket!" Greg blurted out. "She's so primed I might lose my fingers."

This brought a chuckle from Grissom, that he quickly covered it as he looked at Sara. "Don't look at me. I'm not risking the chance that you won't talk to me for a week because I had my fingers in her pants."

"Fine!" Sara sighed with resignation as she patted the pockets of the woman's jeans, then after finding the appropriate bulges, reached in and pulled out a set of keys. Thankfully, she only had one key that resembled a house key, and they quickly and efficiently got her inside, where they took her to her sofa and lay her down.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Greg asked as he swayed in front of the sofa.

"She should be fine," Grissom told him. "Just let her sleep it off."

"What if she throws up? I've heard of people getting drunk and throwing up in their sleep–and they drown in their own vomit." Greg looked concerned, even if he wasn't very fond of her at the moment.

"We'll prop her up," Grissom said as he grabbed her and pulled her back into a sitting position, then leaned her against a stack of pillows that Sara quickly collected from various chairs around the room. "There. Now if she falls, she'll still be upright enough that she won't aspirate."

Greg gave a satisfied nod of his head and started toward the door, only to trip over a pair of shoes that were left in the middle of the floor. Grissom caught his arm an steadied him, then closed the door and put his hand on Sara's leather-covered bottom as they followed the younger man to the car.

"One down and one to go," Grissom told her.

"God, I feel like I'm their mother–making sure they get home safely." She smiled up at him. "You really aren't too buzzed out to drive–are you?"

"No, I'm not. I merely wanted to ride with you–and didn't want to get stuck taking anyone else home."

He gave her a smile that told her things were working out almost as he had planned. She couldn't help but return that smile that had her stomach twisting in a sensational coil, already.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

By the time Sara pulled in front of Greg's apartment, she and Grissom could hear him snoring vigorously in the back seat. Grissom pulled him from the car, and when he opened his eyes he looked at the older man as if he had no idea whom he was. When Sara reached them, she held onto his other arm.

"Sara! Where are we?" Greg asked, then glanced around the street. They guided him to the correct door, then Grissom pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. "How'd we get here so fast?"

"It was a magic carpet ride," Grissom mumbled as he unlocked the door and walked into his living room.

"Would that make me, Aladin?" Greg smiled. "And would that make Sara–Jasmine?"

"If you say so, Greg," Sara said as she moved to find his bedroom, then went inside and pulled his blanket back, waiting for him to get there.

"Aladin," he corrected as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

"If you're Aladin, and I'm Jasmine–then who does that make Grissom?" Sara asked as she pulled off his jacket and Grissom removed the young man's shoes.

"That's easy–Jafar!" Greg chuckled as he crashed back onto his pillows and pulled his legs up, watching as Sara tossed the blanket back over him. "Because Aladin gets the girl in the end. Jafar just stands in the background ogles the girl."

"You're really up on your Disney characters, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Get some sleep, Greg," Sara soothed as she started out of the room.

Grissom followed her, but stopped just shy of the doorway and looked back at the man on the bed. "Greg?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not Jafar–just keep that in mind."

"I know that. I know who gets the girl in the end."

"Goodnight, Greg."

"Goodnight, Aladin."

Sara waited at the front door and watched Grissom approach her. She could see that look in his eyes again and as usual, her stomach fluttered madly.

"Come on, Al. We've deposited all of our passengers. Now it's time for us to head back for your car."

"Do you think he really knows about us?" Grissom asked, shutting Greg's front door and putting his arm around Sara's waist as they walked.

"I don't know," she chuckled. "I'd bet that by morning, he won't even remember how he got home, so, I doubt he'll remember anything about us."

When they got to Sara's car, Grissom paused and looked at her a moment. "How tired are you?"

"Not too bad," she answered. "Why?"

"Do you mind if I drive back?"

"No. Go ahead."

He walked her to the passenger's side and opened the door for her, then went to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. She leaned back in her seat and turned slightly to watch him. She loved watching him–especially when he was aware of it, because he wore the cutest, little-boy-embarrassed expression and it charmed her completely. Tonight, he must have known she was watching as he glanced over and gave her the embarrassed little smile she expected, then reached for her thigh where he rested his hand. She moaned as she leaned back farther in her seat, making him glance at her again and laugh.

"All that just from touching you leg? What can I expect when I get you in bed tonight?"

"This morning, you mean, don't you?" She slid her fingers over his, loving the shape and texture of them.

He merely smiled again and turned his hand so he could entwine his fingers with hers. It was nearly a half hour before he pulled into the parking lot next to his car, but when she got out and started to come around to the driver's side, he put his arms around her waist and stopped her.

"No." He smiled gently, almost shyly. "Not yet. I want to go back inside."

"Okay," she said slowly and took his hand as they walked to the entrance.

Once inside, he ordered them each a soda, then he went to the jukebox. The crowd (if you could call it that, as it was only about half-occupied earlier in the evening) had mostly gone for the night. The only people left were a trio of men playing pool, and an older couple sitting at a table. Sara watched as Grissom inserted a bill, then came back to her as Bryan Adams "Heaven" began to play.

"I hope you still have a few dances left in you." He kneeled in front of her, surprising her as he unstrapped her sandals and slid them off her feet. He put them on a bar stool as he stood erect, then took her hand and pulled her into his arms. "My solution to new shoes that hurt. I don't want any reason for you "not" to dance with me, because I've been waiting all night for this."

She reached up and touched his cheek, stroked it lightly, then leaned her head on his shoulder as he held her close. They didn't need to talk as Aerosmith's "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" played, followed by Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight." By the time Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" played, their movements on the dance floor had diminished to simply swaying together as their lips would occasionally meet. They held onto one another as if never wanting to let go, and it occurred to Sara that she had never felt safer in her life.

When the music ended, she looked at him, seeing his half-lidded blue eyes watching her and her breath caught in her throat. His crooked smile made her grasp onto his shirt to steady herself. She wondered if he realized the power he had over her.

"I think the music stopped," she managed to get out.

"So it did." He stood still, then walked with her until she was sitting on a bar stool. He slid her shoes back on and they walked toward the exit and then to their cars. "Come to my place. It isn't as far."

She nodded her head and got inside her vehicle, then followed him to his apartment. He met her in front of their cars, neither seeming to be in a huge hurry as he took her hand although they walked directly to his bedroom. She watched as he adjusted the lights then turned to look at her. His eyes showed pure determination as he walked to her and held onto the back of her head and neck as he met her with a smoldering kiss. He pulled back and looked at her.

"First of all, I want to thank you for putting up with all the insanity that was taking place around us tonight."

"I don't know that I was "putting up" with it quite so well for the first part of the night." She rested her hands on his waist, sliding them up beneath his shirt to touch bare skin. "You have to admit–when dealing with Sophia, I can't help but feel I'm not only coming in second place, but more like I'm bringing up the rear."

"There's no reason for you to ever doubt yourself when it comes to Sophia. You've got a beauty that radiates from you–even knee-deep in human stew, I can look at you and want to yank your coveralls off, tip you over, then have my way with you."

Sara chuckled as she looked at him. "Knee-deep in human stew, huh? I think you're getting much to attached to your job, Griss. Now you're fantasizing about doing it in a pool of human remains."

"I'm not that perverse. . .yet." He walked her back to the bed and nudged her to sit on the edge of the mattress where he knelt before her and took her shoes off again. He rubbed at the reddened areas where the sandal had irritated her foot. "You really shouldn't wear shoes like this if they hurt your feet."

"I somehow didn't think my work-boots would compliment my skirt," she said, then chuckled as he lifted her foot higher and she had to lean back on her elbows so she wouldn't topple over.

"Then we'll just have to do something about that skirt." He slid his hand up her leg until it went underneath the leather and brushed against the lace of her panties, eliciting a quick catch of her breath before moving to the outside of the skirt and unhooking and unzipping it,

She leaned back and lifted her hips as he tugged it down, then watched as he stood up and placed it neatly on his dresser. He turned slowly and looked down at her, letting his gaze roam from her tattooed ankle, up over her legs, pausing at the black lace of her panties, then stopping at the bit of abdomen that was revealed beneath her blouse. He made a gesture with his hands and she knew what he wanted, so she pulled the offensive cloth over her head and handed it to him, leaving her in nothing but matching bra and panties. He seemed mesmerized as he looked at her, until finally his eyes moved up to meet hers. She got up and put her hands to the back of his neck, feeling the texture of that glorious curly hair. He lifted the edge of his shirt and Sara helped pull it over his head as he toed off his shoes and stood in just his jeans and socks. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off of his chest with the salt and pepper hair sprinkled over it. It called to her, beckoned her to reach out and touch it, and she couldn't deny its magnetism any longer. Her fingertips traced his chest muscles before she leaned forward and placed her lips on his nipple, flicking her tongue over it and eliciting a groan from him as he placed his hands on the back of her head.

She took her pleasure in feeling his skin; his chest; his stomach, and then she moved on to his jeans that she unbuttoned and unzipped. He pulled her head back up so that he could press his mouth against hers, moaning his need as he licked and sucked her lips and tongue. She pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips, allowing her hands to run over his firm backside in the process. She didn't really know how or exactly when he had disposed of her bra and panties, but it had to be somewhere between having his jeans pooled at his feet, and his lying on top of her on the bed; both completely without clothing.

They moved slowly, savoring each touch, each breath, each beat of the other's heart until their need took them in search of their ultimate goal, and when they recovered from that heady climax, they moved toward another, and then another, before exhaustion overtook them.

Their cells went off at the same time, pulling the couple out of a deep slumber as they blindly reached for the offending objects on Grissom's bedside table. Grissom turned toward the left side of the bed, as Sara turned to the right, each keeping their voices low so the other parties couldn't hear them.

"Grissom."

"Sidle."

"Grissom?" Greg's voice was slightly surprised before he went on. "I was calling Sara. Do you know where she is?"

"Greg–why would I know where she's at?" Grissom grumbled as he ran his hand over his eyes, trying to focus on his surroundings through the blinding sunlight.

"Right," Greg snorted. "Maybe because you answered her phone. I was calling for a ride to pick up my car. So if you "happen" to see her anywhere close by–could you ask her to take me for it?"

"I'll take you. When do you need it?"

"About half an hour ago," Greg told him. "I have errands to run and I wanted to get a head-start. But–if you're otherwise occupied. . ."

"I'll be there in about an hour and a half."

"An hour and a half? Never mind–I'll call a cab."

"You'll call a cab," Grissom said with disbelief.

"Yeah–I'm not waiting around for you to get out of bed. The day's starting and it's beautiful outside!"

"Greg–is there some reason you wanted to disturb me from a deep sleep with a phone call that was totally pointless?"

"I wasn't calling you. I was calling Sara."

"You "got" me!"

"Fine," Greg said. "Jeez–Sara wouldn't have been so grumpy."

"Goodbye, Greg."

"Yeah–yeah," he mumbled then hung up.

"Sara?" Nick's voice showed his confusion. "I must have pressed the wrong button. I was trying to call Grissom."

"Oh!" Sara's eyes widened when she realized she had picked up the wrong phone. "Well, that's okay. Is there a problem? Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really–I was just calling to see if he needed a ride back to the bar for his car. Warrick said you drove him home, so I thought that since we were heading over for mine, we could pick him up and take him along."

"Uhh–no, there's no need. He insisted I take him back for his car after we dropped Greg and Sophia off."

"And you let him drive in that condition?"

"He seemed to have sobered up enough by then–and I followed him home to make sure he made it. But we didn't get back to his place until late."

Nick chuckled. "He's probably still sleeping. He probably didn't get in until around two or three."

"Umm, probably not," she agreed, knowing that they, in fact, didn't get in until four o'clock and didn't get to sleep until nearly seven. "I didn't get home until late, either. So, if it's alright, I'll talk to you at work. Okay?"

"Sure–sure. Get some sleep! Oh–and again, I had a great time last night! I hope we can go out again some time soon."

"Sounds good, I'll let you know the next time I'm off."

"Okay. See ya later tonight, kiddo."

Sara turned and listened to the end of Grissom's conversation with Greg and when he turned to look at her, she held the cell phone out to him and shrugged her shoulders.

"Who was that?" Grissom took the phone and put it on his night stand, then handed her the other phone, which she put on the table on her side of the bed.

"Nick. He wanted to stop by and take you back to pick up your car."

"Right now?"

"Evidently. But I explained that you decided to pick up your car and drive it home yourself." Sara watched as Grissom reached over and slowly pulled the sheet down to uncover her breasts. "So, do I get to find out what Greg wanted?"

"He wanted you to drive him back to pick up his car, too." Grissom lifted himself until he was leaning on his elbow, then slid his hand along her arm, then back up again and down to her breast. "I told him I'd be there in about an hour and a half–but he wanted to get there sooner. He's calling a cab."

"I see." Sara turned more toward him and put her hand over his, bringing it up to kiss his fingers. "So, how did you explain answering my cell?"

"I didn't." Grissom's breath quickened as she slid the tip of his forefinger between her lips, then added his middle finger. "I didn't give him any answer. How about you?"

She removed his fingertips long enough to answer. "He took it for granted that he dialed the wrong number by accident."

"I see." He leaned over and replaced his fingers with his mouth, letting her tongue dart out and slide over his lips. "It's a good thing it was Greg and Nick who called. If it was Catherine or Warrick, they'd be over here by now, wanting to know the real story."

"Mmmm, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" She put her arms around his neck as he rolled over top of her.

a/n–Just a little treat for you. (Please note, that Lady Heather is on the cover of this–by it is definitely a GSR feature!) Let me know what you think. If you'd like, put the following together and it will take you on a little holiday with our fascinating couple.

www.

dailymotion.

com/user/

dotnhanx/

video/x9o4j4_coming-back-to-sara0001_shortfilms

Oh–another quick note–I'm going in for a root canal later today, so it may take a day or two for the next chapter to get written.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

The case of the burning trailer started out normal enough (if you can call any of their cases normal), but all in all, there was nothing to disrupt the melodic rhythm of his new relationship with his young, beautiful employee. The only problems he had run into was trying to keep his hands off of her as they worked together. Oh, it wasn't as if he was thinking about tossing her into the back of the Denali and stripping her hip-hugging jeans off of her–well, okay–maybe he was, but that was something he could deal with. It was the more subtle physical aspect of their relationship that was driving him nuts. He'd often catch himself reaching to place a hand on the small of her back (that area seemed to draw his attention to it almost continuously–she had the most amazing curve right above her beautifully shaped buttocks), or her bottom, itself–what would a little hand-slide do? It wouldn't really hurt anyone, would it? He moaned to himself as once again, he looked at that gorgeous set of curves and turned away in frustration, returning to his search for an explanation to this explosion.

And he knew she liked to play games with him; little things that would drive him nuts–and the vixen knew exactly what she was doing–every time she did it. How often would she bring a piece of evidence to him and turn with her buttons accidentally open–just far enough to see the golden globes within with a glimpse of lace or satin covering them–and if she was feeling really daring, there may even be the sight of a hidden nipple peeping out from beneath her blouse. Oh, yes, she knew what she was doing–because every time she would have these little accidents with her buttons, it was when he was the only one able to view it–and yet he would be unable to do a thing about it because there would always be another CSI within hearing distance.

Today was going to be another day of excessive teasing, he thought, as she walked up to him with her hair blowing in the wind so perfectly that it was if she were taping a shampoo commercial. To anyone else, it looked innocent enough–after all, it was extremely hot out today, and she had an extra bottle of water for her boss. Nothing wrong with that. So when she joined him, some twenty yards away from Nick, who was rummaging through the rubble near the trailer remains, anyone else would have thought it a very considerate gesture. Grissom started to tense up the moment he heard her steps approaching behind him.

"Really hot, today," Sara said from only five feet behind him and by the time he turned to face her, she was standing within a hand's reach from him.

As he suspected, her blouse was opened, but this time instead of a button or two, it was opened completely, exposing her very inviting naval and her bra–a bra that seemed to be nothing more than a thin strap of pink lace, barely covering the nipples that were screaming for his touch. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes up from the glorious sight before him–Jesus, but she could do the simplest things and make him want to get lost inside of her. He really should have known better than to start this with her, because once he had his first taste of her, he was lost. He knew the wonder of feeling her surround him and it was a sensation he couldn't seem to live without for a very long time.

"Sara. . ." He still couldn't seem to bring his eyes up to meet her face, and when she moved her water bottle to the top of her chest and allowed the droplets of condensation to fall over her skin and flow down over those wondrous mounds before being absorbed by the cloth covering them, it took everything in him to not do what she knew he would do if they were in private. He wondered at the amount of unusable bras he had accumulated in his bedroom over the past few months. And he knew she wasn't fond of having to keep going back and buying more–that's why she's been saving this kind of behavior for when she thought he could do nothing about it–times like now when he was stuck standing here–gaping at her like an old goat drooling over the young beauty that she was.

"Water?" She asked innocently as she handed another bottle to him.

"Thank you, my dear." He took the cold bottle offered to him, but refused to take the objects offered that he "really" wanted. "I think you and Nick and handle this situation for a while. I need to get back to the lab."

"Ahh, baby," she pouted only loud enough for his ears. "But I was hoping to cool you off. You look so goddamned hot that I can't think straight."

This brought a small smile to him as he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers and saw the teasing side of her that he adored. He opened his bottle and took a swig of the coolness.

"But, darling." He stared directly into her sunglass-covered eyes. "You're the one who looks like she needs cooled off."

With a flick of his wrist, he splashed a generous amount of the cold liquid down the front of her chest, bringing a gasp from her and a startled jump backwards. Grissom glanced over at Nick who was still sorting through a pile of rubble and was oblivious to their interactions.

"Grissom!" Escaped from between grit teeth as she stared back at him.

He chuckled as he started walking past her. "See you later, sweetheart."

He knew it was coming, even before he felt it, so the cold liquid that hit him from the top of his hat, ran down over the back of his hair and then down the back of his shirt and vest, ending at his pant-covered bottom was no real surprise, although it did make him turn his head to see just what she was going to do next. With one hand re-buttoning her blouse as quickly as she could manage, she was stepping toward him, intending to flick another spray of water on her escaping lover. He merely gave her another of his heart-melting smiles and sped up his steps until he got into his Denali. He knew he'd be dry again by the time he got to the lab.

"What happened to you?" Nick asked as Sara finally approached him.

"I spilled my water," she said solemnly, and Grissom chuckled to himself again as he drove away.

Grissom was walking down the hall in the lab when he first heard the familiar voice and a cold chill of apprehension went down his spine. He glanced over just in time to see Sophia pushing a suspect toward another police officer then turn and come out of the room to him.

"Detective Curtis," Grissom said, still a bit surprised.

"Grissom." Sophia showed no surprise–almost as if she had been waiting for him.

"I thought you were supposed to be arresting people in Boulder City."

"Well, a spot opened up here and I transferred in today."

"Surprise!" Brass spoke up to Grissom, then turned and left them alone.

"Well, your mother would be proud," Grissom said, not knowing what else to say to her.

"My mother made captain. Ya know, I just qualified for my shield when the sheriff pulled my papers and volunteered me to CSI. I think my mom hated that more than I did."

"You won't miss the lab, will ya?"

"There's "some things" I'll miss. I'll see you around."

Grissom watched as she sauntered away, noting the suggestion in her comment and not knowing what to do about it anymore. He went back to working on his case, but before long was sent to look at a car that was abandoned on the street. He pulled Sara in to go with him and thanked God he did when he saw the officer at the scene was going to be Sophia. He tried to remain as professional as possible, but the fact that he had to keep watch between the two women made him on edge, to say the least. Thankfully, they made it through the investigation into the car that contained "human stew" in its trunk. They even made their way through the rest of the case, occasionally running into one another, but the tension between the three of them was palpable. By the end of the shift Grissom was feeling emotionally drained, and when Nick suggested he meet him and Warrick for drinks at the Peppermill to celebrate Warrick's new marriage, he gladly accepted.

The bar was a typical place for a small crowd to celebrate a "bachelor party." The patrons were mostly men, while the women who were there made it clear that they were in for more than just your average good time. Their celebrating ran past the morning hours and into early afternoon and soon Warrick was putting both Grissom and Nick into his vehicle to drive them home since he decided to remain sober enough as to not to anger his new wife. The teasing began early on, reminding Warrick that already he was under his wife's thumb. No man should have to report his every movement to his woman if he were out having a good time. This sort of ribbing was done in humor, but still, the more he drank, the more it grated against Grissom's mind and by the time Nick and Warrick watched him go inside his apartment building, he was inebriated enough to decide that statement was something to take more seriously. He was, after all, his own man. He belonged to no one. He was, dammit, into his fifties and didn't have to report back to anyone. So, when he walked into his living room and saw his answering machine blinking with three messages from Sara, he simply erased them without listening, then went to his bed where he promptly passed out.

Grissom was called in that night, barely having had time to fully wake up and get dressed. He met up with Sara at the scene of a dead taxi driver and they both started working without comment. After a few minutes, Grissom left the scene and connected his case with Catherine's where he spent the rest of the night working closely by her side. He only came face-to-face with Sara once that night and that was while he was still with Catherine. He regretted speaking sharply to her when she reported that she found ID on the men they were investigating but when she showed no signs of it offending her, he continued with the case without thinking too much on the subject. It was when they were ending their shift that he finally noticed that his mood caused by the combination of too much alcohol and a "man's night out" had not only offended her, but was making her angry as well.

He allowed her to leave ahead of him, then he went to his own home where he found another message on his answering machine.

"Gil? I don't know what's wrong–but it's obvious something's bothering you. I waited for you to call all day yesterday, hoping that you were alright since you seemed to suddenly drop off the end of the earth. Then when you showed up at work last night, I found you not only healthy and alive, but in a shitty mood where I was concerned. Nick told me last night where you were and what you were doing–which wouldn't have bothered me nearly so much if you hadn't been a complete ass to me after doing it. I'm going to bed–but if you want to talk. . .I'll be here."

The guilt he felt over mistreating him seemed to anger him. Dammit–didn't he have the right to spend a single day without her at his side–a single day where he could get away from all the shit that two damned females could produce around him, and were beginning to be a huge pain in his ass. So, he wanted to unwind after a ridiculous day that she and Sophia had caused–big deal. He went to his bottle of bourbon and poured himself a shot–then another one. Then he went to bed.

Their next case involved a dead woman lying at the base of the stairs in her home. He had begun his investigation with Catherine, but before long it was evident that they needed to call others in to help. He noticed that when the group was waiting for instructions, Sara separated herself from him by standing on the other side of Catherine. Just as well, he thought, as he avoided her gaze and sent her upstairs to work her way down from the top of the steps.

As usual, her analysis of the situation started to dissolve the numbness he had been building between them for the past few days, and when he finally allowed himself to look at her standing above him, her physical presence–even being separated by a dead body and at least fifteen feet of stairs–started to tear at him. He watched her work, noting all the aspects of her that held a firm grip onto him and again, he tried to shake it off. It was beginning to frighten him how involved he was becoming with her. He didn't want to be this involved with anyone like this. It was dangerous. It could be disastrous.

But in the end, he went in search of her as he went up the front stairs and into the rooms located there. He finally found her in the woman's bedroom where they discussed the fact that the couple slept in separate bedrooms. Sara came up with legitimate reasons, and in watching her, he couldn't seem to stop the comment from snapping from his mouth.

"Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe."

The look that crossed Sara's face showed her understanding and her pain he had again caused her. She looked away from him and he wanted to gather her into his arms and immediately apologize–but he didn't. She went about her search through the room, coming up with an obviously recently used bottle of sexual lubricant, and showed him.

"Ya know, you don't have to sleep in the same bed together to have sex–or have romance."

He didn't know how to answer her. She was obviously giving him the breathing space he was asking for, and he knew she felt uncomfortable with. So, instead of addressing their problem–he left to go back to the lab.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Grissom was going home for some much needed rest, his mind clearly on the young girl who had bludgeoned her step-mother. As he pulled to a stop in an open parking space, he wondered when he would stop being surprised at the declining age of these assassins. But that surprise was nothing compared to the astonishment of finding himself in the parking lot to Sara's apartment building. Christ–he didn't even remember making the turn that lead him here instead of his own home. His mind was so preoccupied with the last case that he didn't even register that something in him wanted to be here instead of at home in his larger–but lonelier bed.

He got out of his car and went to her door then paused, considering if it would be better to knock, or use the key she had given him. He decided on the second option in case she was already sleeping, and entered the apartment, hearing Phil Collins' "I Wish it Would Rain Down" coming over her stereo speakers. Past experience told him that she was in the habit of listening to music as she showered, so he closed the door and hung up his jacket. He removed his shoes and put them next to her sofa, then removed his socks. His shirt came off next as he moved toward the bathroom door, and by the time he stood outside her shower/tub, watching her astonishing body through the curtain, he was removing his pants. He heard her gasp when he yanked the curtain back and stared into those amazing brown eyes as they gazed back at him. He wasn't in any mood to smile–but he couldn't seem to stop the end of his lips from turning upward upon the sight of her standing before him, completely soaked and looking very much like a lost child.

She didn't try to stop him as he stepped inside and blocked the water with his back. She didn't say a word as he reached for her and pulled her against him in a smoldering kiss. She only responded as he wanted her to, openly seeking his affection in an unconditional way that left him defenseless against her. Finally he lifted his head and looked down at her.

"I thought you said you'd never take a bath with me," she said huskily as she looked back at him. "You thought it wasn't very dignified."

"This isn't a bath." He reached for the bottle of body wash and squirted some onto his hands, then started rubbing it over her shoulders. "This is a shower."

"May I?" She asked as she took the bottle, evidently not sure that he would like to be rubbed down with something that smelled of lavender.

He gave a short nod, already anticipating the sensation of her hands sliding over his body in ways that only she could manage. He moved his grasp over her arms, sliding over the skin that he loved to touch, then back to her shoulders where he traveled down the front of her, taking special care of her breasts. He listened to her moan as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples, and if they hadn't been covered in soapy bubbles, he would have lowered his head and taken one of them into his mouth to relish its taste. He moved his reach to her back as she washed his chest, taking her time as she soaped the hair covering it then worked her way to his sides and down the front of him, stopping just as her hand came in contact with his throbbing erection that stood proudly between them. It had been days since they had been together, and he was more than ready to release some of the sexual tension that always was created simply by seeing her.

"Why stop now?" He asked as he spread suds over her perfect bottom. "You're getting to the best part."

"Who says it's the best?" She said smartly as she glanced up at him. "Maybe I prefer your arms." She squirted more body wash onto her hands and moved to his upper arms, then down to the forearms that were around her. "Or maybe I prefer this." She moved to his back, then on to his buttocks, and he couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. "But then, I always thought you had gorgeous legs." She lowered herself until she knelt in front of him and started washing first his calves, then working her way up to his thighs.

"Or how about this?" He mumbled as he pulled her to her feet and moved her hands to his erection, sliding her long fingers along its length until she took over and started stroking him, from the tip of his staff, down to and including the sacks at the base of him.

Their mouths met in a kiss that searched for a fulfillment they were both reaching for, but they knew they couldn't go on much longer like this, and he finally pulled away from her, exchanging places with her as he rinsed the soap from her skin, then allowed her to step out as he rinsed himself. By the time he finished, he noticed that she was already gone, so he grabbed a towel and started toward her bedroom, passing the terry cloth over his head in a quick attempt to get the excess water out of his hair and stop it from dripping down his face. Upon entering her bedroom he found her with a towel wrapped around her body as she bent over, wrapping another around her hair in a turban-like style.

He couldn't wait any longer as he moved up behind her and grabbed her hips as he turned her toward her low dresser. When she started to stand erect, he gently pushed her down until she was leaning on the piece of furniture then yanked on the towel that surrounded her luscious body. He easily moved up behind her and pressed his length into her, hearing her gasp as she stretched to accommodate him.

"Gil," she breathed as he started moving within her.

"Shh," he whispered, grasping firmly onto her hips for leverage. "We'll talk later."

He was amazed at how well they fit together. She seemed to be the perfect height for him as he stroked into her, and when he started going faster and a bit rougher, he heard her encouragement it stirred the desire to go even farther than he had before. His forceful thrusts were banging the dresser against the wall and yet she didn't complain, only reached behind herself and let her fingers touch as much of his body as she was capable in this position.

"Oh, God! Gil!" She yelled, grasping onto the dresser's edge and pressing herself up against him in a semi-erect stance. "More! Don't stop!"

He held onto her so tightly that he knew there would be bruises by evening, and he moved with a ferocity he didn't know he was capable of. As her walls clamped around him, going into spasms that milked him and made her throaty scream vibrate through the room. The sensation of her clenching around him sent him spiraling toward his own climactic ending and when it was reached, he half collapsed on her as they both leaned against the dresser, both breathing heavily as their hearts raced.

He slowly withdrew from her and when she remained leaning against the dresser, he took her by the arms and pulled her back into his embrace. He knew she was as confused as he was. He couldn't deny the physical need that he had for her–and the fact that every time they were together, he walked away with a sense of fulfillment that he had never experienced before. He had to admit that it was getting impossible for him to go very long without that contact anymore. He had to admit that she was in his head so deeply that it frightened him.

"Come on," he whispered into her ear and started toward her bed. "Lets get some rest."

He tucked her into the bed, then got in the other side, pulling her into his arms immediately. She was so quiet lying with him that he couldn't help but look down at her to see if she was okay. The sadness in her eyes as she looked back made him sigh deeply, lean closer and touch his lips to hers.

"Are you going to stay?" She asked simply.

He knew she was referring to his statements and treatment of her the past few days.

"If you don't mind."

She closed her eyes and turned onto her back, then moved until she was facing the other direction as she pulled the sheet more closely around her. He stay in that position as he watched her slowly drift into even breathing indicating that she was asleep, then finally he let himself relax enough to fall into sleep's depths.

His cell alerted him of the case he had to leave early for, so he quietly got out of bed and went into the bathroom to redress. He knew she had slept restlessly throughout the earlier hours, and decided she needed her sleep, so he left her apartment and went to the lab for a quick shower and change of clothes. He met up with Catherine in a residential area where a body had been found in a back yard. Within hours, the rest of the team was showing up, including Sara, who walked past him as if she hadn't seen him, and went into the house to do some printing. He was used to them hiding their relationship while at work, but the fact that she wouldn't even look at him didn't go over too well.

He spent the next hours with Catherine and after discovering more bodies than they had ever expected, a new case kept him separated from Sara throughout its run. When he finally could put this case to bed, he went in search for Sara, but was told she left the lab about an hour earlier. She had reported that she wasn't feeling well, so Catherine told her to take the rest of the night off. Grissom returned to his office and promptly called her cell, letting it ring until he was positive she wasn't going to pick up and he'd be transferred to her voice-mail, but before the last ring went through, she answered.

"Yes?" She evidently had already seen his name on the caller ID.

"I–uh–heard you weren't feeling well. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered in a heavy sigh.

"Then, you're not really sick?"

"Yes, I'm sick."

"But, you said. . ."

"I've got cramps–okay? They've been bad all day, and now they're excruciating. I just want to grab a heating pad, take some Midol and lie down."

"If it's that bad–should you go to the doctor?"

"Have you ever been with a woman when she's actually had her period?" She asked skeptically, and he realized that he hadn't. He had really never been with anyone long enough for them to go through an entire cycle.

"I have not," he admitted.

"Well, now you have. It isn't always pleasant."

"Is there anything I can bring over for you? Anything that could help?"

"Can you make my uterus stop going into spasms and feel like it's trying to crawl out of my body?"

"No."

"Then I guess there isn't anything you can do–is there?" She asked with sarcasm, then stopped a moment before going on. "Wait! Yes–there is something. If you were really planning on coming here–stop and pick up some miniature Snickers bars–and a box of peppermint tea."

"Miniature Snickers?" He asked with a raised brow.

"Not the small pack that only has about ten or so–I want the bag–it has more."

"Miniature Snickers?" He asked again, not understanding how a candy bar could help alleviate menstrual cramps.

"Oh–just forget it! You don't want to come here–so just forget it!" She told him with irritation, and he wondered if this was what he was often told about pre-menstrual syndrome.

He looked at the phone as she hung up on him. So, okay–she wants chocolate and tea–peppermint tea. He can manage that. Within an hour he was entering her apartment where he was met with complete silence. He took the small bag into the kitchen and filled a cup with water, then tossed a peppermint tea bag into it and put it in the microwave. He opened the bag of candybars and put two on the saucer with her cup to tea, then added a packet of sugar substitute.

He found the bedroom dimly lit and saw Sara curled up around a pillow she held against her abdomen with a heating pad pressed between her back and another pillow. He moved to her side of the bed and sat next to her, placing the saucer on the bed stand before reaching down and sweeping some hair off her forehead. She didn't open her eyes, but acknowledged that she knew he was there.

"You came," she said quietly.

"I made you a cup of tea. Would you like to drink some now?"

She opened her eyes and looked at the cup, then moved to sit against the head of the bed, pulling the heating pad to lay across her stomach. He handed her the cup and watched her take a few sips, then saw how her eyes traveled back to the pieces of chocolate. He smiled then handed the treats to her. She eyed him only a moment, then ate the chocolate as if she were starving, leaning her head back against the headboard to give a satisfied sigh. She held her hand out and he placed the second piece of candy in her palm, which she quickly downed with sips of her tea.

"Do we have any more?"

"We have about twenty more tea bags–and a whole bag of candy."

"All Snickers, right? You didn't get an assorted package, did you?"

"No. I got all Snickers. Do you want me to get more for you right now?"

"Maybe you could bring them in here? I might want some later."

He nodded then brought the bag into her bedroom with her. She hesitated only a moment before taking it and opening another piece of candy, and then another one. She then seemed satisfied enough to put her tea back in its saucer and hand him the candy before sliding down onto the bed again. He watched as she pulled the heating pad from her abdomen and replaced it against the small of her back. The thought that he could provide some comfort came to him and he moved to the other side of the bed, removed his shoes and shirt, then slid in behind her. He pulled the pillow and heating pad from behind her back and received a grunt of objection but he continued to move the source of heat around to the front of her as he slid up behind her, completely spooning against her as he pulled her tightly against his lap. They lay that way for a few moments before felt the tension begin to leave her body as she relaxed into him.

"Feeling better?" He asked.

"Don't move. You're warming my back and taking the pain away."

"I'll stay right here as long as you need me."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sara had just helped Nick wrap up their case; a case that had Nick tied in knots. She worried about him, noting that he had a faith in finding the missing little girl that surpassed the reality of it. But she watched as he forged ahead and finally found her alive. She knew he was taking the whole situation extremely hard, but she knew he would be alright. Now, she was sitting in her car at the airport waiting to take Grissom home after his session at the body farm. The absence of three days was something she hadn't been used to lately. Ever since he came to her aid with tea and candy over two weeks ago, he seemed satisfied with spending each day at her apartment, until it was time for him to leave for this teaching opportunity.

She often wondered if she should still be holding onto the hope that they were going to survive these past weeks; but somehow they endured. She knew that physically, he had no equal. He could do things to her that she had never experienced before; he could make her react to his touch and even the way he looked at her, so strongly that she was sometimes afraid of the effect he had on her. Emotionally, he was there most of the time; but still there were those times when he retreated from her, and she knew that if this relationship were to survive–she had to allow him this time to adjust to being part of a couple.

Finally, she saw him walking from the building and straight for her car where he tossed his bag into her backseat then hopped into the front with her. She slowly merged with traffic as they exited the airport, but when she glanced over at him, she saw that he was staring at her and she recognized that "look." She continued driving, feeling more and more edgy as she kept glancing back at him until he finally pointed to a parking lot they were coming upon.

"Pull in there."

"Okay."

She did as instructed, noting that it was a supermarket, but as she moved closer to the store, he pointed to a more secluded part of the lot; more of a darkened area. When she stopped, he got out, then came around to her side and opened her door.

"Get out," he told her as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Now–greet me properly."

She looked up at him questioningly, so he put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her to him, meeting her lips in a series of kisses that left her breathless. When he finally released her with a smile tugging at his lips, she couldn't help but smile back at him.

"You missed me," she teased. "You couldn't wait to kiss me."

"I'm having a hard time waiting for other things as well, but considering our location, I'll force myself." He pulled her farther from the car, then nudged her toward the other side. "Get in the other seat. I'll drive."

"And just where do you intend to drive?" She asked as she got sat in the passenger's seat, noticing how he got behind the wheel with some difficulty. She dropped her gaze to see the reason as it pressed against his pants. "Do you really think you can make it all the way home?"

He merely gave her another one of his heart-stopping smiles as he accelerated onto the highway.

"Can you tell me–just out of curiosity, of course–when this problem began?" She asked mischievously.

"This problem "began" as I was getting off the plane and I thought of you waiting for me. It got more severe as I sat in the car–and it's getting more unbearable the more you sit there looking at me like that."

"Would you rather I didn't look at you?" She turned her attention out the windshield.

"I'd "rather" we weren't following some imbecile who can only drive fifty-five in a sixty-five mile an hour speed zone." He pressed harder on the accelerator and passed the car giving him such anxiety.

"Hon?" Sara asked as she watched the speedometer.

"Yes, dear?"

"You're driving eighty miles an hour. You are aware of that, aren't you?"

He glanced down at the numbers in front of him, then reluctantly slowed down to seventy-five and didn't stop until he turned off the highway. When he pulled up in front of his apartment she barely had time to get to the front of the vehicle before Grissom grabbed onto her hand and started hurrying her toward his door, and when she stumbled on the curb, he reached down and lifted her back upright, then started sprinting to his destination again.

"Come on," he smiled at her again as he unlocked his door and pushed it open, grabbed onto her hand again and pulled her inside then slammed the door behind them. He stripped off his jacket and reached for her coat, pulling it from her arms before she could fully unzip it, and trapping her inside. He yanked on it twice more as he looked at her with knit brows.

"Gil!" She objected, bringing a short laugh from him as he unzipped it and pulled it the rest of the way off of her.

He was on her in an instant, pressing her against the wall as his mouth covered hers, his hands slid up, inside her t-shirt and he grasped onto her breasts while pressing his hips against her.

"Take these off," he instructed as he started tugging on the front of her pants.

"Griss! I can't! I have to be at work in an hour!" She breathed as his lips nibbled the side of her throat, but when his hand slid inside her jeans and went straight to the front of her, sliding between her folds to stroke her hardened nub, she grabbed onto her pants and opened them for him. "Ah, fuck it! I'll be late."

He chuckled as he pushed them down over her hips and she began kicking furiously to get them off. "Are you talking dirty again–just for me?"

"I always talk dirty," she breathed as her arms went around him, yet she continued kicking at her pants, finally realizing why they weren't coming off. "My boots! My boots!"

"Your boots. Your boots?" He drew back and looked at her strangely. "Oh! Your boots! Dammit! Why couldn't you be wearing your heels now–then you could just kick them off."

"Uh," She watched as he dropped down and untied her boots, then pulled them as well as her pants from her feet, then threw them off to the side. "I don't think my heels go very well with cadavers."

He slowly turned his head back to her, looking directly at the dark curly hair before him. "God, I missed you."

He moved closer and placed a hot kiss at her juncture, making her knees go weak, but he quickly got to his feet and grabbed her by her thighs as she gave a small hop and wrapped them around his waist. He pressed her back against the door and positioned himself, then pressed deeply within her core. She couldn't stop the groan of pure satisfaction that escaped her.

"You constantly amaze me," she breathed against his mouth.

"Why?" He asked as he tried to remain coherent but she could tell he was getting as lost in their lovemaking as she already was.

"I just never would have taken you for someone this. . ."

"This. . .what?"

She spoke between thrusts. "Energetic. . .anxious. . .big."

He remained silent for a moment as he continued to hold her against the door and move within her. His hand moved back under her shirt and cupped her breast, gently squeezing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and massaging the mound of flesh.

"God, Sara–you are so beautiful." He moved his kiss to her neck and throat. "A pristine statue for me to gaze upon and touch."

"I'm real–very real."

"Did you miss me, honey?" He asked, almost hopefully.

She laughed a low, throaty chuckle as she felt the hugeness of him rubbing against her erogenous zone, striking against it and tightening the coil inside of her that felt as if it could explode at any second. "Like the very breath from my body."

This seemed to do it for Grissom as he growled against her and pumped so hard that she feared she may split in two, then she felt herself rush over a wave that left her powerless as she clung to him. His muscles seemed to have given in to their climax as they toppled to the floor and he gave a grunt of pain as she landed on top of him.

She sat on him, still straddling him as she tried to catch her breath. When she was able, she lifted her head and looked at him. He was such a beautiful man and she had so much trouble believing that it was "she" whom he lay fully sheathed within. His eyes remained closed as his hands stroked the soft skin beneath her shirt.

"Well, Dr. Grissom. What would the technical term for that be?" She smiled down at him and watched as he opened his eyes to look back at her through orbs so blue she could drown in them.

"I believe they refer to that as a "quickie" in the science journals I've read."

Her smiled broadened as she saw the teasing in his eyes.

"Did I hurt you?" She asked.

"No–you helped me."

"I mean–when we fell."

"I'll survive."

"Would you like me to get up?"

"Not necessarily. We could always stay here all night."

"All night?" She looked at the clock and moaned. "I have to go to work now."

He turned with her, sliding out of her in the process, but keeping hold of her as he leaned over her and kissed her again. "Then I guess you better go."

She got to her feet and looked down at him as he returned to his back and she couldn't stop the giggle as she grabbed her cell out of her jacket pocket and aimed it at him. "You look so cute lying there with your shirt on, your shoes on, and your pants hanging down to your knees. This could be a memorable moment, ya know."

He immediately lifted his hips and pulled his pants back into place, then faster than she thought he was capable, he was on his feet and taking the cell from her hands, turning it around and aiming at her as she stood in nothing but her t-shirt.

"But this would be much more memorable," he said and clicked a picture. "Maybe I'll share it with the rest of the crew."

"Gil," she said as she approached him with apprehension. "Give that back. What if you'd somehow send it by accident. How would you explain me half-dressed in your apartment?"

"Oh." He looked disappointed. "How about if I only send it to myself. I can use it as a screen saver."

"How about if you "don't." Our luck you'd leave your office and Ecklie would pop in for something. I have no desire having Conrad Ecklie looking at my bare bottom."

He couldn't stop the chuckle over that thought, then reluctantly handed the phone to her and she quickly deleted the incriminating photo. "You're right. I don't want him drooling over my desk either."

"Oh, don't say that," she moaned as she pulled on her pants then grabbed her right boot then reached up her right pantleg to retrieve a sock that was stuck there. "I don't even want to "think" that he would be attracted to me."

"Why?" Grissom moved to his sofa and sat down. "He's a man, isn't he?"

"But he's–Ecklie." She started searching for her left boot, but was having no luck. "Where in the world. . ."

"Ya know, some women find balding men very attractive."

"I'm not saying he isn't attractive–in his own way," she said absently as she continued looking around the area.

"Really?" He raised a brow at her. "Perhaps I "should" be worried?"

"Gil–he's "Ecklie!" She said, as if that were explanation enough. "Where in the "hell" did you throw my other boot?"

She watched him with exasperation as he stood back up and went to the chair across from him, evidently seeing it when she couldn't. He reached behind it and pulled it out.

"Your glass slipper, my princess."

She looked at him and smiled. "Ahh, that's so sweet. But you're not getting another jump tonight. I have to leave."

"So much for romance." He walked her to the door and gave her a brief kiss, then allowed her to leave.

Sara worked through the night then was called out on a case with Catherine shortly before the end of the shift–which of course, delayed any signs of getting out of work at a normal time that day. The fact that the suicide involved a baby who had to have seen the entire event rattled Sara. She could understand depression–she really could–but she couldn't understand putting a young child in those circumstances. The more they investigated the situation though, they quickly decided that this entire event was not up to the young mother–she was clearly murdered.

Sara was pleasantly surprised when she saw Grissom arrive with the rest of the team. He didn't pass her by as he usually did, this time he paused next to her long enough to place his hand on the small of her back and guide her a few steps away.

"Miss me?" He asked quietly.

"Always."

"It looks like a long day. I wasn't counting on that. I'd been hoping to have dinner with you later."

She looked apologetically at him, knowing that the chances of that were very slim. "Maybe tomorrow?"

He nodded his head slightly, then went on to the inside of the house with Catherine. Sara went about interviewing the victim's sister when she was interrupted by Sophia. Sara tried to be civil to her–she really did. But sometimes the woman just knew how to push her buttons. Like today, when she stopped to ask where Grissom was. Sara "wanted" to tell her that it was none of her goddamned business where he was–but, she didn't. She sent her inside the house, not expecting to see her back out for some time. The fact that she was in and out within a minute surprised her. Then when she saw Grissom exiting the building a few minutes after that, she noticed how he nodded toward the other side of the street, indicating he wanted to talk to her. She excused herself from the woman she was speaking to and joined him where he explained that Ecklie was waiting for him at the office and he would probably be in court for the rest of the day. She nodded her understanding then watched as he went to his Denali and she went back to what she had been doing.

It was two days later that Sara lay in her bed, getting some much needed sleep when she woke to the sound of her front door opening, then listened as the person paused for a few moments in her living room then came to her bedroom. She watched him as he removed his shirt and tie, then removed his pants and got into bed with her. She accepted his kiss as he slid his tongue against her lips, then snuggled close to his side as he leaned back and let the weariness flow from his body as they both fell to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

About a week later, after spending the night at the lab, Sara and Grissom gratefully returned to Grissom's apartment in hopes of spending some quality time together. And, everything was going as planned as they lay in bed, sensually touching one another without taking it to the next level yet. That was when their cells went off at the same time, indicating that their day off was going to be short-lived. The magnitude of the case was immense. A shoot-out that lasted twenty blocks. The amount of work ahead of them was mind-boggling. Sara could see, as soon as she got there, that whatever occurred involved Brass and Sophia, and seeing the expression on Sophia's face, she was pretty devastated by it. Grissom talked to the detective in charge and Sara could see that his mood was not his best. The interruption had irritated him and it was one of the rare occasions that he showed it as he worked. Sara did her best to remain in the background, trying to be inconspicuous as she listened to the others, but she couldn't help but watch the way Sophia kept watching Grissom–almost imploring him to acknowledge her and come to her. Sara almost pitied the other woman as Grissom walked past her, quite clearly not even having noticed her.

The whole crew dug in immediately, and it wasn't long before it was determined that the downed officer was either shot by Sophia or Brass. This turned the case into a major priority in Sara's and Grissom's minds. Their main concern was to try to find out whose bullet downed the young officer. Sara also knew that she would do whatever she could to try to find the bullet, but at this point it was extreme wishful thinking to hope that it didn't belonged to either Brass or Sophia. Both officers had been put on administrative leave and were segregated from the rest of the department. So, when Sara went to ask Grissom about some evidence she had come up with, and found Sophia in his office in what looked to be a very passionate conversation, her shock was immediate.

"Hey, Grissom, I have a question. . ." Sara stopped suddenly, the sight of Sophia standing so close to Grissom turning Sara's attention from one to the other in confusion. "You're on administrative leave."

"I know," Sophia answered without taking her eyes from Grissom. The aura of dislike emanating from the blonde woman to Sara was palpable. It was obvious that she was becoming incensed over the interruption and thought Sara had no right to impose.

"You should not be in this building." Sara couldn't seem to think straight. It was the only thing she could verbalize as she watched this woman practically throwing herself at Grissom's feet.

Sophia turned furious eyes on Sara. "I was just talking to a friend. If I can't talk to a friend, who in the hell am I supposed to talk to?"

Sara tried very hard to remain calm in the face of Sophia's wrath. "Any friend outside of the department."

"Yeah? And how many friends outside of work do you have, Sara? Or maybe I should go talk to my mother–oh no–sorry, I forgot–she's a cop too!"

"I can recommend a departmental psychologist."

Sophia looked at Grissom for assistance but he only stared at the two women, clearly not knowing what to do or say. His lack of speech didn't hide the anger that was showing on his face as he looked back at her.

"You're right." Sophia backed up a step before turning and leaving. "This was a really bad idea. I'm sorry."

Sara watched the other woman leave, then turned back to Grissom. They had spent the last few weeks in what she had assumed was an attempt to grow closer–and yet, here he was making her doubt they had accomplished anything at all. He looked back at her, the anger fading, to be replaced with what could only be described as fear of her reaction. She didn't know what to say to him–how to verbalize how completely disappointed in him she was at that moment–how completely disappointed she was in their relationship. Finally, after seeing he was making no attempt to speak, she blurted out her fears and accusations."

"You "know" she's not allowed to be here–and yet you stood there willing to give her your shoulder to cry on!"

"I–I tried to–make her leave," he managed to get out.

"You tried? Tell me, Grissom–just how hard did you try? You just stood there! My God, if I hadn't come in when I did, she would've been in your arms in a matter of seconds!"

"Sara, you know. . ."

"I know you can't seem to say no to her! Christ, Grissom! How hard would it have been to just escort her out of your office? But you just stood there!"

"Don't you think you're overreacting? She needed a friend. . ."

"Yeah–that's right! And you're the only goddamned friend she seemed to have been able to make the whole time she worked here? Oh–wait–that's right. You're the only one that she tried to get into bed–I guess that makes you her best friend after all! Why can't you just say no? Hell, you had no problem saying it to me enough through the years–but any other woman and you're putty in their goddamned hands!"

"I–I. . ."

"I don't want to hear any more," Sara said in a barely audible voice as she put her hand in the air to ward him off then turned and started back out of the office.

"Wait. I thought you had a question."

"I'll ask Catherine."

Sara stormed off to the restroom and locked herself inside until she got her temper under control. Jesus, but she's got to learn to control it better than this–at least while at work. If Ecklie had overheard them, she'd be out on her ear on another suspension. She went to Catherine and Warrick and discussed the question she was about to ask Grissom, and together they came up with the answer. She didn't have too much of a hard time avoiding Grissom for the next few hours–it seemed he knew he was treading on thin ice and kept his distance but she knew it wouldn't last long. They had work to do, and she knew the importance of this case. She didn't want to let Brass down, so she forged ahead and went back into the field to find the still-missing bullet.

She sat in the back of a Denali with the tailgate raised as she jotted down some notes when Grissom approached her.

"Sara! Will you come with me to the east alley, please?"

Sara looked at him, still feeling a twinge of anger at him. "I thought my top priority, as per the under sheriff, was finding the bullet that went through Bell."

"Well, this is per me," he told her, then smiled one of his little-boy smiles that he often used to talk her into anything he wanted. "C'mon. It'll be fun."

She glanced around, then sighed and got up to join him. "Okay."

She followed him to the alley where he had her hold a ladder as he climbed it, then after a few moments called to her.

"Sara!"

"Yeah?"

"Call Hodges at the lab. Have him bring two Exempler forty-fives out here. I'll get Ortega to bring Brass and Sergeant Carroll."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"What goes up–must come down."

Sara was on her cell as she held the ladder for Grissom to come back down, then hung up after explaining the instructions to Hodges, but instead of Grissom going off to get Ortega, he stayed next to her.

"He'll bring them right over," Sara told him as she kept her gaze pointed anywhere but at him.

"Ya know, you're going to have to look at me some time today," Grissom coaxed as he put his hand over hers where it rested on a rung of the ladder.

She attempted to move her hand as she turned her gaze upon him, but he squeezed it and held it firmly in place, then gently stroke his thumb over her wrist.

"Aren't you afraid someone is going to see us?" She asked a bit sarcastically.

"See us what? Holding a ladder? I don't think that's an offense we would likely lose our jobs over. Anyway, I like holding your hand." He smiled at her again and she could see that he was trying to break through the barrier she had erected.

"You made me angry today," she said simply as she looked away from him again.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why are you sorry? What are you sorry about? The fact that you made me angry? Or the fact that you couldn't evict Sophia from your office and put an end to this business once and for all."

"Both, I guess–or should it be for all three? You know that I'm amazingly incapable of verbalizing myself when I seem to need to the most. I might not have been saying anything, but she really didn't give me a chance. She wouldn't stop talking. I knew she was distressed and I couldn't find it in myself to actually shout at her to shut the hell up before my girlfriend walks in and kicks her out on her butt."

"Don't be funny," Sara said as she looked back at him. "I just wish you would've taken care of it yourself and not had to wait for me to show up and play the overbearing girlfriend."

"I swear to you, if you'd have come in any later, I would've had it under control. She would've been on her way and you wouldn't even have had to lay eyes on her."

She stared at him a moment, slowly accepting his explanation. "She said I don't have any friends. Is that what everyone thinks about me?"

"No, dear. I'm sure they don't. Forget what she said–she was trying to hurt you. Don't let her succeed. Come on," he pulled her hand from the ladder and started walking with her toward the entrance to the alley then released her hand. "We'll get through this mess and be back home before you know it."

"Then what?" She asked as she walked next to him.

"Then I'll show you that "I'm" the only friend you need to be concerned with."

Later that day, Sara watched as Grissom tried to explain the "disappearing gun" theory to the others as he ordered Hodges to toss a revolver up on the slate roof, only to be informed that the younger man wasn't the "athletic" type. She only had to hear her name to know what he wanted her to do, and at that moment, she felt as if she were his right arm. She wondered if anyone else ever noticed that he didn't have to verbalize his thoughts and she would do what he wanted. The fact that he had blind faith in her to toss the guns onto the roof was enough to help her previous anger and frustration at him dissipate almost completely.

That night, when they finally proved who the actual shooter was, Grissom and Sara looked at one another, each seeing the heartache the other was feeling at the knowledge that their friend fired the fatal bullet. Not that they wished it had been Sophia–they wouldn't wish that on anyone–but the fact that it was their dear friend weighed heavily on them, and Sara knew that within a few hours Grissom would take it upon himself to make Brass aware of his findings.

From that burden, she watched as Grissom was sent to explain their findings to the community who were already convinced that they were wrongfully jeopardized because of a police conspiracy.

Sara waited for Grissom to return to his apartment that afternoon. She knew he had to be absolutely drained when he would get there, and his appearance in his doorway proved her right. He closed the door then seemed to trudge toward his closet where he hung his jacket. His next destination was directly to her as she waited by the kitchen counter. He glanced past her to the spaghetti she had waiting for him, but instead of going to the table, he turned to her and put his arms around her waist. He didn't say a word as he dropped his head onto her shoulder and she knew he wasn't quite as interested in eating at that moment than he was in absorbing any support she could give him.

"Would you rather go lie down for awhile?" She held her arms around his shoulders as she stroked the back of his head.

He nodded affirmatively and took her hand as he started back to his bedroom. She watched as he wearily sat down then turned on the mattress until he was lying on his back, not even pausing to remove his shoes. He looked at her and she understood that he wanted her with him, so she stepped out of her sandals and lay next to him and nestled against his side. He remained quiet, and she didn't try to make him talk as she simply stayed next to him and stroked the center of his chest. Finally, after nearly half an hour of silence, he slowly opened up to her.

"He's taking it hard. He doesn't deserve this," he told her.

"No. He doesn't."

"How's he going to deal with this?"

"Slowly. One day at a time–and if that's too much, then one hour or one minute at a time. Then eventually the minutes and hours will begin to flow again and not be such a tragic burden to push himself through."

"I hated having to tell him that it was his bullet that killed Bell."

"I know. But you wouldn't have allowed it any other way."

"I'm exhausted," he sighed as he closed his eyes.

"I'm not surprised. Try to get some rest."

"But you made dinner. I should go out and eat it."

"I'll put it in the refrigerator, then we'll warm it up some other time."

"Don't put it away yet. Just stay here awhile longer."

"I'm right here," she soothed as she turned her face to his shirt and gently kissed his chest before nestling against him again.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Over the next few weeks Grissom watched as Sara's words of wisdom rang true. Although he doubted Jim would ever fully recover from the episode with Officer Bell, he could see that he was slowly becoming more involved with life again, and not isolating himself as he had been. The last few cases had been somewhat bizarre, but he certainly couldn't say they even came close to this one. The fact that the twins both had hypertrichosis made everyone stop and pause over that one.

After their first hours into the case, their shifts ran over, as it often did, and it was nearing dinner time. There really was nothing to be done for the next few hours, so when Nick suggested they all meet to grab something to eat, Sara and Grissom went along with the idea. "Frank's Restaurant" was their destination and by the time they all crowded into one of their larger booths, Sara was cramped into a corner with Nick sitting next to her and Warrick on the other side of him. Grissom sat opposite Warrick and next to Catherine, with Greg taking the place opposite Sara. They all ordered large coffees, knowing that even though there was nothing to be done at this moment, this case was going to run them well into the evening and probably the night. Their meals were predictable, with each of the men going for some sort of beef–Greg ordering a Philly cheesesteak, Nick going for a bar-b-qued rodeo burger and onion rings, Warrick going for the quarter-pounder through the garden with fries, and Grissom with a single and some fries. Catherine started out trying to be healthy by ordering a chef's salad, but midway through, ordered a slice of cherry pie to go with it. Sara took the veggie burger with a side salad.

The conversations flew in all directions as they ate their meals, each person preoccupied with the food they were trying to get down before anything new broke in the case and they would be called back to the lab. Grissom was becoming more and more interested in the conversations going on at the opposite end of the table though, as Nick and Greg had Sara laughing at their antics, and soon Catherine joined in as she became entertained by the three of them.

"Sara! Come on! How can you not find this mouth-watering?" Nick held open his burger with the sauce about to drip off of it then started piling onion rings on top before putting the top bun back on it.

"That–is disgusting! Last week it was some poor brown-eyed mother cow eating grass in the pasture, thinking her future looked bright and hopeful."

"Yeah?" Greg asked. "What was she doing? Planning Junior-Bubba-Cow's future at Yale, or what? How far ahead can cow's plan?"

He took a huge bite of his cheese steak sub and Sara giggled when a bit splotch of marinara sauce dribbled over his chin and onto his shirt.

"Well–that was graceful," she laughed at the younger man.

"Ah–man!" Greg tried to see where the sauce had landed.

"Come here," Sara leaned forward with her napkin and wiped it off of him as best she could.

"See how she takes care of me?" Greg beamed as he looked at Nick.

"Sara would wipe baby drool off of anyone who needed it," Warrick told him. "You just happen to be the one who needs it most often."

"It was not "baby drool," Greg told him with faux irritation. "It was a simple miscalculation of my aim and the size of my mouth."

"Hmph," Nick snorted. "With a hole that big–how could you miscalculate that target?"

"Anyway–I bet she "wouldn't" do it for just anyone." Greg went back to eating his sandwich.

"She'd do it for me," Nick said as he studied the pile of food he was creating.

"She wouldn't "have to" do it for me," Warrick insisted, bringing a chuckle from Catherine as he no sooner got the words out than plop of ketchup dripped from his burger and landed on his hand. He merely brought the offending appendage to his mouth and licked it off. "Alright, so maybe I have a "few" accidents once in awhile."

"She wouldn't do it for Grissom," Greg said as he chomped on his food. This comment brought disbelieving chuckles from Nick and Warrick, while Catherine sat with a knowing smile as she picked at her slice of pie.

"She wouldn't dare," Nick told Greg. "She might not get her hand back."

"What makes you think he wouldn't enjoy it?" Catherine asked, still watching her pie with a half-smile.

"Grissom doesn't appreciate the finer arts of a woman babying him," Warrick told her as if everyone should have known that.

This comment made Grissom choke a bit on his burger as he looked at the man across from him. "What makes you think I couldn't have a woman "babying" me?"

All three men turned to look at their boss, then laughed as they went back to their meals.

"Of course you could, Gris," Catherine soothed him, giving a small glance at Sara, who was now nearly as pink as the cherry filling in the slice of pie. "Next time you spill your food down your front, we'll send Sara over to mother you."

"I don't know about Sara," Nick added, still preoccupied with his mountain of a burger. "Lady Heather might be the one to do the "mothering."

"Do we have to discuss this?" Grissom desperately wanted off "that" subject immediately.

"Lady Heather would do anything if you paid her enough," Warrick stated as he picked up some fries and started munching on them.

"Oh, I don't know about "anything," Catherine said.

"That's not what I heard," Nick added. "You have the right credit card–and she's a willing participant."

"Anyway," Greg spoke up. "I'd rather have Sara clean my messes."

Grissom glanced down at the brunette and saw the emotions flicker through her eyes, even if everyone else had missed it. Then she looked at Greg and smiled.

"I'd rather not clean up "anyone's" mess, thank you."

"Ya can't help it, kiddo," Nick said with a mouthful of burger. "It's what you're made of. You're a nurturer."

"Face it, Sara," Warrick added. "You'd jump through fire for any one of us if we needed you to."

"What is this?" Sara asked them. "If you guys want paid for compliments–sorry, but I'm all out of quarters."

"Alright," Catherine half-scolded the others. "Stop picking on Sara. She's hardly had time to eat her food. She's not like you apes, talk and shove food in your mouths at the same time."

"Thank you, Catherine," Sara gave the woman a timid, half-smile.

"Okay–if we can't tease Sara anymore–let's talk about. . .Hodges!" Greg spoke up and thus started a conversation regarding the technician back at the lab.

Grissom wasn't listening to the others as they talked, he was more concerned with how quiet Sara had become, practically eating her food in silence, then when she finished, she asked Warrick and Nick to let her out so she could use the facilities. The others went back to discussing various aspects of the case, then after fifteen minutes, Catherine turned in the booth to look behind them.

"I wonder what's taking Sara so long."

"Woman stuff–probably," Nick said. "Did ya ever notice that if you take your date somewhere and you both have to go to the bathroom, you can be in and out and still have to wait another ten or so minutes until she joins you."

"That's because "you" don't wash your hands," Warrick told him.

"I do so," Nick smiled at him.

"It's because. . ." Catherine started to explain, then thought better of it. "Let me out, Grissom. I think I need to join Sara for a few moments."

"Oh, great," Nick spoke up. "Now, there'll be two of them in there–that usually means it'll take twice as long. I don't know what they do in there."

"We'll have to toss you in the ladies room back at the lab some time–then you can investigate it and see for yourself," Warrick said dryly.

"If he gets to go in–so do I," Greg spoke up.

"I'm not going into the ladies room," Nick snorted.

"Any more coffee, guys?" The waitress approached with a pot of the black liquid.

They all agreed to another cup which they started before Catherine returned to the table, standing to wait for Grissom to get up and let her back onto the seat.

"Did either of you see her leave?" Catherine asked Warrick and Nick.

"Not me," Nick told her.

"I wasn't paying any attention," Warrick said.

"Well, she's not in the bathroom." Catherine took her seat.

Instead of sitting with them, Grissom got out his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table. "Here, she must've forgot to pay her bill. This ought to cover both of ours. I'll see you back at the lab. I have a few errands to run."

He moved out of the restaurant and got into his car, wondering just where Sara would have gone. He pulled into the parking garage at the lab and noticed that Sara's car was in her usual parking space. As he went through the halls of their department, he finally came across her as she stood in the break room, looking out the window at nothing in particular.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, causing her to turn slightly and look at him.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine." She used that tone that told him she was anything "but" fine. "I–uh–wanted to come back and check on some prints I had taken earlier."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No–not really," she told him as she stared at the floor. "I guess I'll just have to keep looking."

"And just what were you looking for?" He picked up on her double-sided conversation.

"Something clear–I guess something that would jump right out at me."

"Sometimes you have to search beneath the surface to come up with what you want."

"I know that," she half-smiled at him. "I'll keep digging, I guess."

"Um," he looked down the hallways to see if there was any chance of being overheard, then upon finding no one, stepped farther into the room. "There's no reason for you or I to be here. Would you. . ."

"Meet you at your place?" She finished for him.

"It would be more comfortable than waiting here–at least for an hour or two," he coaxed with his tilted smile. "Come on–I promise to make it worth your while."

She seemed to find that amusing as she gave him a twisted smile of her own. "Oh, well–how can I resist an offer like that?"

Grissom allowed Sara to leave a minute or so ahead of him, then started out, making a single stop on the way. When he arrived home, he saw Sara waiting near the door and hurried to meet her. She looked at the small paper bag he was carrying with curiosity, but allowed him to get them inside without asking about it. He went to the kitchen to remove the object from the bag then took it back to where she was sitting on the sofa.

"Will this help make you feel better?" He asked as he held the container out to her.

She looked at the object in his hand and a smile slowly spread across her features. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I don't know," he said mischievously as she took it and pulled the plastic lid from it. "What do you think it is?"

"It is! A banana split!" She drew her legs up beneath her with the excitement of a child that completely charmed him. "Come–sit down! You can share it with me!"

"No, I'm fine. You can eat it." He sat next to her, but she crawled over to him until she straddled his lap and took the first spoonful of chocolate and marshmallow, groaning with satisfaction, bringing another smile to his face as he watched her.

"What?" She asked.

"I thought you only made those sounds when we were making love."

She gave a throaty giggle, then dug in for another spoonful of strawberry ice cream, whipped cream and peanuts. She held it to his lips. "When was the last time you had a banana split?"

"Um–I don't think I've had one since I was a teen."

"Then you've forgotten what you've been missing. Open."

He did as instructed and she placed the substance inside his mouth. He watched as she ate some more herself, then would feed him some. This went on for over five minutes before she lifted some melted chocolate ice cream and a chunk of banana that was dripping with chocolate syrup. She was about to bring it to his mouth, but bumped the container and watched as it flipped off the spoon and landed on his shirt.

"Oops."

He raised a brow as he looked at her. "Oops?"

She laughed as she nodded her head affirmatively. "Mm-hmm. Oops."

"That's going to stain. You realize that, don't you?"

"Then take it off. I'll go rinse it for you."

"You're not going to wipe it off, like you did for Greg?"

"I didn't care if "his" shirt got stained." She got to her feet, and took his hand to take them toward the bathroom and his bedroom.

He took off the shirt and handed it to her, then went to his bed to wait for her, deciding that it certainly wouldn't hurt to relax for a bit before being called back to work. It only took her a few minutes until she returned to his room and although he had his eyes closed , he could sense her standing next to the bed. He looked at her just in time to feel the cold combination of melted ice cream, chocolate syrup, marshmallow and cherry juice run over his bare chest then down to his stomach.

"What are you doing?" He was going to sit up until he noticed how the liquid ran in all directions the more he moved.

"Sorry," she said without conviction as her eyes sparkled down at him. "I couldn't resist it."

"Are you insane? It's cold–and sticky!"

"Ahh, poor baby."

She sat the container on his bed-stand then moved to straddle his hips again. This time he noticed that she had removed her shoes, socks and jeans and was sitting there wearing only her t-shirt and panties. She pulled her hair back and held it behind her as she leaned down and ran her tongue over the chocolate mess that started on his chest. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her actions at first, but the more she went on, the more he lay back and enjoyed the sensation of her lips and tongue moving on his skin. By the time she had maneuvered lower so she could get to the stream of chocolate that ran over his stomach, he was starting to tense at her touch.

"Take your shirt off," he said through grit teeth as she cleaned a strip of it that had run down over his side onto his waist and when she wasn't moving fast enough to satisfy him, he reached down and pulled it off of her.

The bra came off in an instant and he grabbed hold of her arms and turned her so she was lying next to him and he was leaning over her. He grabbed the container of what was left of the ice cream and took the plastic spoon and dipped it into the dark chocolate syrup then ran a stripe of it down the center of her chest until he stopped at her navel. The sight of her stomach quivering beneath his light touch excited him as much as the prospect of cleaning her skin of the sugary concoction. Noting the darkness of the chocolate, he dipped the spoon again and started at the top of her chest, this time spreading it out as he ran it over her breast and around her nipple until it stood erect. He lavished special attention on both nipples and smiled as she shivered in response. He then took his artwork a bit farther when he wrote "you are exquisite" across her stomach.

She watched his every movement, with each stroke, her eyes seemed to sizzle a bit more until he stopped and watched her in return.

"Now, clean it off," she whispered, but he chuckled at her and slowly shook his head no. "No?"

"No."

He watched the disbelief in her eyes until an instant later he noticed the slight change in her face and he knew he was in immanent danger. He didn't even have time to move before she reached around his neck and pulled him down on top of her so that their chests and stomachs came in full contact. When he tried to roll off of her, she rolled with him and quickly rolled on top of him, then slid herself on him until they were both a sticky mess.

"Are you going to clean it off, now?" She asked as she looked down at him.

"Not yet."

He took the container that he still held in his hand and simply poured it over her back, making her squeal in response to the amount of it that flowed over her and eventually down over her sides and onto him. He dropped the empty container on the bed, then ran his hands down her sides and into the waistband of her panties, pushing them over her hips until he rolled her back onto the mattress, then pulled them off of her completely.

"What are you doing?" She laughed at him as she held onto his shoulders.

"Making my very own "Sara Sundae. . .," he started, then caught sight of a red object lying on the mattress, picked it up and placed it in her navel. ". . .with a cherry on top."

"You do realize that by now, we're ruining your mattress."

"We'll flip it. Anyway, the comforter ought to be thick enough to protect it."

"Then we're ruining the comforter."

"We'll buy a new one."

He let his eyes travel down her chocolate/ice cream smeared body, then let his hand follow as he started at her stomach and spread the mess down over her hips. He watched, totally enthralled as he smeared it around her thighs, then went to the insides of her legs before moving himself until he was lying between her long limbs.

"Gil," she whispered in anticipation but became silent as his mouth met the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and worked inward until he was nuzzling an area so sweet it couldn't compete with the ice cream around it.

The longer he performed his exploration of her, the tighter he was becoming with his own need. Knowing that if he didn't move from this position, he wouldn't be able to complete what he was doing for her, he partially raised himself up. He pulled her around until they were lying on the mattress cross-wise with his head toward the windows, near her legs. He then pulled her over top of him and resumed his artistry, giving him access in a position that he quickly acquainted himself with and enjoyed. He knew he was blatantly insinuating to her what he wanted her to do, but at this point, he didn't care. And she didn't hesitate as she unbuckled his pants, then opened them and pulled him free of the cloth. In her heightened excitement she wasted no time with preliminaries and he was past the point of needing them as she took him into her mouth and they both responded to each sound, each stroke, each moan that they evoked from one another until he thought he was going to go mad trying to hold back until he could take her to the point she was racing for. When he settled on her throbbing nub and inserted two fingers into her, he knew she hit her peak and was tumbling over its edge as she cried out his name. A few moments to recollect herself and she was back to her task and he gladly obliged as he finally released himself in a climactic ending so powerful he thought his ears were actually ringing.

They were both slow to respond, until finally, she moved off of him and turned her body until she was facing him.

"You continue to amaze me, Dr. Grissom," she sighed sleepily as she nestled against him.

"Good," he chuckled. "I'm glad."

He held her against him and they both fell into a deep slumber.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Gil?" Sara whispered as she lie on top of him and touched his beard with her fingertips. "Gilbert?"

"Hmm?" He evidently still wanted to continue sleeping.

"Honey, it's getting cold."

"I'm not cold," he answered with his eyes still closed.

"Of course not, you've got me on top of you–my backside is out and getting all the cool air."

"Then cover up," he said groggily.

"We're lying on the blanket."

He groaned in objection, then rolled with her until he was on top of her, but his eyes opened upon the touch of the now cold, damp comforter they had rolled onto.

"Ew!"

Sara laughed at him. "I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you get grossed out over anything, Griss. And it only took cold and sticky ice cream to do it."

He blinked as he looked at her, as if trying to recall just how his bed had gotten in such a mess, then smiled briefly as he raised himself off of her and got to his feet, taking his pants off completely as he did so. He reached for her hand and pulled her up with him.

"Come on. We shouldn't have fallen asleep like that. I'm sure they've been trying to contact us for hours." He leaned over and picked up a pair of white satin panties that were now covered in chocolate and marshmallow.

"I didn't hear anything."

"That's because we left our phones in our jacket pockets, out on the sofa."

"Should I go check for messages?"

"No point. We can't do anything until we clean up first. We can check our messages then." He grabbed onto the ruined comforter and pulled it off the bed, along with her discarded t-shirt that was now unable to be worn again. After a quick glance he saw that the sheets had some signs of the food stains but when he pulled them off, the mattress seemed to have been protected. "I hope you have some extra clothes in your locker at work."

"I don't think I have any underwear." She started for the bathroom with him following. "I'll just wear one of your t-shirts, until I get mine, but I'll have to go commando. You won't mind, will you?"

He simply groaned at the thought of working the rest of the night with her, knowing she was wearing nothing beneath her jeans. Their shower was done very quickly, simply getting the worst of the mess, before returning to his bedroom and throwing on the necessary clothing to work in. Finally, they got to the living room and picked up their pagers and cells.

"I've got to go," Sara told Grissom as she pulled on her jacket. "Sophia left a message that I'm to meet her. She's found some evidence she wants me to gather."

Grissom grabbed his jacket as well and followed her out the door then kissed her before the went their separate ways.

Sara drove to where Sophia had instructed and as she parked her vehicle, she couldn't help but notice the presumptuous stance the other woman had taken as she watched her approach.

"I've been waiting for you," Sophia told her as she walked to the telephone booth she was leaning against.

"Sorry. I headed out as soon as I got your page."

"Really?" Sophia said disbelievingly. "Cause–uh–I left a voice mail several hours ago."

Sara didn't want to be baited into this conversation, so she simply said, "What's up?"

"An anonymous call was traced to this phone booth. I figured you'd want to process it."

Sara shined her flashlight inside, seeing the smears on the phone's receiver. "There's fingerprint powder on the phone."

"Yeah–I got bored waiting. I thought you might need some help. No usable prints–but check out the floor."

Need some help, my ass, Sara thought as she turned back to the booth with irritation.

"There's a lot of hair. Similar hair to the crime scene."

"The victim was killed twelve hours before this call was made. If that's his hair, what's it doing here?"

Sara collected the strands needed to take back to the lab, but when she stood up to return to her vehicle, she backed up a step when she realized Sophia was standing a bit too close for comfort. She took quick note of how closely Sophia was looking at her, going from her hair to her neck and back again.

"Uh–I think I'd like to get back to the lab any time now," Sara said as she stepped around Sophia, but the blond started walking next to her.

"What's that on your hair and neck? Is that chocolate? You smell like chocolate!"

"Then it must be chocolate," Sara said in exasperation as she continued to walk to her Denali.

"What the hell were you doing while I was out here waiting for you? Swimming in the stuff?"

Sara opened the door and got inside, then smiled stiffly at Sophia. "No–not swimming. I prefer to "sleep" in it."

Sara closed the door and headed back to the lab, but noticed quickly enough that Sophia was following her in her own vehicle. She was sure the woman was going to accost her again before she got inside the building, but surprisingly, Sophia went off in another direction. Sara took her samples for DNA sampling and was heading back to the locker room to check her own "evidence" that she neglected to completely clean off of herself, but was sidetracked when she saw Sophia in Grissom's office. Sara stopped in front of the doorway, waiting to see what the woman was up to now.

"I just don't think its appropriate for one of your employees to shut off her pager and cell while she's on the clock." Sophia stood before his desk with her hands on her hips.

Grissom got to his feet and picked up some files before moving around his desk, pausing to look at the blond. "I really don't think what Sara does when she's on "my" time, is any of your business–especially now that you're not in the department anymore."

Sara watched as Sophia looked at Grissom just as closely as she had looked at her earlier. When the other woman raised her hand and touched Grissom's beard, Sara started into the room, ready to rip her arm off, but paused when she saw how Grissom pulled his head back, away from her.

"What–is–that?" Sophia asked slowly, then reached again and touched the man's throat. She brought it back to her face and sniffed before she looked at him sharply. "Chocolate!"

Grissom's hand went to his throat, finding an area that had gone unnoticed during his speedy shower earlier in the evening. "I–I must have. . ."

"Do "you" make a habit of "sleeping" in chocolate, too?" Sophia asked with anger, then looked at Sara as she slowly approached them and stood next to Grissom.

Sara watched the woman's expression turn from anger to defeat, then a sorry sort of acceptance as Sara picked up a tissue and wiped the telltale sign from Grissom's beard. She didn't know which bothered the other woman more, the fact that there was most probably something going on between the two of them–or the fact that instead of pulling away from Sara, as he had Sophia's touch, he almost leaned into it.

"Well, Sophia. You really are quite the detective, aren't you?" Sara asked as she tossed the tissue in the trash can. "You figured out that we stopped for ice cream this evening."

"Yeah," Sophia said distastefully. "I always get chocolate in my hair and on my throat when I'm eating ice cream. It makes me wonder what other areas you both have it on."

"I wouldn't waste my time wondering about that too much," Sara told her. "The fact is that Grissom and I are sloppy eaters. But, maybe you should spend more time finding someone who might want to go for ice cream with you. I'm sure you wouldn't have to worry about getting chocolate on your throat, or other parts of your body, though."

"No, I guess not," Sophia told her stiffly. "I guess it's an acquired taste."

"I'd prefer to think of it as an acquired "talent."

"Sara," Grissom said sternly. "That's enough. Sophia–if you're through, Sara and I have a case we're working on."

Sophia looked at the two of them, then turned and walked out the door, mumbling to herself. "Ice cream. She won him over with fucking ice cream."

"Well, it wasn't exactly "fucking" ice cream," Sara started, but stopped when Grissom put his hand on her arm and pulled her back from the doorway.

"Stop it," he warned her half-heartedly. "You've won the battle. The war's over."

"Do you think she's going to go running to Ecklie?"

"Don't know. I'll talk to Brass and see what he can do about her. Maybe he'll be able to talk some sense into her."

The rest of the case eventually ended and as had become their custom, Grissom and Sara recuperated by finding sleep in one another's arms until they felt fit enough to get up and join the living. It was after one of these long sessions of pure sleep that Sara woke before him and lay, watching him. She was amazed at how quickly Sophia seemed to have calmed down and even seemed to be attempting to be somewhat friendly with her. Sara often wondered if perhaps Brass had threatened her in some way, but then thought better of it. Who knows, maybe she did go out and find an "ice cream partner" of her very own. That could be why she had been in such a good mood lately. It was actually getting kind of nice finally getting to know the other woman. Sara knew they would never be bosom buddies, but she wasn't in fear of a stab in her back every time the woman came near.

Sara slowly moved out from under Grissom's arm as it lay across her and went to the bathroom where she got the bag she had brought in earlier that week. She knew he wasn't aware of it, as it was in the same place she had stashed it, days ago. She pulled the candles out of the bag and placed them strategically around the bathroom, then went through and lit each one. She filled the tub with water and added some fragrant bubbles and oils, then pinned her hair up in a loose bun and sank down into the soothing liquid. She was feeling completely relaxed when she heard him enter the room with her. She watched as he looked around at the effect of the candlelight and the fragrances that floated through the air. He approached her and looked down at her glistening body.

"Is this your idea of how to add a woman's touch to my apartment?" He asked as he sat on the edge of the tub.

"Not really." She reached out and ran her hand over his thigh, letting the slickness of the bath oils heighten the experience. "I'm only relaxing and enjoying myself. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I could stay in here and watch you for the rest of the night. It doesn't bother me a bit."

"Well, that's reassuring–knowing that you could watch me bathe all night and it wouldn't affect you."

"I didn't say that. It's affecting me already."

She slid down in the tub until her chin was touching the surface of the water. "Then do something about it."

"You really "do" want me to take a bath with you, don't you?" He smiled at her.

"Try it–just once. I promise–if we get stuck in here, I'll never suggest it again."

She watched as he stood up, then pushed his underwear down over his hips. "Move forward."

He stepped in behind her, then put a leg on either side of her as she leaned back against his chest. She sighed as she leaned into him, then started rubbing her hands over the hair on his calves.

"There. That's not so bad, is it?"

"Not yet."

She watched his large hands as they picked up some body wash and started spreading it across her shoulders and massaging it down her arms.

"Do you know what I should do?" She asked as she played with some bubbles that clung to his knee.

"Nothing too acrobatic, I hope. I don't think it would work in here."

She laughed at him then covered his hands with her own.

"No. I was thinking about "my" bathroom. I should get one of those old cast iron tubs and have the faucet coming out of the center instead of at one end. That way you could have an end and I could have the other end."

"That's a bit enthusiastic, don't you think? For all you know, I'll throw my back out and be off work for a week. How would I explain that to Ecklie?"

"Easy–tell him you had some hot brunette in the tub with you and you were engaging in the most mind-blowing sex you've ever had in your life. He doesn't have to know who the brunette was. And I want to be there when you tell him, so I can see his face."

"I don't see that happening any time soon."

"What? Throwing your back out? Explaining it to Ecklie? Or having mind-blowing sex?"

"Let's work on one thing at a time. Move forward a bit and I'll wash your back."

She sighed again at the sensation of his hands rubbing down her sensitive skin. She rested her head against her knees and became totally relaxed until he unexpectedly moved his fingers around to the side of her waist and intentionally tickled her. She jumped away from the offending hand.

"Don't do that!" She grabbed each of his hands with hers, then brought them around her as she leaned against him again. "Rub these, instead."

"So, this is why you wanted me in here? You receive all the pleasure and I have to do all the work," he teased as he cupped her breasts and began massaging them.

"If we had a bigger tub–I could turn around and take care of you the right way."

"One thing at a time, my love."

She turned herself slightly so she could look at him. "Am I?"

"Are you what?" He smiled at her; one of those smiles that never fully developed on his lips but shone from his eyes.

"What you just said?"

"What do you think?"

She slowly reached her hands up to his face and watched him to gauge his sincerity, then pulled him closer so she could kiss his lips. He kissed her back, gently, letting a tenderness flow from him that was very reassuring.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: I wanted to assure those of you who have been following my story, that this is strictly a GSR story. But, it "is" following the flow of the show, and as we all know, things definitely did not go smoothly for our favorite couple. There have been one or two comments that have suggested I keep things running on a smooth level between Sara and Grissom; that I portray them as a happy couple who do not fight, but I feel that would be out of line with how the show had been presented. Big obstacles interfere with their relationship, and I feel they should be looked into. I want you to be confident in Sara's and Grissom's fidelity. If you, the reader, can't trust our leading characters, then they aren't worth writing about. Please, stick with me. It will be an up and down ride, but a ride well worth taking. I thank you all for reading and reviewing–it truly means a lot to me, and keeps me writing.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

He wanted to take her somewhere nice–hell, he wanted to take her everywhere. But tonight, they were celebrating the fact that they had survived a relationship that had lasted nearly a year; a record for him. The fact that he had to take her fifty miles outside of the city was a bit daunting, but they were dealing with it. The restaurant was lit mostly by candlelight, and when she would look at him, he could see it reflected in the depths of her chocolate brown eyes. He was constantly amazed at her change in appearance, she could become so many different people, all of whom he was attracted to. Whether it be the tomboy jumping into a garbage bin to root through the muck and slime for some kind of evidence they could use, or the woman who would sit quietly in the mornings and manicure her nails to perfection, she enthralled him. Sometimes his attraction to her was so strong that it frightened him, but in the end, no matter which persona she was allowing to shine through–they all would end with the explosive, fiery lover that she could turn into.

He looked at her dress as she sat across the table from him; silk that draped down to show him just a hint of the breasts he knew as well as his own hand. The sensuous fabric then went on to fall above her knee, allowing those wonderfully long legs to be shown to perfection. Some days, they would spend their time reading on his sofa, each occupying their own end with their own books or magazines as she would have her feet on his lap and he would absently rub them for her, and even during those times, he could easily be turned on by those long legs. But he had to admit, there was something special when she wore heels with a dress or skirt. He didn't even mind the fact that in three-inch spikes, she was about as tall as him, if not a bit taller. It mattered little because he knew that in the end, he would have her to himself and strip those shoes off before showing her just how much he appreciated the way she displayed herself for him.

"Did I tell you how handsome you look tonight?" Sara asked as she lifted her foot slightly, running her toe up his pant-leg until she came in contact with skin above his sock.

"I'm the one who should be complimenting you. You're lovely, my dear." He opened his napkin and looked at the dish in front of him. "But if you don't stop your antics under the table, we may just have to skip the dancing portion of our evening and go straight home to finish this up properly."

She gave him half a smile and kept her foot where it was. "Are you saying that we'll end the evening "properly" even if we do go dancing?"

"Unless you've got other plans, my evening is all yours."

"Alright." She removed her foot as she began eating her salad. "I want to dance with you tonight. Then we'll–well, ya know."

"Then dance, we will." He couldn't help but smile at her. "Then we'll "ya know" until I run out of energy."

This made her giggle as she looked at him. "Considering that you only woke up about two hours ago, your energy could run all night."

"I'll try my best."

They finished their dinner and moved to the another part of the building where he held her in his arms and danced as closely as he wanted to; as long as he wanted to; without having to worry about his co-workers watching them. And when he felt the need to meet her lips with his, he certainly did that too.

They didn't seem to want to break their contact on the drive back to Vegas as they either held hands or reached out to touch one another's thighs. When they were only twenty miles from home, Grissom didn't seem satisfied with a passive hand to her lower appendage. Without being immediately aware of it, the feel of satin over her thigh was arousing him and his thumb and fingers began stroking the cloth on skin. He wasn't even aware of slowly pulling the cloth up to reveal bare thigh to which he spread his hand and started massaging. His need seemed to sneak up on him as his hand moved higher, taking in the texture of the satin and lace covering her apex.

"Gil?" Sara breathed as she looked over at him.

God, but she looked good enough to eat, he thought as he noticed how the dashboard lights brought a glow about her. Suddenly the picture of her on the fender of his car flashed through his mind with such intensity that it felt like a jolt to his groin. He pulled his hand back and put it on the steering wheel, but instead of driving on, he took the next exit that lead into the desert. After that, he took the first small road he could find and drove about a mile into the darkness; their headlights being the only lights he could see other than the moon from up above. As he stopped the car, he turned more fully toward her and unhooked her seatbelt. He pulled her over against him and met her lips with his own, tasting the wine she had with dinner, tasting her. He felt her unhook his seatbelt, then felt her hand wander across his chest moving up to his tie. She used both hands as she untied the fabric then pulled it from around his neck. He wasn't really aware of when she unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He was beginning to drown in sensations as he leaned over her and let their tongues duel in a battle that they would both win.

"Come on," he murmured against her lips then pulled back from her. "Out here."

He was on his feet in an instant, going around the front of the car to meet her as she was just closing her door. He wanted her so badly that if he didn't possess her soon, he was afraid he would lose it right there. He grabbed her by the neck and pulled her into his kiss again, backing her up against the car until she could go no farther. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and removed one arm at a time then let it drop onto the sand. He released her long enough to take in the sight of her and she was breathtaking as she looked back at him. Her eyes traveled from his face to his chest and arms, then back again. He was getting familiar with the expression she was wearing and he swore, it made him feel like a god! Her admiration for him brought the slightest of smiles to him, knowing that at times like this, her hunger for him was just as intense as his was for her.

"God, Gil," she sighed as she watched him. "I swear, sometimes you take my breath away."

He didn't need any other encouragement as he moved back to her and pressed her against the fender then lifted her slightly until she was sitting on its edge. He was kissing her again as his hands moved to the top of her dress and pulled it down until she pulled her arms from her sleeves. He pushed it all the way to her waist, revealing her bra, that in the semi-darkness could only be described as something light, perhaps pink or white, but when his fingers grazed the fabric, he could feel the lace that surrounded her breasts. He bent her back until she was lying on the hood of his car and his mouth traveled down to her neck, then on to her breasts as she cradled him to her. He slid his hands down her waist and traveled down those glorious legs, feeling their silkiness as he slid back up their length and under her dress. He reached the thin strap of her panties and drew it over her hips, then stepped back far enough to pull them off, before resuming his feast on her mounds of flesh. He reached for the front of his pants, unzipping them and pulling himself free of the confines of his pants before moving up to her and finally pressing his length inside of her velvety core. Christ! He didn't think there was any sensation quite like filling Sara Sidle with himself. And her responses never ceased to amaze him, going from cat-like purrs to moans and sometimes low-toned screams. He couldn't seem to slow himself as his hips bucked against her. She pulled his head back up so her lips could meet with his and he reached for her legs, sliding his large hands over her bottom, then up her thighs and finally holding her beneath her knees. He felt as if he could ride her for hours, and die from the pleasure of it, but when he felt her reaching her climax and her walls started fluttering around him, he knew he was close. The stronger her climax became, the more he knew he couldn't hold out any longer and when she arched against him, telling him, "more, more," he couldn't stop the thrusts that had him sheathed within her to the hilt, over and over, harder and harder until his explosion finally overtook him and he released her legs, leaning his elbows on the car to support himself as he remained on top of her. He lay with her, both hearts beating against one another, eventually slowing to their normal speed as she stroked the back of his head.

"Gil?" Sara alerted him, making him raise his head and look at her, seeing how she was gazing off to the left of them. "We have to get up–someone's coming."

He looked in the direction she was watching and saw the lights approaching from a distance. He quickly kissed her lips once more and withdrew from her. He held her hand as she stepped down from his fender, then opened the door for her and deposited her inside. On the way around to his side, he grabbed his jacket, as well as the white panties that were still lying on his hood. He was in the car, turning around by the time the other vehicle was still a good quarter of a mile away. As he returned to the highway, he reached over and grabbed her hand then pulled it up to his mouth and kissed it. Another glance at her showed him how she was staring at him again. Man, this was going to be a long drive back home.

*******

Grissom listened to Brass explain who the young man was that was lying on the cement floor in a pool of blood, then he explained who the two women were standing behind him, huddled in a blanket. He listened to David explain that the man evidently had died from a wound to the upper leg and pelvic area. The thought that they had to search for a missing penis ran through Grissom's mind. This was going to be a hell of a night. It was clear that whoever the man was, he had been actively involved with both women.

"Well, in my experience, I found that most threesomes end up being one too many." Grissom explained to David, bringing a look from Warrick that could only be explained as a "you've got to be kidding" look. "Eh," Grissom thought. "Let him wonder about it." Grissom went on to instruct David to check to make sure they hadn't performed a Lorena Bobbitt on the man, to which David reluctantly complied, then quickly assured him that the man was definitely intact. "Thank God," Grissom thought. He was in no mood to send everyone out looking for the young man's family treasures.

He continued his investigation with Warrick working in the garage with him, while Sara and Greg checked the inside of the house. He found both women at the scene amazingly beautiful, but of late, such things seemed to pass right over him. His eyes sought out Sara, and when she finally came out of the building and saw him looking for her, she flashed him one of those smiles that blocked out the rest of the world for him. It was going to be a long night and any thoughts of going home with Sara in the morning were quickly tossed aside. They worked into the next evening, each taking small cat naps when they could fit them in.

He finally got a chance to see her again as she was in the layout room, explaining to him, as well as Warrick, her findings regarding the younger woman's telephone history. He was captivated as usual as he listened to her, watching her decipher what had been going on for the past months through telephone calls.

"Every time this chick calls Tom, somebody gets shot," Warrick observed.

"It's like thermite," Grissom told him.

"Thermite?" Sara asked with a puzzled look.

"When you combine two seemingly harmless elements, aluminum and rust, press them together, add heat–it creates an explosion so hot it'll burn through steel. Powerful, but uncontrollable, it burns and burns until it burns itself out, finally consuming both elements."

"I guess some people just shouldn't be together," Sara told him, turning his attention more fully on her as he wondered just what the hell "that" meant.

He watched her turn and leave the room with Warrick and didn't have a chance to see her again until after she returned from picking up a suspect with Brass, at which time he watched her walk past his office and down the hall. He got up from his desk and followed her as she headed in the direction of the locker room. As she was about to turn the corner she paused slightly and looked over her shoulder, a half-smile turning up her lips as she saw him, then kept moving out of his sight. He turned the corner but didn't see her until the door to the right opened and she caught his shirt to pull him inside with her. He glanced around to see the cot that she would sometimes nap on.

"What's up, Grissom?" She asked as she moved with him until he was leaning against the door and she was pressed up against him, gazing into his eyes. "You're following me–don't deny it."

"Some people shouldn't be together?" He asked sarcastically, bringing another smile to her.

"Ah–so does this mean you think "we" create explosions so hot it burns through steel?" She asked as she raised her arms and stroked his bearded cheeks.

"Don't you?" He asked, still slightly concerned, although he was definitely getting the feeling that she was baiting him again.

"Oh, honey, I've known we would be powerful and uncontrollable for years. It just took you alot longer to realize it."

"So you "are" saying that we shouldn't be together?" He asked with a raised brow.

"As far as I'm concerned, we haven't burned ourselves out. We definitely consume one another–but I think we'll keep burning for a long time."

This time, he smiled at her with satisfaction and dipped his head to kiss her, sliding his hands down to cup her buttocks and give them a squeeze which made her chuckle against him.

"See–we've still got a lot of fire left in us yet."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Are you sitting there trying to tell me that you've never gone to a drive-in theater before?" Sara said with disbelief from the passenger's seat of Grissom's car as she reached in the back and retrieved two pillows that she stuffed down between the two front seats.

Grissom thought for a moment. "Um, no–I didn't say that. I said I hardly know what to do here. Actually, I went to them with my parents when I was a child. Of course, they were a bit different then. We had to park next to poles that had speakers connected to them. You'd take the speaker off the pole and hang it on your window so you could listen to the movie."

"But you haven't been to a movie like this since the car radio replaced the old speakers?"

"No. I have not."

She laughed at him. "You mean you never brought a girl in your car and made out with her?"

"That's what I mean. But evidently this isn't a new experience for you."

"Not the drive-in per se. In college, we used to get a bunch of girls together, because back then you paid by the car, not the person. So, we'd squeeze ten girls into one car and only have to pay five dollars. But, making out with a guy? No–not me."

"Liar," he said as he reached over and pulled her closer to him so that she was resting against his side.

"Okay, maybe once or twice. But that's all we did, was share a few kisses. Remember that we went by the carload–I'm not in the habit of having sex in the front seat while another couple is in the back seat."

"So–how do they manage–to do it?" Grissom gestured toward the light coming from the concession stand. "Anyone could walk by and see you."

"Well," she said as she turned around and looked behind them. "I think they park more in the back–away from the lights. It gets rather dark back there. I don't think anyone could see."

"Okay." He started the car and turned around to move toward the back of the field, then parked again. "The back it is."

"You've got something in mind, Gil?" She chuckled at him.

"Isn't that why you had me bring you to a drive-in?"

"Actually, I thought you might enjoy watching two vintage movies. You can't beat Sting as Dr. Frankenstein and Gary Oldman as Dracula."

"I think I'd rather see Peter Boyle as Frankenstein and Leslie Nielson as Dracula."

"You don't want to watch these movies?" She asked.

"If you want to watch them–I'll watch them." He reached down and moved his seat back to give himself more room, then tilted his seat slightly.

"You're not going to watch them," she pouted as she looked at him. "You're going to go to sleep."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I can tell. You're settling in. You're going to go into hibernation mode as soon as the movie starts."

"I only getting more comfortable, sweetheart."

"Really?" She looked at his seat a little more carefully. "Just how far back does that seat go?"

He smiled at her as he intertwined his fingers over his stomach. "Far enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Should I specify that I meant it goes back far enough to "relax."

"Okay," she said indifferently as she turned back toward the front of the car then opened the door.

"Where are you going?" He called after her.

"Popcorn. I'll be right back."

He watched her walk across the field to the small building that sold a variety of foods and also housed the projection equipment and restrooms. She was only inside for a minute or two before returning on her walk back to the car carrying a small bucket of popcorn and a cup of what looked to be soda. As she got inside, she handed the items to him, then adjusted the radio as the first movie began and she sat back to watch.

"How can she be interested in him?" Grissom asked as he watched Winona Ryder becoming entranced by Gary Oldman.

"He's got her under his control. She'll do anything he wants. But I know what you mean. He doesn't look his best in this movie. He's much better as Sirius Black."

"So playing Oswald in JFK didn't do it for you?"

"No!" She laughed at him. "He was just plain creepy in that movie. How do you know so much about him, anyway?"

"Let's just say I remembered him from JFK. Other than all the hype over Harry Potter, I couldn't tell you anything else that he's been in."

"He plays Gordon in the Batman movies."

"I've never seen them." He leaned his head back against his seat and closed his eyes as the movie was very quickly losing his interest.

"You "are" going to sleep."

"No, I'm not," he laughed at her. "I'm–resting my eyes."

"Liar."

"Okay–so give me something more entertaining to do than watch this." He reached down and moved his seat back farther until he was at a forty-five degree angle, then moved it farther away from the steering wheel.

"Is that how you're initiating a sex session? Just moving your seat back and saying, "Hop on, honey?"

"I'm not the one who talks like that–you are." He laughed at her again, then took the bucket of popcorn from her hands and placed it on the floor. He took her hand and gestured for her to move closer to him. "But if you insist, come over here and hop on. I'll take you for a ride, princess."

He got the reaction he was seeking when she stared at him in disbelief at first, then started laughing at his uncharacteristic crassness. She moved closer and he put his arm around her to hold her snugly against his side, prepared to, just as she accused, drift off to sleep so she could enjoy her movie in peace.

"Gil?" She whispered in his ear and he watched her change positions on the pillows.

"Hmm?"

"I'd like to go for that ride now."

He laughed. "What am I? One of those mechanical horses at the front of supermarkets? You got a quarter for the ride, little girl?"

"I don't have a quarter–but I can whinny, if you like." She giggled against his mouth as she kissed him, then reached down to the button that adjusted the seat. "Let me fix this for you."

Whatever she did, dropped him flat on his back and his eyes opened with alarm. "Christ! Did you break it? How am I supposed to drive home if you broke it?"

Sara moved off of him immediately with her hand covering her mouth, but he could see that she was silently laughing at him. He immediately pressed the button on his seat to elevate it and it succeeded for about six inches, then dropped down again. He tried it again, only to have it do the same thing. A third time, had Sara laughing outright at him until he finally got it upright.

"I can't believe you broke your seat," she accused him.

"I didn't break it! You did!" She started to reach across him toward the button again but he grabbed her hand. "No! Leave it alone! I don't want to drive home with it stuck in the reclining position."

"But I'm bored," she moped as she looked at him through sullen eyes. "I need you to entertain me."

He reached for his door and opened it, getting out and moving to the back door. "Then come back here. You're not breaking any more of my seats."

He could of sworn he heard her squeak with delight as she hurried from her seat in the front and squeezed between the two seats to land in a heap on the back seat. He moved into the cramped area behind the driver's seat and realized he had forgotten to move the front seat forward again.

"What's wrong?" She asked as she moved closer to him.

"I think my foot's stuck."

"Stuck on what?" She tried to look down past his legs but couldn't see in the darkness. "Does it hurt?"

"My shoe is stuck under the front seat."

"Well, pull it off."

"My shoe–or the seat."

"Your shoe."

She half-climbed over his lap to reach to the side of the front seat where she pressed the button to move it forward. Thankfully, he had already removed his foot from his shoe, otherwise it would have been crushed by the mechanism. As it was, it was jammed between the seat and the floor so tightly that he couldn't budge it to get it back, and when he tried to reverse the seat to its previous position, the motor seemed to have died. He leaned back in his seat in complete exasperation.

"Now, how am I going to get my shoe back? And how am I going to drive home? You have the seat too close to the steering wheel."

"I'll drive."

"And my shoe?"

"Get out of the car."

He did as she told him and watched as she bent over the seat and started yanking on the object in question. Finally he heard it give way and she handed it out of the car to him. He held it up to the light and saw how the entire top of the shoe was ripped and just hanging off to the side. She smiled up at him and he sighed as he tossed the shoe in the front seat then got into the back with her again.

"I'm sorry I broke your car," she said solemnly as she moved onto her knees next to him.

"Mm-hmm."

"And I'm sorry I ripped your shoe." She reached over to stroke his beard, then ran her fingertip over his lips.

"Mm-hmm."

"Am I forgiven yet?" She asked with her lips only a millimeter from his.

"You're getting there."

He captured her mouth with his, feeling her smile her satisfaction against his lips, but within seconds the smile disappeared and she moaned with another kind of satisfaction. Their kiss deepened and she moved so that her legs were spread across the other side of the seat and she lay in his arms. It didn't take long for his hand to wander beneath her t-shirt and find her nipple which he immediately aroused to stiffness. She had such beautiful breasts and they seemed to fit perfectly into his hand, as if they had been made specifically for him. He pulled her farther up in his arms and dipped his head to capture the nipple between his lips as his tongue circled it and he gently bit at it and suckled. The more he tried to fulfill his hunger for her, the more she squirmed on the seat until finally, she couldn't take it any longer and moved his hand to her stomach, which she urged to go farther down, slipping inside her jeans. He could only reach her minimally, so she quickly unbuttoned and unzipped them, then pushed them down and kicked them from her legs. He easily slid his fingers inside her panties and massaged the bundle of nerves that had her moaning his name. He lifted his head and leaned back, lifting her into a sitting position as he reached down to his own pants and opened them, then lifted his hips to slide them down over his hips. He took her hand to assist her onto his lap, but when she tried to rise up to capture him, she hit her head off the roof.

"Ow!" She rubbed the tender spot as she looked at him. "We won't fit."

He couldn't believe it. If he had had his own way, they'd be home right now, probably reading on the sofa before going to bed for a leisurely episode of lovemaking. As it was, she had him trapped in the back seat of a car with an erection that was ready to explode and no easy way to take care of it. He quickly looked across the seat, hoping to be able to lie her across it and take over the process in the old standby, the missionary position, but the length of the seat (or lack of it) wouldn't allow them to partake in that, either. He looked back at her and she shrugged her shoulders then sat next to him and pulled him down until he was leaning over her and she began kissing him again, this time her slender fingers found him and gently squeezed him, bringing a low growl from the depths of his throat. He responded by returning his hand to its previous position, but this time, he inserted his fingers into her and worked with her until she was moving her hips in response to his touch. His mouth moved from her lips, over her jaw line and down to her throat, lavishing hungry kisses and nips at it as her hand worked him to a point that he wasn't concerned with any marks he may have been leaving. When she came, he could feel her insides squeezing his fingers and after a few moments she pushed him back until he was sitting upright again and she moved her hands on him just the way he liked; the way he had shown her over the past year.

"You've got to stop," he breathed as he felt himself coming so close he was practically seeing stars before his eyes. "I don't want to. . .all over the car."

"Shh."

She reached up front and pulled a handful of tissues from their holder and continued her rhythm with him as she slid her tongue into his mouth. He pulled her head closer and deepened the kiss even farther and suddenly he was discharging into the tissues she held for him. He held her against him for long moments before she pulled back so she could look up at him.

"I'm hungry."

"You're hungry? What happened to your popcorn?"

"You threw your shoe into it when you tossed it up front."

"And I suppose you want "me" to go get you something to eat."

"I can't find my jeans."

"Aren't they on the floor somewhere?"

"It would be easier for you to put your shoe on than for me to turn my jeans right-side-out and figure out which is inside and which is outside, and pull them on while sitting here in the car. Can't you just go down and get me a couple of pierogies or something? I'll share them with you."

"Get my shoe."

She leaned through the front seats and grabbed his shoe out of the bucket of popcorn and handed it to him which he pulled on but had to be extremely careful as he walked or it would slip off. He managed his way across the field and into the concession building, glad to see that since the first movie was still playing, there wasn't a line of people. He received his order quickly and took out his wallet to pay the cashier when a familiar voice hit him.

"Hey, boss! Imagine seeing you here." Greg Sanders approached him from the direction of the restrooms. "I never thought of you as a patron of the arts."

"Patron of the arts? It's Frankenstein and Dracula," he said dully.

"Okay, then patron of the drive-ins."

"Well, wonders will never cease, will they?" Grissom received his change and he picked up the food.

"What happened to your shoe? It looks like you've been attacked by a pit bull."

"It was great running into you, Greg–but I really should be going now."

"Your little pit bull waiting in the car for her pierogies? Not a burger or hot dog?"

"No."

"Yeah," Greg looked at him with a knowing smile. "Vegetarian pit bulls don't do burgers or hot dogs. I get it."

"Goodnight, Greg." Grissom turned and started out the door. He made his way to his car and looked at Sara who was now standing outside, fully dressed and leaning against his fender. He tossed the keys to her. "Let's go. We're going home now."

"But I didn't get to see Sting yet."

"In the car. We're going home. I just ran into Greg and if we don't leave soon, I wouldn't put it past him to join us to share your pierogies."

He got into the passenger's seat and waited until she got behind the steering wheel, finding it a snug ride as the driver's seat wouldn't budge in any direction now. She started the car and made her way toward the exit, glancing up at the screen before pulling onto the highway.

"I really wanted to see Sting."

"We'll rent the DVD."

*******

Another scarf-day, Grissom noted as he looked at Sara. She looked so gorgeous that she practically glowed. And, although he'd never admit it, he always got a kick out of seeing her disguise her love-bites that he had given her. He thought back to the night before and how he watched her sleep after they arrived back at his apartment. After all she had put him through at the drive-in, he was absolutely enchanted by her. Today, they worked together as often as they could, and if anyone noticed how their eyes often met, or the lingering touches as they handed objects to one another and let their fingers glide together in the transition, Grissom wasn't too concerned about it. Maybe later he would come out of this spell that she had cast him under, but today he was riding on air.

The sight of Hodges drawing on his own head with a black Scripto earned curious gazes from both Grissom and Sara as they even tilted their heads in the same direction out of confusion, until it dawned on them what his intentions were.

"Vanity, thy name is Hodges," Grissom said to Sara, prompting Hodges to turn to them somewhat awkwardly.

"This isn't what it looks like. I actually like my gray hair–the few that I have."

"Hodges, don't you know that gray hair can be very attractive?" Sara practically cooed at the younger man, turning both men's startled gazes to her, before she added. "The–ring."

"The ring," Hodges agreed without a feasible thought running through his head as he stared at Sara, then it actually penetrated his brain and he bent to retrieve a photo of the object in question. "The ring! The ring was positive for GSR."

Grissom took the photo and looked up at Hodges to see if he was still drooling over Sara's comment.

"That means Lois could be the shooter."

"I guess we'll have to bring her in." Grissom replied. He turned to walk out of the lab, but paused when Sara spoke to the man again.

"Thanks, Hodges. You've been very helpful."

"Yes," Hodges said with such a dopey expression that Grissom wanted to knock it off his face. "Very helpful. I do try."

This time Sara turned and walked with Grissom into the hallway, chuckling at the way he was looking down at her.

"So, you find gray hair attractive, do you?" He said quietly enough for only Sara to hear.

"You should know."

"But you find Hodge's gray hair attractive, too?"

"Mmm, not so much. But I can tell you a secret." She stopped at the intersection of hallways, where they were going to split off into different directions.

"Oh, by all means–let me in on it," he teased.

She leaned closer to him and he tilted his head toward her so she could whisper in his ear. "When I look at "your" gray hair, it makes me wet."

Grissom stared at her as she turned and headed off to the break room, gulping as he watched her with the same expression he wore in Hodges' lab. He inhaled deeply, then smiled to himself as he went back toward his office to contact Brass.


	30. Chapter 30

a/n: A quick warning to those of you who don't want the angst–you all knew it was coming, so reader beware. The next chapters are full of angst–but where there is Lady Heather–there will be trouble. I'm posting the next three chapters quickly, as I wrote them quickly, so I don't want to leave you hanging. There was just so much information to get into them that I had to split it into three chapters. Enjoy–and know that brighter skies are ahead. : )

Chapter Thirty

On the nights that Sara had off when Grissom worked she spent her time catching up on chores she had let pile up. Then she would wait to see if he was working late, or going home in the morning. On rare occasions she would stay at her own apartment until it was time to go in to work later that night, but that was usually when Grissom was working a double and she knew he'd be dead tired by the time he got home in the afternoon. Sometimes, he would call to tell her he couldn't sleep and ask her to come over to lie with him. These were the afternoons that he would nestle against her and she would stroke his hair and his temples until he slept fitfully.

She had the opportunity to go off on her own on this particular afternoon, though, as Grissom was called in early to a DB found in the desert. She gladly took the opportunity to do some shopping she had wanted to get done, after a visit to her doctor for her injection that would keep her and Grissom safe for another three months. She took her time as she went through the lingerie department. She definitely knew by now what Grissom liked, what attracted his touch the most, what he like to stroke against her skin, and it was time to replenish her supply as he was getting into the habit of simply snapping the waistbands of her panties and thongs if she didn't remove them fast enough to suit him.

When she arrived for the night shift, she was introduced to the case of Jane Doe; a young woman who had been emaciated, branded, and had her eyes removed with another person's put in one of her sockets. The fact that she was missing a hand added to the bizarre nature of this crime. She caught up with Grissom when he contacted Brass regarding the identification of the DNA found in the stray eyeball.

"Do you think it's going to be a long one?" Sara asked as she waited for Brass in Grissom's office.

He shrugged his shoulders as he moved around to the front of his desk and sat on the edge of it. She moved the chair closer so her knees were on either side of his legs; a simple enough gesture allowing them to touch without being obvious to anyone looking into his office.

"It looks like it. You better be prepared to work a double."

"Alright. I hope you can get some rest some time before you close this out."

"I'll sneak a few hours in after the double. We can both catch up on some sleep at my place tomorrow afternoon." He reached forward and tugged at the scarf she wore around her neck. "Scarf-day again? I haven't done anything to your neck lately."

"I need to wear it other than only on the days you've been a little over-amorous. That way, no one will know if I'm wearing it for fashion or to cover something. Tonight they all saw me without it for the first part of the night, and now I'll wear it and they'll think twice the next time they suspect I've been having an over-active sex life."

"I love your scheming mind," he teased.

"You ready, Cookie?" Brass said as he stuck his head into Grissom's office.

"I'm coming," she said as she got to her feet, allowing her fingers to touch Grissom's for a moment as she moved toward the door.

Sara and Brass found the man they were searching for; a man who called himself Captain Jack, and quite plainly appeared to be severely drunk, high or out of his mind. The black patch covering his right eye confirmed that they had found the right man as they both stared at him with alarm. They transported the man back to be examined by a doctor at which time Brass left her to later be joined by Nick who would help sort out this part of the puzzle. Upon finding that the man had had a lobotomy, it helped explain his erratic behavior and upon seeing that he had been branded at the same spot as their Jane Doe, they recognized that he wasn't a suspect anymore, but another victim.

It took another hour or so until Sara managed to get back to inform Grissom of their findings, but when she went into his office she found it empty. She moved down the hall to the receptionist's area.

"Judy, do you know where I can find Grissom?" She asked the diminutive blond.

"Last I heard, he went to the morgue–but that was about fifteen minutes ago."

"Thanks, Judy."

Sara started in the direction of the morgue but found him walking back in her direction. She was nearly upon him in the empty hallway before he seemed to notice her.

"Grissom?" She gave a nervous laugh.

He looked at her and put his hands in his pockets in an almost nervous gesture. "Sara."

"We found our eye donor," she explained as she started walking back in the same direction that Grissom was going. "It turns out he's been victimized by the same person who tortured our Jane Doe. He's got a brand on his arm, same place. And, it turns out that not only was his eye removed, but he's also had a lobotomy."

"Where is he now?"

"Nick's still with him."

"Alright. I'll get the rest of the information from him. You might as well head home." They came to a main hallway and she noticed how he now pulled his hands out as he continued walking.

"But, we haven't even put a dent in the case. I can still stay and help. I'm not maxed out on overtime yet."

"No–no, I've got enough crew for this case right now. Save your overtime for later when I may need it more than right now. Go home and get some rest."

She watched as he turned without another word to her and went into a lab with Wendy to discuss her findings. "Okay," Sara thought as she turned and started toward the locker room, not knowing what to make of his remoteness. She went to her car and was going to head back to her place, but decided to leave a little reminder of herself for Grissom. She took out one of her white lace thongs she had just purchased the evening before and went to his car where she unlocked the door and hung it from his gear shift. Perhaps that would help lift him out of his strange mood.

By two o'clock that afternoon, Sara still hadn't heard anything so she drove back to the lab, thinking that perhaps he was extremely busy and could use her help after all. She parked close to his car and went inside where she asked again, where to find him. After being told he was interviewing the victim's mother, she went down the hall until she saw him through the glass partition that separated the room from the hallway as he sat with his back to her. There was something about his posture that alerted her something was different. He was sitting much closer to this person than was his usual custom. The only people she had ever seen him sitting that close had been herself and Sophia. She watched as he leaned a bit closer to this woman who sat with a stiff dignity that made Sara feel large and clumsy. She watched the way this woman looked into his eyes and held her hand on the table close to his, so close that she expected him to reach over and take it in his own hand.

"Not your ordinary interview, is it?" Sophia had moved to stand next to Sara as she, too, looked at the couple in the room. Sara looked at her, seeing the pity in the blonde woman's eyes as she looked back at her. "And you thought "I" was a threat. He never looked at me the way he's looking at her."

"Do you know who she is?"

Sophia nodded her head once as she looked at the woman. "Heather Kessler."

"Kessler?" Sara asked blankly as she looked at the beauty radiating from the auburn-haired woman.

"Lady" Heather. You remember her, don't you? Everyone else seems to recall. . ."

"That Grissom had. . ." Sara started but couldn't seem to finish the statement that Grissom had spent the night with her in a way that was much more than platonic. "I remember."

"They tell me he's already met with her this morning, before the end of night shift, but had her come back in again." When Sara remained quiet as she watched the intimate exchanges between Heather and Grissom, Sophia reached over and placed her hand on Sara's forearm where she had her hand shoved into her pocket. "I'm so sorry, Sara."

Sara watched Sophia's sad smile before she turned and left the area, then looked back into the room to see the other woman's gaze leaving Grissom for a moment to settle on Sara and take in her appearance, then return to Grissom again. Sara suddenly felt a fear that the woman was going to alert Grissom of her presence behind him, but the woman merely continued talking to him as if Sara was of no significance. Sara certainly could understand that the woman would be numb to anyone in the world who was outside her immediate circle of grief. She certainly would be more concerned with who murdered her child than some stranger standing in the hallway, but there was a strange chill that emanated from Heather that sent a shiver through Sara. Her mind raced back to how Grissom had been so removed from her earlier that morning–how he had insisted that she leave and not work any more that day–quite clearly after his first meeting with Lady Heather.

Sara turned and went back to the garage. Her anxiety was making her sick to her stomach and when she walked past Grissom's car she stopped and went to retrieve the panties she had left earlier that morning. She was in no mood to tease him with something that she now felt ridiculous wearing for him. She unlocked his door with the key he had given her months ago and moved toward the gear shift, but she saw that the panties weren't there. She glanced around the interior of the car and found them stuffed in a cup-holder and when she bent in to retrieve them, she caught sight of the small bag that lay across the floor with it's contents halfway revealed. She pushed the bag away from the box of condoms that had been opened and clearly had one or two packets removed from within. Her heart plunged, realizing that Grissom had not used a condom with her since over a year before, when they decided they didn't need them since she was on the birth control injections. He had no other reason to have obtained the things, unless he was planning to use them on someone, and the fact that there were some missing told her that he planned to use them relatively soon. She grabbed her panties and closed the door, quickly moving to her vehicle and driving back to her apartment.

Sara went through all her normal actions of getting prepared for sleep, but she was hardly aware of it. She felt numb, but still, she had hope that this was all a mistake–or a nightmare that she would be waking up from soon.

The sleep that she sought barely came to her, allowing her only to drift off into a vivid dream about Grissom that she would wake with a start from almost immediately. By five-thirty her cell went off and she reached for it, hoping it would be Grissom with some explanation as to why he hadn't contacted her all day; some explanation that she could hold onto. But when she looked, she found it was Catherine.

"Sidle," Sara said into the phone.

"Sara–I was hoping you could come in to work early tonight. I couldn't believe it when I found out you went home this morning."

"Um–Grissom said he didn't need the extra help, that everything was covered."

"Sometimes I don't know what gets into his head–but then on second thought, maybe I do know what's in his head today–or at least who. Look, we need all the extra hands we can get. Even if Grissom thinks you're not needed on the Kessler case, you could be picking up the pieces that were left over from day shift."

"Sure. Of course. I can come in. What time do you want me?"

"About an hour ago?"

"I'll be right there."

Sara dragged herself back to the lab and upon finding that her usual parking spot was taken, she moved until she found one which turned out to be much closer to Grissom's car. The chill that went down her spine upon seeing Heather Kessler standing a car or two away from Grissom's froze Sara. She stared at the woman who seemed to have felt herself being watched because she turned and looked directly at Sara, even though there was a row of cars separating them. Sara looked back at her, not knowing what to do at this point. The woman had obviously recognized her from earlier that day, but again, turned away from her and they both saw Grissom approaching. Sara felt trapped. She couldn't exactly get out of her car at this point–she didn't want to be seen by Grissom.

She watched as they started to converse, but a car drove between them and she didn't catch the beginning of their conversation. But the rest of it was clear, even though the gentleness of Grissom's voice would normally have been too quiet to have been overheard. The garage seemed to have intensified the sound and Sara couldn't block the words out if she had tried.

She watched as Heather moved even closer to Grissom.

"You would've liked Zoe. She was a lot like you–thoughtful, pragmatic, patient. She was studying psychology. I appreciate that it would have been difficult to have someone like me as a mother. But if I stressed anything, it was empowerment and independence. So, when she called me from Boston last year to tell me that she was pregnant with her therapist's baby, I got angry. Not with her–with him. He violated an oath. Not only was he married–she was a patient–a junior in college with her whole life in front of her."

"And you didn't want him to screw it up," Grissom said with a gentleness that pierced Sara.

"I called AMA, filed a complaint. They revoked his license. Zoe stopped speaking to me."

"Did she have her baby?"

"Your coroner couldn't confirm. I assumed you might need a DNA sample for Mr. Wolfowitz."

Sara watched as Heather reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag and it only took a second to recognize the used condom inside. Sara's eyes immediately went to Grissom and saw the emotions that crossed his features; pain, jealousy.

"How did you get this?" He asked Heather.

"The rage was stronger than the repulsion. People have used sex for much less worthy causes."

"When did you. . ." Grissom couldn't even say it.

"Last night. You might not approve, Grissom, but you can't arrest me for sleeping with him. He was consenting. I "am" playing by your rules, but if I had it my way, this man would die the same way my daughter died."

"He's already dead."

"What?"

"He's been dead for two days."

"That's not possible."

Sara watched as Grissom put his hand on the small of Heather's back and walked with her until they came to what was evidently her car. She actually thought she could slip past them when she noticed Heather about to drive away, then put her window down and point in Sara's direction. At this distance Sara couldn't hear what she said, but saw how Grissom turned and looked at her with irritation. Grissom spoke back to Heather before the woman drove away, then turned and started in Sara's direction. She knew it would be useless to try to escape now that he saw her, so she slowly got out of her car and waited for him.

"You were listening," Grissom said in a tone of accusation. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you not to come in today."

Sara gave him a false smile. "Catherine called and said she needed some extra help. Evidently you were too preoccupied to realize that you're falling behind on other cases."

"If I'm preoccupied, it's for a good reason. As your supervisor, I'm telling you to go back to your apartment and wait until your shift starts tonight."

Sara stared at him a moment in disbelief. As her supervisor? "I'm sorry, Grissom. But Catherine got this approved by Ecklie. I'm under his orders to come in."

She turned from him and started toward the entrance to the building, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Sara!" He said loudly, turning some heads in their direction.

She pulled out of his grasp. "I've got work to do."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Sara made her way to the locker room then on to where she found Catherine in the lab with Wendy.

"I know if the bastard would've done anything like that to Lindsey, I would've killed him myself," Catherine told the other woman.

"Yeah–but sleep with him first?" Wendy asked with a look of disbelief on her face.

"Definitely couldn't bring myself to sleep with him. That would never have occurred to me."

"I asked Grissom about it–why any mother would do such a thing and he seemed to be making excuses for her."

"Excuses?" Catherine asked with raised brows. "How could you excuse something like that? I mean, first of all, like I said, the concept never have occurred to me–and even if in some alternate universe it had–how can you let a man touch you like that when he executed your child. What kind of a mother could do that?"

"I say a mother who's as cold as ice. But, Grissom says revenge is an act of passion."

"It's an act of passion," Catherine tried to comprehend. "And yet, on the other hand she's so cold that she can actually lay with the man. That's a contradiction if ever I heard one. No, there's no passion in sleeping with a man who mutilated your child. The passion would be to destroy him, not take the time to think of how you can obtain his DNA by having sex with him."

"I agree," Wendy said, then saw Sara standing in the doorway. "Sara, hi. We were just discussing the victim and her mother."

"That's okay," Sara smiled at her through jaws that ached from pretending that nothing was wrong. "You don't have to go into it for me. I'll be working on other cases, won't I, Catherine?"

"Uh–yeah. I'll take you over to the layout room and fill you in on what we need." Then she turned and looked at Wendy again before leaving with Sara. "If Grissom's making excuses for Heather, then he's got his head so far up his ass that he's blind and can't see her any other way than the goddess he bedded last year."

Wendy laughed sadly as she watched them leave. "Some goddess. A scheming cold fish is more like it. I half expect to see worms crawling out of her orifices."

Sara walked ahead of Catherine as they entered the layout room, avoiding looking directly at the woman until the red-head coughed nervously.

"I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine told her with eyes filled with pity. "I shouldn't have said those things with you right there. You didn't need to hear them."

"Hear what?" Sara asked her as she looked at her through imploring eyes. "I guess I wasn't listening."

Catherine nodded her head in understanding then went about showing Sara what she needed done that night.

Catherine and Wendy weren't the last to talk around Sara, saying things that only served to make her more miserable. It seemed that nearly every fifteen minutes or so, someone would come into the room with her and "share" their knowledge of the Kessler case. Nick and Warrick made no secret to the fact that once they found Heather at Wolfowitz's residence that day, her first request was to be taken to Grissom, and as soon as Grissom heard what had happened he nearly knocked Nick over to get out the door and go to her. He was half afraid to approach him with any more news about Heather as he nearly ripped his head off for not making him aware of the situation as soon as it occurred.

Sophia joined her at one point, and asked how she was doing.

"I'm fine," Sara told her and received a nod to acknowledge the statement. "Really, I'm doing fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sophia said, obviously not believing her. "I know I'm the last person you would want to hear this from–but I'm feeling for you right now. I know how much you. . ."

"Sophia," Sara interrupted. "I really appreciate your concern. I really do. But, I'd rather not talk about it–or even think about it right now. Okay?"

Sophia nodded her head again. "Sure. Okay."

Sara watched the woman leave, then went back to her work. She put up a front when Warrick returned later to inform her that he wished he had called in sick today. He wasn't up to dealing with all this personal crap that Grissom was going through.

"And, did you hear that she actually had sext with the guy? Jesus–what kind of a cold bitch could do that? I mean–the guy's got your kid's blood on his hands and there she was, letting him put those same hands all over her."

"Well," Sara started slowly, truly tired of hearing the same story over again. "Grissom did say that revenge is an act of passion."

"Revenge? Revenge is slitting the guys throat–or taking a gun and shooting him in the head–or even bludgeoning him with a heavy object–not stripping off your clothes and taking him to bed. Passion my ass. What she did was cold and calculating."

"Hey–what are you guys talking about?" Nick came into the room with them. "The Kessler case?"

"Yeah–and the fact that Heather had sex with Wolfowitz to get his DNA." Warrick looked at him.

"Yeah," Nick snorted. "What kind of a mother could stop to think about something like that? I know my mother's first concern would be dealing with my death–not jumping into the sack with the jackass who caused it. Shit–some of the crackpots we run into."

"Are you gentlemen finished in here?" Grissom asked sharply from where he stood at the doorway, causing Nick and Warrick to practically jump with startled surprise. Sara merely glanced up at him then went back to the microscope she had been looking through.

"Uh–yeah. I guess we're finished." Warrick was the first to walk around Grissom, prompting Nick to silently do the same.

"Sara–I'd like to speak to you in my office." He used the same tone he had used with the men.

"Um–I've got a few more slides to run. I'll be over in about an hour."

"I don't have an hour. I'm going out in the field."

"Then I guess it'll have to wait until you come back." She moved one specimen from the scope and picked up another.

"It can't wait until I come back."

The shock that Sara felt when he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room stunned her to the point of simply going where he was leading her. She was quick to note that he waited until there was no one else in the halls to see him "touching" her. She recognized the area as the room where the cots were kept, and as he closed the door behind them, her shock turned to anger.

"This is why I wanted you to stay home!" Grissom told her. "Instead of doing their jobs, you have my crew in the lab with you, filling you in on what's going on and spreading malicious rumors about the victim's family!"

"It's not my fault the crew finds "your victim's family" distasteful and wishes to express this to me. I certainly haven't been asking to be "filled in" on anything about this case anymore. You took me off it–I have no interest."

"For not having any interest, you certainly were straining your ears to listen to everything we were saying this afternoon."

"How would you know that? You didn't even see me until she was leaving."

"She told me–that's how I know. She said you were watching her from the time you entered the garage. She wanted to know if you were "dangerous."

"She wanted to know if "I" was dangerous? I'm not the one who jumps into the sack with a known murderer just to get DNA in a condom!"

"She had her reasons."

"Yes–so I've heard over and over again! What was it you said? Revenge is an act of passion?" She spat at him. "If you believe that what she did was an act of passion then you have no idea what passion is!"

"Really? I'll keep that in mind." He stared at her through eyes that she hardly recognized.

"You do that. You remember that as you keep making excuses for her!"

"You have no idea what she's gone through."

"I know that if I had raised my daughter to be "empowered and independent," I wouldn't have gone running to the AMA the minute my twenty-something-year-old daughter became pregnant to a married man! Please! Since when did having affairs with married men begin to bother that woman? Hell–it's her business! She should have been thrilled that her daughter was following in her footsteps! And if she loved her daughter so damned much–why did she immediately think her daughter's life was over because she became pregnant? Heather has plenty of money! She's young! She could have easily helped her daughter raise the baby instead of turning the girl against her because she felt it was such a catastrophe!"

"You–have no right to say any of this," Grissom said slowly. "When you conceive and deliver a child, then maybe you can say what a mother should or shouldn't do. As of now, your knowledge of being a mother–is rather limited, don't you think?"

"A mother? Or a woman, Grissom? That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"You can interpret it however you like."

Grissom might as well have slapped her in the face. She felt as if he had as she stared at him. She wanted out of the room but he blocked the door. At this point, she knew that if he didn't want her to leave, he would keep her inside with his greater strength. The knock on the door brought her breath back to her again, but he refused to turn and open it. There was another knock and then it was pushed open, and Sara was never so glad to see the blonde detective as she was at that moment.

"Uh–Sara–I was looking for you. I need you in the layout room. I have some more evidence for you to decipher."

"Since when do you need someone else to decipher your evidence?" Grissom asked slowly as he never took his eyes off of Sara.

"Since I left CSI and went back to being a detective." Sophia reached around Grissom and took hold of Sara's upper arm, guiding her out of the room and shutting the door with Grissom still inside. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara said through trembling lips. "Really, I'm fine."

Sophia guided her into the ladies restroom and into a stall, then returned to the paper towel dispenser and wet a length of it with cool water before taking it back and handing it to Sara.

"You're lucky I'm the only one walking by that heard the two of you. Here, close the door and do what you need to do to compose yourself." Sophia stood on the other side of the stall's closed door. "Or should I say you're lucky because I was actually there to hear it and pull you out of the room? Jesus, I've never heard Grissom talk like that before."

"I'm sorry you had to hear it," Sara said as she ran the cool towel over her face then the back of her neck, then opened the door and came out with her. "No one should've had to hear that."

"Yeah–well, if that's what it takes to be a woman in his eyes–he can just go blind as far as I'm concerned. Because if being a woman means spreading my legs to whomever has enough money to pay the price, then I'd rather not be one."

"There are those who will tell you that she didn't actually sleep with the people she charged. It was an act of trust that she taught her clients."

"Oh, please!" Sophia scoffed. "If you believe that then you're a bigger fool than Grissom. Sex is sex–and how can you learn to trust when your husband's off getting whipped into submission by Lady Heather? Don't tell me that you believe that crap!"

"No," Sara said quietly as she tossed the towel into the trash. "I don't."

"Well, thank God! And don't let that son-of-a-bitch try to convince you that the little witch has more mothering skills than you! All anyone has to do is see how the guys here run to you with their scraped egos and bruised psyches. Between you and Catherine, you both have more mothering skills in your little toe than that zombie has in her entire body–whip and all."

Her last comment brought a small smile to Sara which in turn brought a smile to Sophia.

"Thanks, Sophia."

"Not a problem. Are you up to going back out and facing the crew? You don't have any signs of crying or anything that might cause them to ask questions."

Sara nodded her head then went through the door as Sophia held it for her. They noticed Grissom standing at the end of the hall watching them as he talked to Catherine, but they continued walking.

"So, anyway," Sophia said rather loudly, clearly hoping that Grissom overheard. "I heard she had the clap at least a dozen times. The crab infestation was enough to shut down her establishment at least twice. They had to fumigate, and they said her bedroom was just swarming with the filthy little insects."

They could hear Catherine snickering from the other end of the hall. Sophia stopped in the doorway to the layout room and allowed Sara to return to her microscope, but Sara paused and laughed quietly at the other woman.

"You're nasty–do you know that?"

"Yeah!" Sophia seemed proud of herself. "I can be, if I want to–and sometimes I can even put it to good use. You gonna be okay now?"

Sara nodded and watched as the other woman gave her a thumbs up and started toward the exit of the building.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

It didn't go past Sara's attention when Grissom and Catherine left the building to investigate Wolfowitz's residence–hell, Nick and Warrick ran to her like little girls gossiping in the schoolyard. She noticed that it was almost ten o'clock when they told her that they had been gone for nearly an hour. She continued working on various cases for day shift through the night, then as she was in the break room drinking a cup of coffee for her mid-shift break, she was somewhat surprised to see Catherine entering the room with her, looking tired and ready to drop. Nick and Warrick were sitting at the table with their own drinks when she dropped down into a seat across from them.

"You look about beat," Nick said as he poured a cup of coffee for her and sat it on the table. "Did you guys find anything?"

"Yeah. I'll fill you in on the dirty little details later, but I need this coffee first." She took a sip of the black liquid and groaned her satisfaction. "It's over, that much I'll say."

"So where's Grissom?" Nick asked then chuckled at the absurdity of his next comment. "He didn't decide to join Madam Heather for the night again, did he?"

Catherine didn't find it amusing as she quickly glanced over at Sara. "He's–uh–picking up the loose ends. Hopefully he'll be in soon."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Warrick asked, looking closely at Catherine. "That's where he is–isn't it? With her."

"She–seemed to be–despondent and he–saw that she was returned to her home."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Warrick said, shaking his head negatively. "Well, it's his life."

"What a jackass," Nick replied as he got to his feet, evidently finding the thought of it distasteful. "I'm going back to the garage. Warrick, you coming?"

"Yeah. Might as well wrap the Matheson case up before the end of the shift," Warrick sighed as he joined his friend.

Sara's attention was focused on the liquid in her cup, not lifting her eyes from it until she heard the scraping of Catherine's chair.

"Ya know, he'll probably be back any minute. He just took her home."

Sara looked at her and shrugged her shoulders. "None of my business."

"But I know you care."

"Nothing to care about." Sara forced a smile as she poured her coffee down the drain then started out of the room. "Really, Catherine. It's none of my concern."

The end of the shift came and Warrick and Nick escorted Sara to her car, offering to buy her breakfast at Frank's, but she declined, stating that they should all go home and get a good day's sleep. Catherine glanced at Sara with concern, not having to bring up the fact that Grissom still hadn't returned to the lab, but Sara merely got into her car and drove home.

She took a bottle of beer from her refrigerator and opened it but after took two quick swigs she found the taste foul and poured the rest down the drain. Instead, she went into her bathroom and got out an old prescription of lorazepam she had used the year before to get her through the rough times when dealing with her suspension. She took a tablet, knowing that it would knock her out and allow her to sleep. Within the hour she was granted that luxury as she lay fully clothed in her bed.

She didn't know what time it was when she started dreaming of the knocking that was pounding throughout the room, but she was aware that in sleep she didn't have to face any anxiety. So she refused to come back to the world of the awake, letting the knocking drift away into silence as she rolled over. It was the incessant tone of her cell that finally broke through to her and brought her back to consciousness. She groggily reached for the phone, hoping it wasn't Ecklie, needing her to come in early.

"Sidle," she said into the phone.

"Open the door." Grissom's voice came over the other end.

"What?" She asked, thoroughly confused in her still drug-induced groggy state, not understanding why she needed to open the door since he had a key to her apartment.

"You have the security chain across. Come out and open the door. I've been knocking for five minutes."

"I'm sleeping," she told him, the memory of the previous day seeping through to her mind. "I'm tired."

"Open the door," he repeated.

"Grissom. Go home. I'm really tired and need to get some sleep."

"I'm not going home. Now open the door." When she didn't answer, he went on. "I won't leave until you open the door. I'll keep knocking and I can tell you right now that your neighbors are already a bit ruffled at listening to me for the past five minutes. I don't think they'd appreciate more."

"I don't want to argue, Grissom. I don't need to deal with this right now."

"Just open up and I promise not to argue. I just need to talk to you–to see you."

She sighed heavily as she hung up the phone and slowly moved across the bed and to the living room. True to his word, he started knocking again, making her speed up her steps and pull the door open quickly.

"Stop that! I don't need the neighbors getting annoyed with me!"

"Then let me in."

She looked at him a moment and felt her heart breaking as she took in the physical beauty of this man and with the cracking of her heart, she stepped back and let him through the doorway. She closed the door and watched as he stood before her with his hands shoved in his coat pockets.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know–around noon." He looked at his watch. "Okay, it's one-thirty."

"One-thirty. What did you want, Grissom? Like I said, I'd really like to go back to bed."

"You know what I want. I can't sleep. I need to be with you."

She couldn't believe he was actually saying those things to her. "I took a lorazepam. I'll get one for you, then you can go home and take it. It works wonders."

"You're not seriously going to make me leave?" He asked quietly, taking a step toward her, and putting his arms around her.

She stood stiffly until he started running his hand over the back of her hair, pulling her into his shoulder where he kissed the softness of her hair. She started to melt into him, his caresses fading the arguments and the betrayal that she had faced the day before and she grasped onto his jacket. But it only took a second for the scent to hit her. His coat was covered in it, and she knew immediately that it was some expensive perfume that she would never be able to afford. She knew it was Lady Heather and he had held her like this very recently. She pushed herself back and released her hold on him. Her thoughts must have translated through her expression because he seemed taken back as he looked at her.

"I can smell her on you!" She hissed, then grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open. "Get out!"

"I told you–I'm not leaving until you let me explain."

"Get out before I call the damned cops, Grissom! And believe me, I know of two detectives that would be over here in an instant to evict you from my home. Brass might have had to "serve the people" by working on that damned case–but he certainly wasn't happy about it. And Sophia wouldn't hesitate coming to help, either."

"So, you actually pulled her in on this, too?" He asked.

"I didn't have to pull "anyone" in on this. Everyone you claimed I was interrogating yesterday to get information about you, came to "me." I didn't go to them. I certainly didn't want to hear the trash-talk they had to tell me." She opened the door farther. "Now–leave."

"I was only helping a friend."

Sara pulled her cell from her pocket and started dialing Brass's number.

"Brass."

"Jim–I have a pest problem over here. How are you at getting rid of vermin?"

"Sara? What are you talking about?"

"Hang it up," Grissom told her as he tried to grab her phone but she twisted away.

"Is that Grissom, Sara?" Brass asked.

"Yes"

"Do you want him there?"

"No."

"Is he refusing to leave?"

"Yes."

"Put him on the phone and I'll talk to him."

Sara handed her phone to Grissom then moved toward the bathroom where she entered and locked the door behind her. She waited nearly five minutes before hearing the closing of her front door. When she went back to the living room she found her cell sitting on the cushion of her sofa. Realizing that whatever Jim wanted to say to Grissom must have done the trick, she put the security chain back in place then went back to her bedroom. This time the tears released of their own volition as she lay in her bed with her eyes closed, willing herself to go back to sleep.

Her ringing phone woke her again, several hours later, but this time she looked at the caller ID before opening the phone to Nick's cheerful voice.

"Hey, baby-girl! You ready to start a new night at our own little hell hole?"

"I'm not sure. What time is it?"

"I don't know, around seven."

"Seven? God, I almost slept through the whole day."

"That's what happens when you work where we do. Hey, since we didn't get to meet for breakfast this morning, we decided to grab a late dinner tonight before we go in. Are you up for it?"

"Who is "we?" She asked suspiciously.

"Warrick, Greg and me."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah–Catherine isn't leaving until she's sure Lindsey's back from the movies, and Grissom hasn't been heard from all day. So, its just the four of us."

"It sounds good, what time should I be there?'

"In about three hours, okay?"

"Okay, I'll see you there."

"See ya in a bit, kiddo."

Sara hung up the phone and went into the bathroom, stripping off her clothing as she went. She could still smell the perfume that had permeated Grissom's jacket and knew she had to get rid of the sickening sweet aroma. Her clothing went into the trash then she stepped into her shower and turned the water on as hot as she could stand, letting the steam cleanse her from the tip of her head to the tips of her toes. She scrubbed herself nearly raw, trying to rid herself of the smell that had rubbed off on her, but then she realized it was probably a phantom-scent that was haunting her. She finally got out of the shower and took the trash can with her clothing to the living room where she left it while she went to get dressed in the bedroom. A quick change into sweats and a t-shirt and she was back to the living room where she caught sight of the bag of new underclothing she had bought the day before for Grissom's pleasure. She paused only briefly, then before she could think any further on it, she threw the entire bag into the trash with her perfumed clothes and took them to the hallway where she emptied them down the garbage shoot. They would either be deposited on the dump within another day or two, or some poor soul will pick them out of the dumpster and be the best-dressed homeless person on the strip–at least as far as bras and panties go.

She entered Frank's Restaurant at five after ten and found her friends waiting for her. She tried her best to keep her mind on their bantering, taking special note that every time the conversation steered back to Lady Heather, Greg would quickly change the subject. She had long suspected that he knew about her and Grissom–his actions tonight only confirmed it. It was to be an unspoken secret between the two for many months to come. After eating, he walked with her to her car.

"Ya know, Sara–some men can be a complete ass when it comes to dealing with women."

"Yes, Greg. I'm learning that lesson the hard way."

"You deserve better, Sara." He turned and left her to watch as he got into his car and drove away.

When she got to the lab, Nick had already received their assignment and she was to leave with him for a DB found in a chimney. At this point she was glad that Grissom gave Nick the assignment before she got there so they wouldn't have to deal with one another because at this point she had no idea what she wanted to do. It was all too new–too raw for her to stop to think about it.

"Hey," Brass approached her at the crime scene. "How are ya doing?"

"I'm fine." She used her standard answer.

"I take it he left your place after I talked to him today."

"Yes. Thank you for that."

"No problem. We all get a little crazy at times. It can't be avoided."

"I'm sorry if I seemed a bit insane."

"I wasn't talking about you, Sara. I was talking about Grissom."

Sara looked at him and felt the tears build up in her eyes and saw that Brass noticed them as well.

"Well, just so I know you're okay," he said quickly. "It seems we can't go a single day without running into some kind of freak-show. You've got a body shoved down someone's chimney–so I'll leave you to your end of the job to remove it. I see Nick's already carrying some tools up to the attic."

Sara nodded and went into the house with Nick. She worked through the night and was still at the house the next morning, which was just as well. She had no desire to return to the lab. This was what she did best–this was what could occupy her mind and keep her personal problems from jumbling in her brain and turning it to a pot of stew. She knew her job and she knew it well. It was her release, and as she stood on top of the mansion's roof with the wind blowoing through er hair, she felt revitalized. She knew she could return to finish her work at the lab and not be tempted to keep seeking out the man who had turned her life upside down. She was a professional, and now she was in complete professional mode. She had work to do and she did it. She only saw Grissom twice that day, and both times they were from a distance as she would be walking through the halls and he would be at the other end. She was glad that he didn't seem to notice her as she would turn and head in the other direction so she didn't have to come near him. And before she knew it, her case was in the bag and she was returning to her apartment. She saw the delivery van as she pulled into her parking spot and wondered who the lucky person in her apartment building was to be receiving flowers today. Then as she approached her door, with a sinking feeling, she saw that the recipient was to be her.

"Excuse me–do you know a "Sara Sidle?" The delivery boy asked. "I've been knocking at this address but there's no answer."

"That's because no one's in there." She unlocked her door and stepped inside to drop her bag on the floor before turning back to the person still standing in the hallway. "What can I do for ya?"

"I've got this delivery. . ." He held out an exotic potted plant.

She looked from the plant back to the boy, then took the card and read it.

"Grissom," was all it read.

She put the card back in its envelope and handed it back to the boy. "Sara Sidle doesn't live here anymore. You'll have to take it back."

She closed the door and went to her bedroom, closing herself in that room as well.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Grissom sat at his desk, thinking back to the afternoon he showed up at Sara's door, fully expecting her to open her arms to him and soothe him, as she seemed to have the knack of doing. Whatever was going through his head, he had no idea; it probably had something to do with the alcohol he had consumed after leaving Heather that morning. When he finally left her by mid-morning, after having consoled her for nearly eight hours, he went to the nearest bar and ordered whatever hard liquor he could get down. He wasn't out to get drunk–he just wanted to be numb. His anger at Sara was still there. He had always thought Sara had a more compassionate side to her. She turned everything Heather did and said upside down until it made her look like anything other than the fragile, distinguished lady that she was. It certainly made him wonder just how much compassion Sara could actually have. The woman just lost her daughter, for Christ's sake!

It took three shots to get to the numbness that he was seeking, and when he got into his car, he automatically drove to Sara's apartment. Deep down, he knew he wouldn't be able to get any rest unless he had Sara with him to put his mind in the peaceful place that she seemed to be able to accomplish. Even as he started toward her apartment, he knew he was still holding onto his anger, but the closer he got, the more his desire for her took over. The simple matter was that he needed to be with her, and he'd be damned if he would go through another day without sleep because she may be a bit irritated with him.

He knew she'd be in a pissy mood, so he expected her not to answer her door, but when he unlocked it and found the security chain across it, it dawned on him that perhaps she really didn't want to see him. Once he actually got inside, he knew he could break through her shell that she had erected around herself. But then she smelled Heather's perfume. Damn! How could he have been so damned stupid? He probably not only had it on his coat, but his shirt, and even his pants. He had held her through the night and early morning. She had lain against him as he sat on the sofa and her body had been touching his from his shoulders to his knees. He even, at one point, held her on his lap as she cried against him. What kind of an idiot was he? He should have gone home and changed clothes before going to see Sara. But, it wasn't as if he had actually been cheating on her, so the thought never entered his head. And when she tried to throw him out again, his anger started to return. Calling Brass actually was the final straw–if he had actually been able to grab the telephone from her at that moment, he probably would have broken it in half.

But she was faster than his alcohol-numbed reflexes would allow, and when she handed him the telephone to talk to Brass, then walked into her bathroom and locked the door, he knew his cause was lost.

"Yeah!" Grissom said angrily into the telephone.

"Hey, Gris," Brass said in a light voice, clearly using his "dealing-with-a-drunk voice." "What's up?"

"What do you want, Jim?"

"Okay, I'll cut to the chase. You've got to leave, buddy. Remember the phrase "no means no?"

"I'm not here to "rape" her."

"Tell me something, Gil–just what "are" you there for?"

"None of your damned business."

"Okay–that answers my question. You can forget it–she isn't going to give you any–not after the way you treated her for two days."

"How I treated her," Grissom repeated dully, clearly not knowing what he was talking about.

"You treated her like shit, my friend. All because some hooker's got her claws so deep into your balls that you can't get them out." Brass was beginning to lose his patience and his temper was showing through.

"Heather is "not" a hooker!" Grissom hissed.

"Technicalities, old buddy. Now, if I were you, I'd get my ass out of Sara's apartment before "I" not only show up, but I'll bring along backup and take this to the next level."

"You'd do that. You'd actually have me formally arrested."

"I told you at the very beginning of all of this–don't hurt her. And because of some two-bit whore, you discarded Sara as if she were a piece of trash." Now Brass's voice was showing that perhaps he was a little beyond anger. "I'll tell ya what, "friend." I'll come over myself–right now. I didn't want to do it. I really wanted to stay the hell out of it. But if you want to keep pushing, buddy, I'll be over there inside ten minutes and I'll throw your fuckin' ass out of her apartment myself. Now–are you leaving–or not?"

Grissom paused, his own anger rising, but he simply said. "I'm leaving."

"That's good. That's great. But I'll warn ya–I'm coming over anyway and if I find you there, there will be hell to pay."

"I said I was leaving." Grissom closed Sara's phone and gave one last look at the bathroom door before walking out.

Grissom went home and stripped out of all of his clothes and tossed them into the washer–even his jacket, then he went to the shower and scrubbed every bit of evidence he could think of regarding Heather Kessler. If the smell of the woman' perfume upset Sara, he'd be sure that there was no trace of it on him. He got re-dressed and went back to the lab, knowing that trying to sleep here would be useless.

He remembered what Heather had talked to him about during his sojourn with her that morning. She wanted to know what his relationship was with this woman who didn't seem to know how to be a complete woman. He had wondered at her wording but put it off as her extreme femininity, not understanding women who weren't as delicate as she was. When he explained that they had been seeing each other for a year, she wanted to know if they were living together. His reply that they were not, but Sara was at his apartment most of the time, made Heather nod her head thoughtfully, then report to him that she could see how uneasy he was with this relationship. Sara was clearly trying to dominate his life and he was rebelling against it by not letting her move in with him completely. But before he could respond that perhaps she was wrong, she got lost in her grief again and started dabbing at her eyes, as she was much too proud to allow him to see her cry again.

Before his shift started, that night, he ran out for a quick sandwich, hoping to grab something hot at Frank's and take it back to the lab, but when he pulled into the parking lot he saw his crew's cars. He turned off his lights and moved his car until he could see the foursome sitting at a booth. Funny how it always seemed that Greg would immediately take the seat directly across from Sara and Nick was now in the habit of sliding in next to her. He watched them bantering back and forth, then left. He'd grab a Big Mac at the closest McDonalds.

He wasn't surprised when Sara didn't come for her assignment and was somewhat relieved when Nick arrived before her to get the information. He was still stinging over her evacuation of him that afternoon and he wasn't sure he could keep from snarking at her in front of everyone. But, he didn't have to worry about that over the next two days. She went about doing her work without once looking at him. On the occasions that he actually got close enough to her to see her, she was so involved with whomever she was talking to that she didn't even notice him. The later it got, and the more he would see her as he went through the halls, the more his anger was diminishing and he yearned to have her discussing her cases with him, tossing out little barbs to either shock him, or make him laugh at her. He missed hearing her laugh–such a comical laugh that always brought a smile to his lips. So, he took the first step and did the only thing he could think of as he remembered their ordeal when she previously threatened to quit her job. A plant seemed to work. So, he repeated his gesture, knowing that she liked the last plant he got for her, even going so far as to moving it to Grissom's apartment so it got watered regularly.

He grabbed his jacket and started out of his office, heading home for his second night alone in his large bed, but paused when his cell rang. He looked at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number.

"Grissom."

"Dr. Grissom, this is Cindy from the flower shop. You ordered a plant to be delivered to a Miss Sara Sidle's home."

"Yes."

"I'm afraid she no longer lives there. The delivery went through but was denied when the woman there said Sara had moved out."

"I see."

"What would you like us to do with the plant, sir? Would you like it delivered to your office?"

"Do you like plants?" He asked dryly.

"I work in a flower shop, Dr. Grissom. Of course I like plants."

"Then take it home and enjoy it."

He clicked his phone closed and went back to his apartment, opening a bottle of scotch and taking two shots to help him fall asleep. The knock on his door made his heart speed up in anticipation. Perhaps she hadn't used her key because she was afraid of how he'd react to her coming. It didn't matter–she was here and that was what counted. But when he opened the door, instead of Sara, he found Brass standing there looking at him.

"Did you come to "throw my fuckin' ass out of" my apartment, as well?" Grissom asked sarcastically as he turned away from the door and moved back to his sofa, allowing the other man to follow him.

"I didn't have to throw it out of Sara's. You were gone by the time I got there."

"So you "did" come over and make sure I was really gone."

"I said I would."

"What do you want, Jim? Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm just dandy. How do you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking. I know how I'd feel, if I were you. I'd feel so damned low that you'd have to scrape me off the bottom of your boot."

"Well, that's nice to know–but there will be no boot-scraping done today."

"So, then, how "are" you doing? It's been a few days. Have you had a chance to think about what you've done?"

"I did nothing wrong, Jim. I went to a friend in need–that's all. I would have done the same thing for you."

"No–now there's where you're wrong. When I was in trouble, you didn't hold me all night. You didn't mistreat the one woman who loves you more than anyone else just to help me."

"Alright–so it was different circumstances. The fact is that I miss her."

"You miss who? Heather or Sara?"

Grissom looked up at Jim to see genuine confusion on his face. "Sara. I'm used to her being here, I guess. I'm having trouble sleeping."

"Good. You deserve it. But don't look at me, bucko, cause I'm not going to cuddle you to sleep. You can go out and buy a damned teddy bear for that kind of shit. Maybe when you realize just what you miss Sara for–really miss her for–you'll have a chance to get some sleep again." Brass got to his feet and went to the door again. "Sweet dreams, Romeo."

Grissom's mood wasn't getting any better when he went to his next crime scene only to find out that his crew would be followed by cameras for a reality show. Perhaps if he hadn't already been so tense, but as it was, they were nothing but a pain in his ass. He worked through the initial investigation with Catherine, not getting back to the lab until mid-shift. He was on his way to his office when he glanced into the break room and saw Sara sitting at the table, reading through a newspaper. He decided he would at least try to make some kind of contact with her, hoping to open the gate a little. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, just as Greg turned with two cups of coffee and collided with him full force.

Luckily, Grissom moved his head to avoid the hot liquid that flew upwards, but the rest of it landed on his jacket-covered chest. He was afraid he was going to reach out and grab Greg by the throat and might have actually done that if the kid didn't look like he expected as much.

"Ouch! Dammit! Grissom! I didn't see you there! Didn't you see me?" Greg blurted as he rushed to the sink and started running cold water over his reddened hands.

Sara was on her feet in an instant, going to the boy's aid as she looked at the tops of his hands that were bright red from the burning they received.

"Oh, Greg!" Sara said with alarm as she grabbed a towel and pulled his hands from the water. "We better get this looked at. We can get some lidocaine on it to help stop the burn."

Grissom watched as she turned off the water and took Greg by his elbow as she walked toward the doorway.

"God damn!" Greg said. "I never realized the coffee got that hot!"

"You'll be alright. Come on." She looked at the floor where the coffee lay in a puddle, then continued without looking at Grissom although she made her comment for him to hear. "I'll clean that up when I get Greg taken care of."

Grissom watched her guide the young man down the hall and into the room with first aid supplies. He could see how she sat him in a chair and pulled out some cooling gel with lidocaine and spread it over his hands, and he could see how she smiled tenderly at Greg, who was looking at her as if he were completely under her spell. He went to get the roll of paper towels and knelt on the floor to sop up the coffee; his position behind the wall hiding him from Sara as she returned to clean up. She stopped upon sight of him as she stepped through the doorway, and without looking up, Grissom spoke.

"By the way–"I'm" fine. I didn't get burnt. Thanks for asking."

"You had your coat on. Greg didn't have anything covering his hands," she answered dully. "You can go back to your office. I can finish cleaning this."

"I've got it. I was coming in here to talk to you, in case you haven't figured that out."

"I can't imagine why. What do you want?"

"What do you think I "want?" He finally looked up at her.

She looked down at him, then back out the hallway. "Oh, look. Here come the cameras. Smile, Gris."

She pushed the door closed to the break room, evidently trying to make it not quite so obvious that the head CSI was on the floor cleaning up messes. She dropped down next to him and took the towels from him.

"I said, I got it," he told her.

"Go on. They don't need to see you down here, and if you catch their attention on your way out, they won't get to see me, either."

He looked at her a moment as she went about her work, then got up and left the room, and as she had suggested, the camera crew's attention was on him as he went to his office.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

They slowly began working together tolerably well. Sara would do her job, share her findings with him, then move on to her next job or go home to her apartment. She made no attempts to talk about anything personal and when he would assign them to the same case, she always kept her distance from him, whether it be physically, at which times she would examine one room while he examined another, or by preventing communication by making sure there was always someone either in the room with them, or close enough to hear their conversations. He let a few more days go by before trying to get her to open up. This time he went to the flower shop, himself, and ordered a single blood red, long-stemmed rose to be sent to her. He signed the card himself with, "Please, talk to me. Grissom." He carried the box back to the lab with him, remembering how she refused delivery on the last thing he had sent her. Before anyone else from their shift came in, he went to the locker room and opened her locker, placing the box within.

He waited for some kind of response–anything, but by the time the night shift finished, he wasn't even sure she had stopped at her locker. It wasn't until she was finishing her double, that he saw her carrying the long white box down the hall toward his office. She entered the room and sat the box on his desk and stood looking at him.

"I'm finding it extremely ironic that this whole thing happened because of the lack of communication–and now you want to talk. You missed your chance to talk when I met you down by the morgue after your first meeting with Kessler. That was when you needed to talk to me–to tell me things had changed between us and you were moving on to something better. And then, amazingly enough, your powers of speech returned to you and you had no trouble speaking to Kessler, no trouble comforting her all. But, at the flip of a switch, you changed from the gentle, caring, adoring, doormat you were for that woman, to an angry, superfluous asshole when you talked to me. There was no lack of communication between us that night when you informed me that I was spying on you and Kessler and then spreading untrue rumors about her. Let's not forget how articulate you became when you alerted me that I'll never be the woman that she is–how did you put it? My knowledge is rather limited? But then the communication thing failed you again when you thought it wasn't important enough to tell me that you had spent over four hours with the woman, doing things with her that brought you back stinking of her. So, when you say, "Please talk to me," remember what you said already, and what you did. Then you'll realize that there's nothing left to talk about except work."

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him completely speechless. When he finally got to his feet, he tossed the boxed flowert into the trash. He was suddenly very relieved that he had the next few days off, and when he went home, he got a change of clothes, went back to his car, then started driving. He had no idea where he was going until he finally pulled up to an old motel along a desert highway. He spent the night, then when the sun came up the next day, he went down to the office and paid for another two nights. His nourishment came from the old country and western bar down the road about a quarter of a mile as he'd get a few sandwiches and a pint of scotch each day. He spent the rest of his time either gazing at the bleakness of the desert, the stained ceiling above his bed, or the moon and stars at night. During his last night there, he decided he had gone long enough in this state of limbo.

He returned to work the next night, knowing that Sara wouldn't be there as she had been scheduled for the following four days off. He worked through the next two shifts then went straight to her apartment, but saw no signs of her car. At work that night, he overheard Greg telling Nick that Sara had called from California. She was spending a few days with some old friends and was getting sunburned on the beach. It was another three days before he saw her again and he couldn't stop looking at the rosy glow she had from her short vacation. With her sunburned cheeks and nose she was the most adorable creature he had ever laid eyes on and when Nick teased her about it, the smile she sent him radiated with warmth.

He noticed, as they were halfway through this case, that she entered the conference room with him, Catherine and Nick and jumped right into the procedure, even turning to speak to him more than she had in weeks. But then, he realized, they were in the company of Nick and Catherine, so there was no danger of any intimacy. Over the next two days, their shared thoughts on evidence became more frequent and less tense, and although he was glad to see the tension leaving their working relationship, it wasn't enough.

He tried to recall what she had said the day she brought the rose back to him. He should have it memorized, he ran it over in his mind so often those days at the motel. He seriously couldn't understand how helping a friend meant he was "neglecting" Sara. Granted, she did things that made him angry at her–but he would have been angry if she had done it to anyone else. The fact that she wasn't in the habit of doing those things, such as spreading rumors or trying to intimidate other people (well, there was that guy who killed his wife, but he deserved it–the asshole!), slowly dawned on him. He had to accept that there was something about Heather that rubbed Sara the wrong way. So, if that meant he didn't see the other woman anymore–he could manage that easily enough.

"What are you doing, Nick?" Grissom asked as he stood in the doorway of the break room and stared at the dark-haired man as he had his arms around Sara.

"Congratulating Sara," he said as he gave her a quick hug.

"Really? Congratulations are in order, Sara? What's the occasion?" Grissom entered the room with the two of them and noticed that Warrick and Catherine were seated at the table.

"She was dating a real ass, and she broke it off with the loser," Nick told him.

"Good for you, Sara," Warrick told her as he held his up coffee cup in a silent salute. "The last thing you need is a cement block hanging around your neck. It only serves to pull you down and drown ya."

"Woe, listen to him," Catherine said as she looked at Warrick. "Are you talking about personal experience?"

"No comment," he said dryly.

"Uh-oh," Nick said as he turned toward Warrick. "There's trouble in paradise. Do you want a hug too?"

"Not likely!" Warrick smirked, bringing a chuckle from Nick.

"So, Sara," Catherine began her interrogation. "Are you going to tell us who it was?"

"No," Sara told her as she leaned against the counter, holding her bottle of water that was three quarters of the way empty.

"Okay. Fair enough. But was he as bad ad Hank?" Catherine went on.

Sara turned and looked Grissom directly in the eyes. "Yes."

"Dammit!" Catherine seemed angry about this. "Did he cheat on you too?"

"Yes."

"I could be wrong about this," Grissom continued watching Sara. "But weren't you the "cheatee?" You weren't exactly the one who was being cheated on–his fiancé was. You were the one he was cheating "with."

"Thank you for clarifying that, Grissom. I'm so glad I have you around to make my life easier like this."

"The fact that he had been with his fiancé first makes her the one who was wronged."

"Grissom!" Catherine scolded him. "Sara didn't know she was with an adulterer!"

"He wasn't married to his fiance–so technically he couldn't be called an adulterer." Grissom moved to stand next to Sara and poured himself some coffee.

"So you're saying that if you're in a long-term relationship–without being married–you have the right to cheat?" Catherine asked with obvious irritation.

"I don't think that's right, Griss," Nick told him. "I know if I was engaged–I wouldn't take it too kindly if I found out my fiancé was doing the dirty deed with someone else."

"You might not like it–but the fact is you still wouldn't be married, and your significant other can't be labeled an adulterer. The definition of adultery is voluntary sexual intercourse between a married person and someone other than his or her lawful spouse."

"So you're saying Hank had the right to do what he did?" Catherine asked.

"I'm saying, what he did wasn't illegal–so. . .he had the lawful right to do it." He started back toward the doorway to go back to his office. "No marriage–no adultery."

He stopped dead in his tracks when he felt something hit the back of his head with a thud. The gasps that came from most of the people behind him made the following silence even more noticeable.

"Sidle!" He growled through grit teeth.

"What?" She snapped.

Slowly, unbelievingly, he turned around to see Sara's nearly empty plastic water bottle spinning on the floor where it landed after colliding with his skull.

"You–hit–me in the head!" He stared at the angry woman with disbelief.

"It slipped!" She told him spitefully.

"Yeah, Griss," Nick agreed with a guilty expression covering his face as his eyes darted from Grissom to Sara and back again. "I think I saw it slip."

"All the way across the room?" He asked Nick, then looked at Warrick and Catherine. Catherine looked back with her hands raised in the air as she shrugged her shoulders and looked away from him.

"Don't ask me–I wasn't looking," Warrick said as he turned away, as well.

Grissom looked back at Nick, who was very close to blushing.

"You threw that bottle and hit me in the head!" He looked back at Sara.

"I said it slipped." She walked past him and out the door, turning toward the locker room.

Grissom turned on his heel and started in the opposite direction, toward his office, but he heard the three people laughing behind him.

"Jeez!" Nick commented. "They act more like an old married couple than Sara probably did with that loser she broke up with."

"Well," Catherine explained. "He shouldn't have tried sticking up for Hank. When someone cheats on a woman–NEVER try to defend the pig to her."

Grissom sat behind his desk and snapped up a file he had previously been reading. "Goddamned little spitfire!" he thought as he leaned back in his chair, then had to smile in spite of himself. He couldn't deny that her "fire" was one side of her that kept him coming back for more. The bottle certainly didn't hurt as much as it shocked him that she would do such a thing–especially in front of the others. And somehow he wasn't surprised to see how the other three either jumped to her defense or cried ignorance of the incident. He imagined if Greg had been there to see it, he would have helped her aim the damn thing. Well, he was asking for it, wasn't he? He knew he was baiting her on, the more he defended Hank – even if he did feel the damned paramedic should have been taken out and hung.

The thought crossed his mind to send her more flowers, but that thought faded as he remembered the first two attempts. He supposed he could try jewelry, but he was no expert on what women liked. What else could he try? Candy–you buy women candy–right? Snickers bars–she liked them. Hell, she was addicted to them when she got her period. He knew he had to have a bag of them stashed somewhere close, or she was like a bear with it's ass on fire. He sighed as he looked down at the file, he'd think of something.

Midway through the shift he left the building and did a little shopping. When he came back he went to his office where he put a large bag of miniature Snickers on his desk, then got the jewelry box from the other bag and taped it to the bag. He wrote "I didn't know which you would like more. Grissom." He then made several trips past the locker room until he finally found it empty and he placed the package on her top shelf. Now, he had to wait. But by the end of the shift, he still saw no signs of Sara. Greatly disappointed, he packed up some files and dragged his jacket on, then went home. As he opened his door, he had to look twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating when he saw her sitting on the stairs leading down to his living room. He put the files on the table just inside the door and slowly approached her. When he got to the top of the stairs she stood up and turned to look at him, holding the candy and jewelry in her hands.

"What is this?" She asked with a tinge of anger.

"Uh–Snickers and a necklace with a Tahitian pearl pendant." He looked blankly at her. It was rather obvious to him what it was.

"These are expensive!" She held the necklace in her left hand. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a half-smile, but she wasn't being charmed as easily as she used to. "Why? Didn't Heather want them?"

He knit his brows together on that one–not knowing where such a thought would come from. All he managed to get out was, "No. Heather doesn't eat Snickers bars. She eats imported chocolate."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

He knew it was a mistake the moment it left his lips and he practically groaned at the realization of it. She tossed the items onto his sofa, then started up the stairs, clearly on her way to the door, but he stepped in front of her. This time his reflexes weren't slowed by alcohol and he grabbed her upper arms and started walking down the steps, forcing her to walk backwards until they were next to the sofa.

"You just don't get it–do ya?" She asked him as she stared at him.

"No–not lately," he said, but received a fast slap to his arm.

"Don't be smart!" She told him.

"I'm not! I didn't mean it that way. Look, I've been lost on this for weeks. You're the one in the driver's seat over this, Sara. And I'm tired of being dragged around and being punished when I have no idea what I did that was so God-awful wrong."

"The fact that you don't know–makes it all the worse. That means that you'll do it again and again and think nothing of it."

"Then tell me what the hell I did that was so bad! So I helped a friend–big deal!" When she only stared at him, he nearly shouted. "Tell me!"

"You treated me like garbage!" She started and he knew she was on the verge of a tirade. "You lied to me! When I was listening to you talking to her, and then saw how your face screamed your jealousy when she handed you that condom! If you want to know why I stayed there listening–imagine how I felt! I was trapped! How could I get out and let you know I was there–what I saw? So, instead, I watched you walk her to her car, so gentle and caring with her, speaking to her like she was a queen–only to come back to me and blow up! I'd never felt like poor white trash in my life until that moment!"

"I never treated you like any such thing," he said once she slowed down enough for him to speak.

"Oh, shut up," she murmured as she dropped her gaze from him. "What's the use? You made it plain today that you had every right to sleep with her because "I" am the "cheatee." I was just a stand-in until you had the opportunity to sleep with her again."

"Sara–I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you don't. That's the saddest part of all of this."

"No–don't go off in another direction on this. You answer me–what the hell are you talking about? "I" had the right to sleep with her?"

"Don't patronize me, Grissom."

"This is getting us nowhere," he said in a low tone of exasperation as he moved her until she was sitting on the sofa then he sat on the coffee table in front of her. "Start here–I made it clear today that I had every right to sleep with her. Translate that for me–because, first of all, I don't remember saying anything like that."

"You said if we weren't married, that legally, you had the right to cheat on me because you were with that woman first." She avoided his gaze.

"I did not! I said that Hank had the legal right to cheat on you. . ." He stopped quickly and sighed. "Okay, I get it. So, I was saying things to irritate you. But I can tell you what I "didn't" say. I never said "I" had the right to cheat on you. You misconstrued everything I said today. I wasn't referring to you and me. I never said I believed anyone should cheat on someone they are with–I was just stating that legally, it isn't considered adultery unless they're married. I just said it to get a rise out of you. I never thought you'd interpret it into something about us."

"You were talking about Hank?"

"Yeah–the asshole. Remember him?" He took her hands in his as he looked at her. "Now, lets try the second part. Who are you saying I had the right to sleep with?"

Her eyes flew up to his, pain and anger flashing through them. "You slept with her! And that was the final straw! So, you can stop sending flowers, and candy, and jewelry. Why can't you just accept that I wont tolerate that kind of a lifestyle? I told you before–I don't share! I won't share! It's over!"

Grissom watched her as her eyes filled with angry tears. It finally sunk in that she thought he had slept with Heather. Jesus–no wonder she was pissed. He looked at her with compassion in his eyes.

"I didn't sleep with "anyone," he said softly.

"Stop it! At least be a man about it and don't lie! I'm not stupid! I'm not blind! You bought condoms! You used some! And then you came to me with her smell covering you!"

He sat straight up and looked at her. "This is all because I bought a box of condoms? A goddamned box of condoms is what started all of this?"

"It isn't what started it," she said quietly. "It's what finished it."

This time he was the one to get to his feet and start pacing in front of her with anxiety. "You saw them when you took your thong back, didn't you?" She looked at him without answering. "Why in the hell would you get mad over a box of condoms?"

"We don't use them," she hissed. "And some were missing."

"Come here," he said as he hurriedly grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Let go!" She hurled at him as he started pulling her back up the stairs and toward the door.

"Okay–fine." He opened the door, then released her hand but bent and picked her up in his arms, then proceeded with her out of the building.

"What are you doing?"

She pushed at his arms but he refused to release her until he was standing at his car. He put her down but kept an arm around her waist as he unlocked his driver's door, then unlocked the door behind it. She watched with large eyes as he pushed her into the back seat then got in beside her.

"This bring anything back to you?" He asked sarcastically, but he received a blank stare. "We were kind of busy back here–and you had to reach for tissues, but even though you used them, I still had an unpleasant surprise on my shirt when I got home. I'm surprised Greg didn't say something about "that" when I saw him at the concession stand. I thought that the "next" time we decided you had to watch "Sting" I'd be better prepared. Reach in there."

He pointed to the pocket that was on the back of the driver's seat and waited until she timidly stuck her hand inside and felt around, then pulled out two foil packages.

"You bought the condoms for. . ."

"Yeah–I don't know why you didn't see them in the car when you hung the thong in there in the first place. I take it, that had something to do with why you took it back again."

"I thought. . .I thought you went out and bought them after you saw Heather," she told him quietly.

"If you would have used your CSI skills, you would have seen that I hadn't move my car that morning. I only went out to retrieve some paperwork I'd forgotten and that's when I found your little gift. I folded it up and put it in the cupholder so I'd remember to give them to you when I got home. I bought the condoms before I went to work, the day before you found them. Like I said, I don't know why you didn't see them the first time."

"Because," she said slowly, "I wasn't looking at your floor when I hung it on your gear shift. I only looked at it when I reached over to your cupholder."

"I have the box in the apartment, if you'd like to go count them. Add these two that I stashed back here, and it will be a full box." He got out of the car and pulled her with him, this time she didn't resist as she walked with him back inside the apartment.

"That isn't why I took the thong back," she said quietly as she sat on his sofa again. "You were interviewing her. You were sitting so close to her. I felt so humiliated. The way she looked at me–as if I were nothing."

"She didn't even see you until she was outside and you drove up in your car." He told her.

"She saw me while you were interviewing her inside." She looked at him through disappointed eyes.

"Sara–she was overcome with grief. Her mind was entirely on her daughter at that time. Do you think she was really capable of focusing on you?"

Sara got to her feet and started to walk past him again. "I've got to go. This isn't going to work."

"No! You're not going! What do you want Sara? Do you want me to say I'll never see her again? It's done!"

"It's too easy."

"I swear to God–I'll never see her again–I have no desire to ever see her again!"

Sara looked at him, stared at him. "You don't believe in God."

"I do–in my own way. Would you rather I swear on something else?"

"No. I'd rather be able to believe you."

He watched her, saw the way she was looking at him so hard that he knew she was trying to find something that just wasn't there. He put his hands on her neck and drew her near, then dipped his head until his lips were touching hers. "Then believe me. You're the only one I want."

His tongue slipped between her lips and he felt her arms go up his back to hold onto him. He had hungered for this for the past three weeks, and now that he had her, he didn't intend to let her go again. When she still didn't respond to his kiss, he pulled his head back only far enough to lean his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry if I became consumed with the case. I'm sorry if I made you feel like anything other than the goddess that you are. I'm so goddamned sorry." He was walking her backwards and he wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not. He continued with her into his bedroom. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. What do you want me to do? More Dracula and Frankenstein movies? I'll get the car ready right now. More dancing and dinner? I'll make the reservations. Whatever you want–I'll do it. Just stay here. I don't want you to leave anymore. I want you here. Move in–do you want to move in?"

She pulled her head back and looked at him, a bit of astonishment shining from her eyes and he couldn't stop the smile that crossed his lips as he added. "Do you want me to shut up?"

This last question brought a touch of humor to her eyes but then faded as she looked at him. "I–I don't know what I want. I don't know what "you" want. I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything–now." His mouth covered hers again, this time he placed his knee on the edge of the bed and lowered her onto the mattress as he came down next to her. "And what "I" want is simple. I want "you," Sara."

He continued kissing her, not giving her a chance to argue about anything. He wanted to show her that she was his, and he wasn't going to let her go. He wanted to prevent her from thinking too rationally because he didn't want another single thing to enter her mind that would have her running out of his apartment. He wanted to occupy her thoughts so she could think of nothing else. He ran his fingers over the cloth of her jacket until he came to her hands and he extended them out on both sides of her. He held her in place as his lips and tongue caressed her mouth, tasted her, urged her tongue to do the same to him. She was slow to respond, so hesitant, almost afraid, so he moved his hands back to her neck and throat, skimming his fingers over her soft flesh before moving them up into her hair, holding her head in place as he made love to it. His little nibbles on her lips brought small whimpers from her that went through is body, directly to his groin, making it impossible to keep his body away from hers. He moved his right leg over her thighs, coming in contact with her hip and pressing his arousal against her. The thrusts of his tongue was slowly met with a responding touch, a responding slide, until she sucked his tongue into her mouth and gave it the attention that he wanted. Soon their breathing was becoming something that was an annoyance as it got in the way of their kiss. Their moans of desire echoed throughout the room; each sound that escaped her throat was a shockwave throughout his body. He couldn't wait anymore. He had waited three weeks and was so anxious to be one with her that he could hardly bear it. He slid on top of her, then straddled her thighs as he sat up, reluctantly ending their kiss as he sat, looking down at her, then grabbed his coat and pulled it off. He frantically unbuttoned his shirt and stripped that off as well, watching her eyes fill with such desire that he couldn't stop the groan that came from his throat. He pulled her up until she was sitting beneath him and he stripped her coat from her arms, then pulled her shirt off, taking note to the athletic bra she was wearing, then stripping that off of her as well.

He gently pushed her onto her back again, then he moved off of her as he started stripping her shoes from her feet. His fingers were trembling with desire as he unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, then tugged them over her hips. Again, his eyes took in the cotton boy-style briefs she was wearing before he took them off of her as well. In his anxiousness to get back to her, he didn't remove his own pants, but returned to his lying position next to her.

"God, Sara–I've missed you," he breathed against her throat as he worshiped the softness of her skin. "Tell me that you've missed me, too. Tell me that you've wanted me, even as angry as you were–you still wanted to be with me."

She grabbed his face on either side and turned his head to receive her kisses again. He didn't really care; the way he felt, he could go on kissing her for days, but still, he needed to hear it. He grabbed her hands and slid them up above her head, holding them there as he continued to devour her mouth, then moved back to her neck and throat.

"Sara," he breathed against her.

"I–I can't."

She arched her body against him and he felt her breasts pressing into his chest. He continued to hold her hands above her as his mouth moved down and he found the nipple that was straining against him. He pulled it into his mouth, sucking it and laving it with his tongue, savoring it as a treat he had been desperately missing.

"Sara," he said against her skin as his left hand spread across her stomach, feeling it as he teased her navel. "Tell me."

"I–I can't." She continued arching against him as he held her hands captive. "Just kiss me, Gil."

He moved his head back up as he looked into her eyes and when she tried to lift her head for his kiss, he brought his head back, just out of her reach. His left hand moved up to take over where his tongue and lips had just been and he threw his left leg between her thighs. "Not until you tell me."

She lay her head back on the pillow and looked at him until tears filled her eyes. "Don't make me tell you things that will open my heart for you. Not yet. I can't be that vulnerable yet."

He dropped his gaze from hers, then released her hands and rolled over, placing both knees between her thighs and spreading them. He reached down and opened his pants, releasing himself as he took hold of his throbbing erection and guided it to her, pressing into that exquisite tightness that he had been yearning for. When he looked back into her eyes, he saw apprehension as he now realized how she was guarding her heart against the abuse he was able to give it. He dropped his head and took her mouth in a deep kiss that left little doubt that he could never get enough. He moved his hands down to grasp onto her hips, holding them for leverage as he started long, slow, and yet forceful strokes, each thrust showering pure sensations throughout his body. He could feel her fingers running over his upper arms and shoulders, moving to his neck then down over his back and on to his waist where she slid them beneath the cloth of his trousers.

He closed off the part of him that wanted to hear her declarations of endearment, trying to understand that it was too soon for her, and he pushed forward to the almost painful aspect of their physical love. But as his slow thrusts increased in speed and she lifted her long legs to wrap them around his waist, he got lost in his sensations, things spilling from his mouth that he wasn't sure he was actually saying–or if he was only thinking them.

"Jesus-God, Sara," he breathed against her throat again. "I promise not to hurt you anymore. I'll never give you reason to doubt me again."

He felt her suddenly go tense, then tremble as her walls clamped down around him and went into spasms that took him to an area that he was unable to fight off any longer. His explosion was imminent and he took her face in his hands and returned his kiss to her lips, even as she was gasping through her orgasm, he thrust his tongue into the warmth of her mouth. He stroked again and again, wanting to fill her completely until he released himself into her warmth.

"I missed you so much," he said between his attempts to catch his breath, his chest heaving as he lay on top of her. "I love you, sweetheart. Don't get angry at me again."

He held onto her as he rested his head on her chest and he could feel her kissing the top of his head and stroking his back before exhaustion overtook him and he fell into sleep's depths.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sara woke up to the sensation of being stroked. She was in a familiar position on her back, with Grissom's head resting on her chest, just beneath her breasts, as he held onto her waist, gently stroking his fingers over the sensitive skin at her side. She tried to gather her thoughts and at the moment they were so scattered and bruised that she didn't know where to begin.

The change in her breathing and posture must have alerted him that she was awake, because he turned his head and kissed her stomach, then moved up on the bed until he was lying next to her, looking into her eyes as she turned to face him. His hand returned to her waist where he continued stroking her. She had a hard time looking at him when he watched her like this. His expression was so intense that it shook her to the core; it made her confused over everything she had believed over the past three weeks. When he looked at her like this, she used to feel like she was the most beautiful woman in the universe; now she felt second-rate, and she didn't know how to overcome the insecurities that were implanted so successfully by that woman.

"Hey," he whispered as he lifted his hand to her chin and turned her gaze back to him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm right here," she said with a forced smile.

"Your mind is wandering"

She continued to smile at him as she pulled the sheet up from her waist. He had evidently covered them with it while she slept because she didn't remember having time to get beneath it as they made love–had sex. Her mind tumbled the two phrases over in her mind as she dropped her eyes away from his, but he tilted her chin again until she looked back at him.

"Really?" She asked.

"Well, by this time, if you weren't awake before me, you would wake up and start doing this. . ."

He leaned closer and kissed her very gently but let it linger as he pulled her closer to him. He grunted with irritation when the sheet was in his way, so he tugged it back down so their chests were touching. He nibbled on her lips and slid his tongue over them, but didn't try to deepen the kiss, ending it as he leaned back to look at her. She tried to smile again.

"I guess I'm still kind of tired. Not quite with it yet, ya know."

He simply looked at her, letting "that" expression cover his face and alerting her that he wanted much more than a simple kiss. She self-consciously pulled the sheet back up as she tucked it beneath her arm, not being able to stop herself and knowing he was not pleased with her actions. He turned and got off the bed, then finally removed the pants that he had slept in, as well as had sex–made love–to her in. He didn't bother keeping his boxer/briefs on as he pulled the sheet back and got in beneath it. He turned to her and she couldn't stop her first instinct of actually backing away from him about an inch. He studied her for a moment, then turned onto his back.

"Come here," he suggested, and she inched her way back closer to him. "No. I mean, up here."

He held up the sheet until she moved her body on top of his, then he dropped the cloth around them. He continued to watch her until she put her hands together on his chest, then lay her head on top of them, looking at the doorway to the bathroom. He didn't say anything else for a long time, simply slid his hands onto her back where he gently slid them along its length. She could feel the semi-hardness of him against her thigh, but still, he didn't try to push her any farther. He allowed her to just lie there, listening to his heartbeat beneath her head, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath as he massaged her skin so tenderly that she wasn't sure if it was actually his hands or a wisp of wind, allowing the tension to leave her mind as well as her body. She slowly moved farther up on him until she could rub her temple against his bearded cheek, like a kitten who wanted to be petted and adored. And he complied as he ran his hand over the length of her hair, stroking it as she slowly slid her fingertips up his other arm, watching how they played on the muscles leading up to his shoulder. The more he stroked her hair, the closer her mouth came to his as she sought the affection he was willing to give her. She touched his lips with hers, giving little butterfly kisses until she needed more. Her gentle nibbling and quick flicks of her tongue was increasing her need of him. He remained somewhat passive as he allowed her to take this at her own pace. She could hear him fighting to keep his sounds of need inside as he continued to grow against her legs, and she was beginning to feel less awkward. Her courage grew as she finally slid her tongue inside his mouth and he released a sound so low that it resembled a growl.

She lifted her head and looked down at him, seeing what looked to be close to physical pain in his eyes. She ran her finger over his cheek, then went back to his mouth, dipping her tongue inside and inviting him to do the same. When he returned her kiss, his expertise quickly made her forget why she was apprehensive to begin with. She brought both hands up to capture his face as she kissed him deeply; so deeply that she felt it clear to her toes. She didn't realize she had spread her legs around his body and was now squirming against his abdomen as his rock hard penis pressed up between them, until he pulled his head back from her with a gasp, and rolled her off of him as he moved away.

"I can't do this," he breathed as he looked over at her. "I wanted to. I tried to. I know you're having trouble with this. I know you need to take it at your own pace. I didn't want to push you until you were ready–but dammit! You're driving me crazy! I want you so goddamned much that it's killing me! So–if you're not ready yet, then I think I need to leave for awhile. I can go read the paper or watch the news or make us something to eat. How about that? Are you hungry?"

"You don't want to make love to me?" She asked as she lay with her head on the pillow, suddenly finding his discomfort not only amusing, but rather assuring.

"I don't want . . ." He ran his hand over his beard in frustration. "Of course I want to! It's all I've wanted to do for the last three weeks! Jesus Christ–I had to leave and go spend three days in a dingy old motel and get drunk every night just so I could sleep without having you with me. And you–I come back and find out that you're taking it so well that you go on a holiday to the beach! You're driving me nuts!"

"I didn't go to the beach," she chuckled. "Who told you that?"

"I heard Greg telling Nick. He said you called and told him you were visiting friends in California and was getting sunburned. And you were–you did. I couldn't take my off of the way your face seemed to glow from the sun you'd taken in."

"The little liar," she laughed again. "I was right here in Vegas. I just went to the pool everyday, and lay in the sun."

"You were home?" He stared at her in disbelief.

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I went to your apartment to find you–then overhead Greg talking about the beach."

"Well–I was home at night." She moved back over toward him, but he backed away. "Are you playing hard to get, now?"

"No," he told her. "I just can't take anymore . . .foreplay."

She smiled at him again, loving how he was fighting his itch, that by looking at the tent under the sheet, needed scratched very badly. This time when she leaned toward him, she placed her hand on his chest and ran it down to his stomach, quickly coming in contact with the searing heat of his member. Her fingers wrapped around his massive size and she gave him a squeeze as her lips were only a millimeter from his.

"I'm tired of foreplay right now, anyway."

He groaned as he turned to her and rolled her onto her back, taking her mouth in hunger as he slid between thighs that were already open, waiting for him to come to her. She positioned him at her entrance and with a quick thrust he was inside of her and she had to throw her head back to catch her breath from the intrusion into her body. It was always like this–and she wondered if it always would be. She wanted to touch him–touch his hair–touch his beard–touch his lips; those perfectly shaped lips. Hell, she even wanted to touch his elegant nose. Her fingers brailled him as his kisses moved over her face.

"Good God, you can drive a man to his death. Do you have any idea what it was like all those days and nights, watching you work in front of me and not being able to touch you? I just wanted to touch you. I needed you here–with me–and nowhere else." He raised his head and looked at her even as they thrust against each other. "Don't you see it? Can't you understand how I feel about you?"

But before she could answer, he was kissing her again, and the thought surged through her head that perhaps he "did" love her and he "wouldn't" hurt her again. She gradually opened up to him like a flower in the morning sun, drinking in as much warmth as she was capable of. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he nuzzled her behind her ear.

"I love you, Griss," she sighed contentedly.

"Not Griss–not here," he breathed into her ear. "Now say it again."

She giggled as he tickled her ear with his tongue, then sighed again. "I love you, Gilbert."

"Ah, Sara, know that you hold my heart–don't let go."

Sara remained awake this time as she watched him sleep next to her. He told her, again and again, that he loved her. He swore to her that he'd never hurt her again. He told her it was all just a huge mistake and he'd never make such an error again. This time, she believed him as she lay with his arm over her chest and his leg over her thighs. Slowly, she managed to slide out from beneath him and get up from the bed. She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror seeing the usual signs of Grissom's vigorous lovemaking, but luckily it was contained to her chest area and not spread along her neck. She smiled shyly as she saw something else, something deeper that had grown during their last hours together. If she wasn't careful, she was going to fall in love with him all over again. She glanced into the bedroom and watched him sleep. God, he was so gorgeous as he slept; his face relaxed and peaceful. Well, she'd just have to risk falling in love with him again, she thought as she closed the door and started filling the tub with water.

She was in the water, letting the steam rise around her, when the door opened and Grissom walked in with his cell to his ear as he held hers down for her to answer.

"Sidle," Sara answered as Grissom walked back out of the bathroom so they wouldn't be heard on each other's phones.

"Hi, Sara. It's Judy. Mr. Ecklie asked me to call with an assignment. He says it's a VIP and the sooner you could get here to pick up the information, the better."

"I'll be right in, Judy. Thanks."

She got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself then went back to the bedroom where she found Grissom had put his pants back on and was just finishing his call with Ecklie. He turned around and looked at her as he flipped his phone shut. He took the two steps to get to her and put his arms around her as he smiled down into her eyes.

"What do you think about "me" getting a bigger tub?" He asked.

"You" want to start taking baths with me?" She smiled back at him. "I thought you didn't like it. You never got back in with me after that one time."

"I don't," he smirked. "You had the water too hot. I thought for sure that you were trying to ruin any chances of a next generation of Grissoms."

She couldn't stop the laugh that came out. "Why did you get in, if it was too hot?"

He shrugged his shoulders, then released her as he put a clean shirt on and grabbed a pair of socks. He bent to pick up his shoes, but paused when he came across her panties and bra that he had tossed to the floor, earlier.

"Sara? What's this?"

Sara looked at him and took the items in question. "Underclothing."

"I know that. It isn't what you usually wear–why the change?"

"Because," she said slowly as she went to the drawer she had used before the breakup, and pulled out a clean set of underclothing; blue satin–quite the opposite of what she had in her hands. "When you feel that you're not as appealing to your boyfriend as you thought you were–you get rid of clothing that made you think that way."

"You threw away all your underclothing because you thought I didn't like them?" He sat on the bed and pulled his socks on.

"It's complicated." She stepped into her panties, then put her bra on. "All you need to know is that I threw away a bag full of lace and satin–some of which were brand new and never worn."

"And this is all my fault?" He started putting his shoes on.

"Yes." She found a clean pair of jeans and pulled them on.

"And you won't tell me why."

"That's right." She zipped and buttoned the pants then reached for a blouse and jacket to go over it.

"So, what you're really saying is that if I want you to wear lace and satin–I have to go buy it for you to replace what you had."

"I never said that."

"But I will. When we're through with this case–we'll go shopping." He stood up and started out the door and she grabbed her shoes and followed him.

"You're going to go shopping for lingerie?" She sat on the sofa and put her shoes on.

"Sure." He picked up his keys then held the door for her. "It sounds like fun."

"Fine," Sara said with disbelief, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? "What's this case all about, anyway? All Judy could tell me was that it's a VIP."

"Diane Chase was murdered at her son's wedding." He closed the door behind them.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"You'd think she'd know better than to wear white on the bride's big day." David looked up from the female victim lying in the middle of the driveway.

Sara acknowledged him and started toward the large group of people assembled at the reception. She passed through an arbor of white roses, noticing how plastic, how fake the whole situation seemed. Her one main thought was, can the love be real, when the flowers aren't. She walked past Nick who was interviewing two young beauties, but that didn't surprise her as this was a party filled with the "beautiful people." Her first interview was a bit disheartening when she quickly realized the young man had had too much to drink.

"Hi there–hi. I'm Sara Sidle. I'm from the crime lab."

"Bryce Gundy–groom's side." The young man was in a tuxedo and obviously "very" drunk.

"Did you guys decorate the wedding car with those beer cans?" Sara asks.

"Yeah."

"Did you drink all the beer first?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome. Did you also tie the groom's mom to the bumper?"

"No."

"Good chat. Um, I'm gonna have to get your fingerprints so I can compare them to the prints I got off the car."

"Cool."

"You "are" aware that someone's died."

"Nobody's gonna miss her except her son and her cell phone provider."

"Oh? What do ya mean?"

"She's creepy-close to Adam. She'd call him fifteen times a day."

"Huh. Do you mind putting your finger–right here?"

The man leaned forward to comply but in his drunken state fell into her. She grabbed him and pushed him off of her. "Oh–okay, Mr. Gundy."

The man put his hands on her shoulders and attempted to look into her eyes. "I think I love you."

"Yeah. Excuse me." She pushed him backward, trying to keep him on his feet as he stumbled in the other direction. "Yeah–uh, thank you. You need to–uh–sit down. Have a club soda."

She watched as he took a few steps and dropped to the ground, then she found his deposit of one pair of panties which she held out with her tweezers, calling after him. "Uh–um–excuse me, you dropped–this."

She no sooner had it in the air than it was plucked from her by another young man–this one evidently not as inebriated as the first.

"Sorry about him." The new man said. "Why do the jerks get all the tail?"

Sara smiles at this new man. "Sara–Sidle–Crime Lab."

"I'm Mike–best man–brother of the bride," he says as Sara offers a handshake but he refuses it, gesturing at the awkwardness with the panties. "Hey, this is a pretty crazy-ass situation, huh? They say it's good luck if it rains on your wedding day. What do you think about a dead body?"

"What do "you" think?" She asks, finding this man much more charming than the last one.

"I think my sister's better off. You ever think about getting married?" Mike asks, receiving a negative shake of Sara's head. "I'm just saying. . .ya know, I think Bryce could make an honest woman out of ya. Oh, look at that–your rejection broke his little heart."

Sara laughed at him, then allowed him to go to his friend's aid. She glanced a few yards away and saw Grissom watching her with a raised brow. She got a bit of satisfaction knowing that he had witnessed that exchange. He deserved it, she thought with a chuckle as she gave him one of her brightest smiles. It only took a moment for him to end his interview with the bride and make his way to her.

"Turning heads already, Agent Sidle?" He asked, his sunglasses hiding his eyes and making him look incredibly sexy.

"No more than you, Dr. Grissom," she smiled at him, nodding toward a few of the female guests who were eyeing him.

"I see you have them standing in line for your attentions," he leaned close to her ear. "Ya better watch it, Agent Sidle, if your boyfriend finds out, he may not let you out of his bed after only making love twice in one day."

"Oh, how interesting," she said as she half-smiled at the grass below her, then looked up at him again. "Please, if you happen to run into him, make him aware of the situation, will you?"

Grissom snorted and continued into the mansion.

With over two hundred guests their investigation continued completely through the evening and nighttime hours, not allowing them to wrap it up until the sun came out the next morning. By this time, Grissom had already gone back to the lab, leaving her with Greg and Nick. After packing all of their evidence in Nick's vehicle, they all agreed to meet for breakfast. Greg and Sara started out first, and both had their plates in front of them by the time Nick showed up to order his own meal. The three of them caught themselves on the morning news as they investigated the Diane Chase case, but Greg's attention was caught by something outside. It was instantly discovered the Nick's vehicle was gone. Someone had stolen it, with all of there evidence, from the restaurant's parking lot.

As they all stood in the restaurant's parking lot, Sara could sense the foreboding flowing through Nick and Greg as Grissom got out of his Denali. Sara hoped this didn't cause more trouble between them. Even as clearly pissed off as he was, he could make her heart skip a beat. Jesus–if she could only take him home and soothe things over in the way she wanted to. But, being realistic, she stood next to her cohorts and waited for the reaming out she was expecting.

Nick explained what happened, the best he could, and although Grissom listened intently to him, Sara could sense his eyes darting to all three of them. Finally, after Nick finished, Grissom looked directly at Sara.

"Sara, get my tablet out of the Denali," he ordered.

"Yeah," she said as she hurried away, feeling that at least she would avoid the lecture for now.

She went to the vehicle that was parked about twenty yards away, then to the driver's side, in search of some sort of paper product for him to write on. She was leaning over the seat, looking in the glove-box, looking under the seat–and she found nothing.

"Look back here," Grissom's voice sounded directly behind her, turning her around to look at his agitated expression.

She followed him to the back of the Denali where he raised the hatch and looked at her. Sara looked in the direction of Greg and Nick, seeing that they were both standing back at the restaurant with there heads down, looking very much like little boys who had just been reprimanded by their grade-school teacher. Neither of them seemed overly interested with what was going on across the parking lot. Sara looked in the back of the vehicle, only to find it empty as well. She looked up at Grissom, realizing that her lecture was forthcoming. She hoped to cut him off before he even started.

"Do you think it's wise to get angry at me at this point?" She asked as she looked at him defiantly.

"Do you think it's wise if I don't?" He asked with raised brows. "Can you explain to me "why" you went to breakfast with Heckle and Jeckle after investigating such a high profile case; a case that took nearly twelve hours just to collect all the evidence? Don't you think it might've been a good idea to get it back to the lab first–then go out with the boys?"

"I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since before work last night," she whispered.

"Your first priority is getting the evidence back to the lab, Sara. You know that." He took a deep breath, then reached his hand to her, tilting her chin up until she was looking at him. "I'm not holding you directly responsible for any of this–but next time let me know if you're that hungry that you can't get the stuff back to the lab. If you had let me know, "I" could've taken his truck back and none of this would've happened."

"Fine." She looked away from him.

"So," he said much more gently. "Did you get to eat your breakfast?"

"No, not much of it. I sort of lost my appetite when we realized someone took Nick's truck."

"Come on, then. You go inside and order whatever you were eating and bring it back to the lab. I'll pay for it."

"No," she sighed. "I'm not going to make you pay for it. And I'm not hungry now. I'll get lunch later today."

"Then let's go. McKeen's supposed to be here soon."

"I didn't find your tablet."

"I didn't have one. I just wanted to talk to you alone."

"So, what are you going to do to make this up to me? If I allow you to reprimand me in public, then you should owe me something in private." She gave him one of her teasing smiles.

"Oh, should I?"

"Yeah. I think that sounds like an excellent idea to me."

"But I didn't reprimand you in public. I pulled you aside so I didn't do it in front of anyone else."

"You pulled me aside because you wanted to get me alone–admit it."

"Does this work both ways?" He asked. "If you give me a hard time in public–am I going to get a special treat when we go home?"

She laughed as they started walking back to the others. "You've got something planned already, don't you?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, my dear."

Sara finally did get to eat that day as she sat in the break room with Nick and Greg. They were watching the wedding video for the fifth time that day and, hopefully, were coming up with some answers, with much credit to Greg.

"You paged?" Grissom asked as he entered the conference room with them.

"We think that each of the bridesmaids are responsible for killing her. Not individually, but working in cahoots. Each one played their part," Greg reported.

Intrigued, Grissom moved to the head of the table and sat diagonally from Sara. "Did you know the original role of the bridesmaid was to act as a human shield against the bride's enemies?"

"Women would dress similar to the bride to confuse and outsmart evil spirits that might try to overtake her on her wedding day," Sara added, receiving an approving nod from Grissom.

"Wow! For someone who's anti-wedding, you certainly know a lot about it," Nick told her.

"I'm not. . .anti-wedding. I'm just. . .anti-stupid. When people do things for the sake of tradition with no clue as to why," she quickly tried to explain to Nick, wishing very much that hadn't brought that fact up in front of Grissom.

When she glanced back to Grissom she noted that the comment rattled his cage a bit.

"Anyway. . ." He shook his head as if to clear it before looking at Greg. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

They all watch the DVD as Greg and Sara explain what had happened during the wedding reception. With their information passed on to Brass, all of the bridesmaids involved confessed their part in the death of Diane Chase. With the case closed, except for the their statements to the Internal Affairs Bureau, the four of them waited in the break room. Nick tried to doze on the sofa, Greg paced the floor and Grissom and Sara sat together at the table. Sara watched as Grissom breezed through another crossword puzzle as she spent her time making a triangular paper "football." She wondered if this day was ever going to be over, when finally McKeen arrived with the men who would be taking their statements. Grissom assured them that nothing could go wrong since they all had the same stories, and Sara simply looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"So, it turns out it was one of your admirers from the wedding who took Nick's truck," Grissom commented to Sara after Nick and Greg had gone to be interviewed.

Sara looked at his puzzle he was working on wondering if he had actually spoken to her, considering he never removed his gaze from the newspaper. She turned her chair until she was facing him, noticing there was no one else even close to the room, let alone in it with them. She "finger-kicked" her football in his direction, aiming for the newspaper, but dropping her jaw in shock as it flew too high and hit his forehead. She knew her eyes were huge as she watched him. After the initial start from being struck in the head, he slowly lowered the newspaper and looked at her.

"You hit me–in the head–again," he said quietly, and she couldn't hold back her snort of laughter, although she did try to contain it.

"Oh, Griss–I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you there!"

"You had another area in mind? What was it? The eye?"

"No," she chuckled at him and watched as he picked the paper from his lap where it had fallen, sitting where his legs met.

"Or was this your original destination?" He lifted it from the zipper of his pants.

"It usually is–but I swear–I was only trying to get your attention. . ."

"Well, you certainly got it."

"I mean, I was trying to hit the newspaper."

"Did I just see what I thought I saw?" Hodges entered the room with them. "Did you just hit him in the head with that?"

"It slipped," Sara told him, signs of her smile now gone as she looked at the technician.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed sarcastically. "A lot of things have a tendency to "slip" around you."

"What do you mean, it slipped? I watched you kick it with your fingers–right at him." Hodges turned his attention to Grissom. "Don't let her tell you it slipped, boss! I saw her aim for you."

"I did not aim!" Sara objected. "Hodges–how could you see "what" I was aiming for from all the way down in your lab?"

"I wasn't in my lab. I was just coming around the corner–right there."

"Well–I wasn't aiming. I just kicked it–and . . .well. . .his forehead got in the way."

"Uh. . ." Hodges looked at Grissom again. "I don't think I'd believe that if I were you."

"What's my alternative, Hodges?" Grissom asked, his usual irritation with the man starting to show. "Believe you and put her on suspension for bludgeoning her supervisor? Or listen to her and believe that she can't be trusted aiming anything more powerful than a paper football?"

Hodges seemed to think it over for a moment. "Ya know, boss. You do kinda have a big forehead. So, it probably did get in the way."

Grissom stared at the other man. "I do "not" have a big forehead."

"But on the other hand, if she really did aim at you–you don't have to suspend her for attacking a supervisor. You've got a paper in your hands–hit her back and call it even." Hodges shrugged his shoulders as he poured himself a cup of coffee then walked out of the room.

Sara watched him leave but before she could fully turn back to Grissom, she felt the sudden snap of the newspaper against the top of her head.

"Hey!" She stared at him again. "You did that on purpose!"

"Can you prove it?" He asked as he looked at her. "Hodges was walking away with his back to us. He didn't see a thing."

"You know, you're going to pay for that when you get home."

"That's what I was intending," he said as he lifted the paper back for his examination.

"Where's my football?" Sara asked as she looked around the table.

"In my hand."

"Give it back."

"No." He continued to look at the paper.

"Fine. I'll make another one."

She picked up another flat piece of paper and started folding it, but stopped when he reached over and covered it with his hand. She looked at him and saw him staring at her as he leaned closer enough for her to hear him.

"Do you wanna take this outside?' He said so seriously that she beamed another smile.

"Sure, anytime you're ready, big guy!" She boasted, but he simply crunched the paper beneath his hand and took it from her, then went back to reading the puzzle.

"Can't. We have to wait here until they're done with Nick and Greg."

"Uh-huh," she said in a low tone. "You're all talk and no action."

"We shall see about that, won't we?" He raised one brow as he glanced at her, bringing her attention to the pink spot where her football had hit him and she chuckled. "What?"

"You have a pink spot in the middle of your forehead. Now it looks like a target. Give the football back, so I can try again. I can score big points if I hit the same spot twice."

"Do you remember what I told you this morning about misbehaving at work? Let's see, first you hit me with your water bottle–then you hit me with your little toy, here. Is there anything else you'd like to try while we're here? I'm tallying everything up and payback is going to be a bitch."

"Really? Does it have anything to do with peanut butter and maraschino cherries?"

He looked away from her as his smile hit him, almost as if he couldn't remain sober at the thought of spreading peanut butter on her as she lay with the sweet cherries strategically positioned on her torso.

"It just may." He looked at her again. "So–want to tell me how it is that you always attract the trouble-makers? Like I said, the object of your flirtation at the wedding yesterday is now behind bars for taking Nick's truck."

"I don't know–I guess I just like bad boys. You should see my boyfriend."

"Oh, and he's bad?" He said doubtfully.

"You should meet him. He can do the most amazing things with his. . ."

"Speaking of attracting men," Grissom interrupted. "I saw you going through the bride's luggage today."

"Oh, ya did?" She gave him a crooked smile. "Did you see anything in there that you liked?"

"Nothing that I could fit into," he told her, making her chuckle. "I did see you telling Nick that you needed his hands–and he seemed pretty willing to lend them to you. What did he say? He thought you'd never ask?"

"Yes. I believe he did."

"Uh-huh. Shall we bring up your beliefs regarding weddings and stupidity? And, please, make it good."

"You heard that, did you?"

"I did."

McKeen stood at the doorway to the room. "Sidle–your turn."

Sara got out of her chair, but leaned low enough to whisper to Grissom. "I think it also has something to do with the bride and groom, themselves. Don't you?"


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

They arrived at Grissom's apartment at around nine that morning, both excessively tired as he walked with his arm around her waist. She went to the kitchen where she made a small breakfast for them, which she ate half-heartedly, then trudged in to bed. Sara was so tired that she simply stripped down to her bra and panties and climbed beneath the sheets. She could feel Grissom's body move up behind her and knew he was only wearing his boxer/briefs with nothing else, and as was her custom when extremely tired, she leaned back against him and slid her feet along his calves where they would be warmed. Sleep came quickly and deeply, so much so that her next conscious moment occurred when she lay on her stomach and opened her eyes to see the late afternoon sun hiding behind the mini-blinds at his bedroom window.

She knew something had awakened her, but in her half-roused state, it took a moment to realize just what it was as Grissom's hand slid over her back, having already unhooked her bra, then slid down her arm as he half-lay on top of her. She felt his beard, soft and yet abrasive at the same time as he kissed her shoulder and when she brought her fingers up to touch his face, he leaned more fully on her and moved his kiss to her lips where he flicked his tongue between them. The combination of sensations shooting through her from the invasion of his tongue as well as the massive swelling that he had pressed against her buttocks sent a jolt through her so strong that she gasped with it. She remained motionless as she was trapped beneath his weight, and yet, she didn't need to move. His slow assault on her mouth while his length pressed against the roundness of her bottom was stimulating her and the fact that this was Grissom was sending shock waves through her so rapidly that she couldn't move if she wanted to. She wanted to turn around, so she could kiss him more fully, but he kept her pinned to the mattress, then as he started stroking his large hands down her sides and over her waist and hips, she lost the desire to move at all. What began as a semi-erection had hardened to a rigidity that was throbbing against the swell of her backside. He pressed his knees between hers and spread their legs, then reached his right hand beneath her abdomen as he pulled her up enough so he could stroke over the sensitive skin of her tummy, then move lower to the dark curls he found there. By the time he slid his finger between her folds, he had her so aroused that she was pressing herself back against him. He rocked his hips against her as he strummed her from the front and soon she was searching for release so forcefully that she was lifting him with her hips.

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear. "Stay still."

"But, Gil," she breathed as she reached as far back as she could manage as her hands touched his hips. "I want to touch you."

"I know." His tongue traced her ear then moved on to her jaw line. "But not yet. Do you trust me?"

She slowly nodded her head yes as she moved her hands back up until they were beneath her pillow and the side of her face. She allowed herself to be taken to another realm of reality as his kiss moved down her neck to her shoulders and the top of her back. Almost in a daze-like state, she watched as he reached past the bed and picked up a bottle she had never seen before, then raised himself until only his hardness and hips were touching her as he continued to press against her. The next touch was warm and soothing as he poured some of whatever had been in the bottle into his hands, and then rubbed them from her hips, up her sides, to her shoulders and then down over her back. He didn't neglect her rounded globes as he stroked this thin, oil-type substance on her. She couldn't place the fragrance, but it was soothing and strangely erotic–but then the fact that he was kneeling between her thighs most certainly had something to do with that. She lay completely still as his hands repeated their path, occasionally moving down her arms before returning to her back and then onto her buttocks. He seemed fascinated with his chore as he massaged her body, eventually moving down the back of her thighs then back up again.

He slid his hands beneath her hips and lifted her until she was on her knees, then continued his seduction by spreading the substance over her stomach and on to her breasts as he raised himself with her. He returned his touch down over her abdomen and through her curls to the nub that was throbbing so fiercely that she was certain she could die from sheer anticipation; stroking and circling it with an artistry that continued to amaze her.

"Gil," she breathed as her hips began rocking, in search of fulfillment.

"You are so beautiful," he said quietly as he stroked her with his right hand and moved his massage to her rounded bottom with his left. "Are you mine?"

She gasped as his left hand immediately moved to the back of her and he sheathed his two fingers into her velvety core, sliding them in a rhythm that coincided with the gyrations she had started. She was coming so close, her thighs were trembling, nearly unable to hold her, then he removed his fingers abruptly. She pressed herself back against him, searching for him, needing him to fill her, and after another moment, she felt him position himself and slowly slide his girth within, pressing into her so far that she was sure he was striking the bottom of her uterus. His thrusts were excruciatingly slow, sometimes even stopping as he would torture her with his uneven strokes.

"My love, are you going to answer me?" He thrust again, harder this time, and bringing another gasp from her.

"Yes–yes, I'm yours. I've always been yours."

He seemed to lose his grasp on his severe self-control as she said this. He grabbed onto her hips and started stroking more swiftly, more severely, and when she felt herself reaching the climax that had been teasing her for so long, she lost control of her legs and fell onto the mattress. He followed her down, continuing his thrusts as he stay on top of her, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her back; anything he could reach as he moved inside of her. She cried out at the intensity of the pleasure that was rolling over her, and as she was finally spinning back to reality, she felt his final thrusts and heard his voice rumbling in her ear as he rode out his orgasm.

Slowly, he withdrew from her and turned onto his back, allowing her to watch him as he lay with his eyes closed. Slowly, as her strength came back to her, she turned onto her side and he opened his eyes to look at her. The intensity of his stare sent shivers through her as she managed to cuddle up against his side. He hugged her to him and kissed her hair.

"I told you there was going to be payback," he said as her fingers began playing with the hair scattered on his chest.

"Oh, honey," she said as she kissed his chin. "If that was payback for being naughty at work–you're in for a lot more paper footballs and water bottles."

"How about," he started as he turned against her and put his thigh over her legs, drawling one of her legs between his. "If we just go straight for the payback and skip the "getting hit in the head" part."

"I think you outdid yourelf today," she said as she snuggled against his arm and chest. "Where did you get that–stuff?"

"The oil?"

"Yes–where did you get it?"

"I made it. Why, did you like it?"

"When do I get to return the favor? You certainly could use a good massage."

"If you give me about twenty more minutes, I think I'll be more than ready to be massaged," he said with a tilted smile.

"I wasn't talking about massaging "that."

"But, you do it so well," he chuckled, receiving faux shove. "Are you denying it?"

"I don't know–that's for you to say–not me."

"Well." He kissed her forehead and gave her a squeeze. "You seem to be extremely skilled at everything. You've taught me well."

"Gil! You make it sound like I'm some old pro. Ya know, you've taught me a trick or two, yourself."

"See, I "am" an old pro."

"Don't dislocate your shoulder trying to pat yourself on the back, Casanova."

"Ahhh, so you don't think I "am?" He stared at her with humor in his eyes.

"You are–what? An old pro? Or Casanova?"

"Take your pick."

"You are definitely "not" old. And I don't like to think of you as being a "pro." I'd rather believe that I was one of the lucky few who has benefitted from your talents."

"And Casanova?"

"Don't you know? You're my Romeo."

"Without the tragic ending, I should hope."

"No," she sighed as she nestled her head against him. "There will be no tragic endings for us."

She let the sensation of him stroking her back lull her into sleep again and when she woke she found the bedroom empty. She got out of bed and pulled her robe from the closet, then padded through the apartment until she found him in his office, going through his journals as he read up on his latest insect fascination. She stood in the doorway and watched as he sat in a sweatshirt and worn jeans with his bare feet sticking out the bottom. She wondered if he had any idea just how fast he could reduce her insides to mush just by simply going about his daily business. The combination of his clothes and the way his mind was clicking as he read, made her want to enter the room and force him to return to their bed and make her scream his name as he would take her to the ends of the earth and back again with his touch.

"Hey," she said gently as she walked up behind him.

He turned his chair to respond as his eyes traveled from her face, down over the curves that her robe clung to, then on to her legs and feet, before traveling back to her face again. She only wanted to come in for a moment; not really disturb him; maybe give him a little rub on his back, or a tiny kiss. But he reached for her hand and pulled her onto the chair with him until she was straddling his legs.

"You're up." He leaned his head against the back of the chair as he looked at her, holding onto her waist and stroking her with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry. I was supposed to give you that body massage." She held onto his shoulders for support.

"Yes–you were. But we both fell asleep." He unknotted her silk belt and watched as her robe opened, revealing her completely down her center as it draped over her thighs. "I'll have to wait until next time."

"Are you sure?" She asked as she glanced at the clock. "We could still fit it in."

"I'm sure. When it happens, I want it to lead to bigger and better things." He slides his hands inside the robe and runs them over her thighs, hips and waist.

"Oh, I'm sure it will." She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"I have not. I was waiting for you. Should we order in?" His hands are now going to her back, keeping her against his chest as he watches her.

"That's entirely up to you." She leans her elbows on his shoulders and shuddered when his lips moved between her breasts and he kissed the sensitive skin. "Maybe we could order it and pick it up on the way to the lab?"

She can feel him smile against her then turn his head and kiss the mound of flesh before looking at her. "You're so easy."

"I'm" easy?" She moved her fists to her hips as she stared at him. "I could get you in bed so fast, you wouldn't know what hit you! Aren't you the one who didn't want any tonight? You wanted to wait for bigger and better things?"

"That was for the massage." He grasped onto her buttocks and in a semi-fluid movement, he stood up while still holding her. "Put your legs around me."

"Are you trying to impress me with your masculine strength?" She smiled as she put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"Is it working?" He walked out of his office and started for his bedroom.

She gave a throaty laugh then started giggling when he dumped her onto his bed, as he came down next to her. "You always impress me."

"Now, do I impress you with the strength of my body? Or my mind?"

"Oh, your mind," she told him as she tried to look serious but was failing miserably. "Definitely your mind."

"That's good to hear. Because I'd hate to think that you're only using me for my physical attributes." He smiled at her and pulled her hips closer to his, so they were touching.

"No–never. I wouldn't do such a thing."

"So–then–you "aren't" impressed with my body?" He teased, making her laugh at him.

"Now, which way do you want it? I'm either turned on by your mind or your body. Which is it?"

"I can tell ya that right now, "your" body's sending messages to a certain part of my body."

"Really? And what is it saying?"

"It's saying, if you want to have a good time, call. . ." Her shove on his arm made him chuckle at her. "Okay, it's saying that you're to be worshiped and I'm to go before the altar and sacrifice myself to you."

"Is that what you're doing?" She asked more soberly as she stroked the side of his neck and looked into his eyes. "Sacrificing yourself to me?"

"I've already told you–you are a goddess." He leaned closer and tasted her lips. "What do you think?"

"I think we might be a little late to work tonight." She accepted his kiss as well as his caresses as she lay back and pulled him with her.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was one of those cases that took place while scheduling was a mess. Grissom hated having to schedule Sara when he wasn't working, but sometimes it turned out that way. For instance, the first night of the case, he worked with Catherine while Sara was at home, but by the next morning she was called in to work with Greg. After that, they worked and rested when they could, until finally he needed to spend some kind of time with her. On the third day of the case, he went to look into a company that was somehow involved with the victim. He watched as Sara practically squirmed in her chair when he entered the break room and told her she would be going to the address she had located, and that he was going along. She held a nonchalant expression as she looked at the coffee in her mug, but he watched as her feet moved beneath her chair, alerting him that she was ready to jump up and head for the Denali right then and there.

Once in the parking garage, she was in the driver's seat before he was even halfway to the vehicle.

"Who says I wanted you to drive?" Grissom asked as he opened the passenger's door.

"Why? What's wrong with the way "I" drive?" She watched him get into the other seat.

"You drive too fast." He fastened his seat belt.

"I only drive five or ten miles over the speed limit." She pulled out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit.

"Precisely."

"Don't you complain about "me" speeding," she said as she plugged her iPod into the radio and started playing Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." "Who's the one who was doing sixty in a thirty-five mile an hour zone, just to get home and take a tumble in bed last week?"

"How do you know how fast I was driving? And turn that down." He reached over and lowered the volume on the radio. "You weren't even riding with me."

"No. I was right behind you–trying to keep up! You were driving so fast, I thought you were going to go home and start without me!"

This made him chuckle as he looked at her. "Well, you did make a rather auspicious promise before we got into our cars. I guess I'm a stickler for keeping promises."

"Yeah," she agreed, then gave him one of those looks that alerted him that her next words wouldn't be appropriate for church. "Especially when those promises include a blow job and me riding you until you can't walk straight."

"Did I ever tell you how I love it when you talk dirty to me?" He teased.

"Not nearly as often as you tell how you love it when I follow through on my dirty talk." She reached over and took his hand.

"You know I love you, dear," he said as he put her hand back on the steering wheel. "But your driving is another matter. Both hands on the wheel, please."

"There is "nothing" wrong with my driving." She looked at him.

He tensed all his muscles as he looked out the windshield and saw the red traffic light they were approaching.

"Sara!" He blurted, then closed his eyes as she sailed right through the intersection. After a second of not feeling or hearing the crash of vehicles around him, he opened his eyes and stared at her. "That was red!"

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes! That was red!"

"It was yellow. You know–green means go; red means stop; and yellow means drive really fast."

"I'm driving back. And I don't want to hear any arguments about it. Understood?"

"Fine," she relented as she continued driving toward their destination. "Jeez, you don't have to be so touchy."

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "I'm not up for any more surprises. So, just let me know when we arrive safely."

After pulling to a stop only minutes later, he waited for her to meet him at the front of the vehicle. They entered through a doorway that eventually lead them to an enclosed area that could easily have been a garden from the far east. They had to stop a second to take the whole scene in. Grissom walked ahead of Sara, absorbing the various areas until he caught sight of a man holding pearls to a lovely young woman's bare back. Grissom watched the action taking place before him as the man then went to another woman with the same pearls. He realized he was staring; his curiosity getting the best of him as he wondered just what else they were going to do behind the silk screen. He turned and looked at Sara and received one of her "what the hell do you think you're looking at!" expressions before she looked back at the women. It was clear that up to this point, Sara wasn't especially thrilled over what they were finding. Within seconds, the two women were sent out from behind the screen, followed closely by the dark-haired gentleman who seemed to be in control of this scenario.

"I'm sorry, this is a private residence," the man said as he approached Grissom and Sara with a jovial smile.

"My name is Gil Grissom. This is Sara Sidle. We're with the crime lab."

"Antony Caprice. There's no crime here. That was a job interview. Over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been spent on this event. It's for several golf club salesmen. They're from Kansas City. Japanese formality will mesh very nicely with their inherent mid-Western restraint." The man paused half a second as Sara turned to look at the women with a mocking smile on her face, then he continued. "Their idealized woman–submissive–but in control–becomes the geisha."

"I get it. You're one of those companies that stages fantasies–right? Everything appears real but it's all been worked out in advance," Grissom responded, turning Sara's attention to him, before looking back to Antony who seemed to watching her with interest, then looked back to Grissom.

"These scenarios take weeks to craft. I learn everything about my clients' wants and his desires, all without him even knowing." Antony watches Grissom look at Sara before turning his attention back to him again. "Secret longings–they have a–a kind of electricity. They're often much more visible than we would want them." Again, Antony looks back at Sara in time to see her glance at Grissom, and he at her.

"And Jeff Powell's evening? The girl, the car, the billiards? All paid for by Mick Sheridan?"

"Never heard of him."

"Who did pay?" Sara asked.

"A benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous."

"Someone rich who likes to manipulate people, probably," Grissom told her.

"Everybody likes to be in control. You don't have to be rich to want that."

"If you're so law-abiding, why did Heidi Wolf and Randy Bowen lie to the police about what happened? Did you tell them to do that?" Asked Sara.

"All my employees have a very strict nondisclosure agreement that they have to sign. Although I'd never expect them to lie to the police. Maybe you just asked them the wrong questions," Antony suggested as he picked up a paper from his printer, catching Grissom looking at Sara again. "Here's a copy of Mr. Powell's scenario. Every event that they talked about was meticulously planned in advance, and timed down to the minute."

"And his murder?" Grissom asked.

"Tragic. But it's not on my script. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hot tub to calibrate." Antony starts to walk away but stops and turns to look back at them. "Oh! And may all "your" dreams come true."

Grissom and Sara watched him leave them.

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" Grissom asked as he and Sara started walking back through the garden.

"I don't know. It's not like we were sending any signals." She moved along with him as he placed his hand on the small of her back and she reached behind him and hung her finger from his back pocket, neither taking note to their actions.

"I don't know. Some people have vivid imaginations. In his line of work, he must use it more than others."

Grissom drove them back to the lab where they joined Nick and Catherine in the layout room to go over the script that was provided by Mr. Caprice. The events of the evening were pieced together rather nicely, until the comment was made by Nick that any guy would help a beautiful woman in distress, then asks Grissom's opinion.

"Some guys are intimidated by beauty–or fear rejection. Evidently Caprice knew Jeff well enough to know he'd want to help her."

Grissom glanced at Sara just in time to see that look. " Ah, Jesus, it pissed her off. Nice coverup there, Sara, but I can see what you were thinking," he thought to himself as they went on with the case. Grissom watched as Catherine and Nick started collecting the pictures, preparing to leave, then he looked over at Sara.

"Sara, do you have the keys to the Denali we used today? I can't seem to find them," Grissom questioned.

"No, I don't think so," she said without looking up from the stack of pictures she was handing to Catherine. "You drove back. I would think you'd have them."

"I can't find them. I was hoping that perhaps you might've seen what I could've done with them."

He received the response he was hoping for when she offered to help look for them in his office, albeit an irritated offer. He followed her as she walked ahead of him, even pausing to pick up messages from Judy on the way. He slowly approached his office as he went through the papers the receptionist had handed him, then once inside his doorway, looked up to see Sara standing behind his desk with the keys in her hands.

"They were right here," she told him. "But then you probably already knew that. So, why did you want me to come to your office."

He took the keys from her as he stood next to her and smiled. "You do realize that I'm not so much intimidated by your beauty anymore–at least most of the time–and I'm not afraid of your rejection."

She looked a bit embarrassed. "What makes you think your "ridiculous comment" back there meant a thing to me?"

"Um–it could be the fact that you knew exactly what I was referring to–and the fact that you find it a "ridiculous comment." He slid his fingers across the desk to let them slide over her long digits where they held onto its edge. "But my first indication was the feeling that I had just stuck my foot in my mouth, again. You had to know that I wasn't referring to us. Jesus, Sara, there still are occasions when I "am" intimidated by your very essence. I have a feeling that one of those occasions is coming up, when we have to attend the benefit dinner for McKeen."

Sara's expression softened as she gave him a half-smile. "So, if you wear a tux and I put on a gown, we'll both be intimidated."

"I think we'll be able to work past it by the end of the evening." He returned her smile as he squeezed her hand.

"Yeah, I think we will–but think of the sexual tension until then." She leaned close to his ear as she started to walk around him. "I'll be absolutely dripping before dinner's even over."

He watched as she walked out of his office. Damn! He hated when she did that to him–alright, so maybe he didn't "hate" it. But he certainly wasn't fond of the erection that jumped to life just enough to make it noticeable in his pants. He had planned to go over some videos with Archie. Oh, well, he sighed to himself as he held some photos down to cover his "evidence" that he was trying to hide, then left his office, watching Sara's tight behind as she walked several yards ahead of him.

Later, Grissom sat around the conference table with Catherine on his right and Greg on his left with Sara directly across from him.

"The bodyguards dragged Jeff through the service corridor. Between the drugs and the confidence, he must've put up quite a fight. Most likely he was still alive when they left. They probably thought they taught him a lesson," Catherine explained.

"They did," Grissom said as he looked over at Sara. "Don't confuse fantasy with reality."

Sara looked back and hid her smile.

"Well, hush-money or not," Greg added. "You have to admit that whole fantasy thing was a pretty cool gift from a very generous boss."

Sara caught the hinting look Greg was giving Grissom, and couldn't seem to let the temptation pass by. "Greg. Don't you have a birthday coming up?"

"Why, yes, Sara. I do."

Grissom watched as Sara looked at him with such wickedness that he half expected her to stick her tongue out and blow him a raspberry.

"I'm thinking ear-shredding rock, a beautiful model, boatloads of sushi, and latex," Catherine suggested.

"Eh," Greg waves her off. "That was last year."

"I think fantasies are best kept private," Grissom told them although he kept his attention on Sara as he spoke.

"Hey," Nick said as he entered the room with them. "Want to know why Jeff left the girl and went downstairs?"

"Okay." Catherine looked up at him as he showed them a piece of jewelry.

"This was dropped off at the Palermo." Nick showed them a strand of diamonds. "The manager sent it over."

"Nice rocks," Catherine assured him.

"Mm-hmm." Nick explains how it had come into their possession.

"Yeah, there was a jewelry store, right across from the service quarter entrance."

"Ya know, the biggest fantasy in Vegas is that everything here happens by chance. Nothing here happens by chance. The odds are set before ya get off the plane." Nick closes the box and leaves the room.

"Ya know, I'd settle for a birthday breakfast," Greg said as he looked at Catherine and got to his feet.

"Now, that "is" a fantasy," Catherine chided as she got to her feet, as well, and they both left the room.

Grissom watched, Sara as she read over the papers one last time. His mind racing with thoughts of what exactly he could do to her; what fantasies he would jump at the chance to act out with her if he could. When she glanced up at him, she was wearing that semi-smile that melted his heart. His eyes traveled from her beautiful face before flickering down over her perfect breasts, then back up to her eyes. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and where he wanted to do it. . .but that was to be left in his fantasy world. Soon, he would have her home and he could visit the edges of that world as he would lose himself in her once again. My beautiful Sara, he thought as he watched her. How could you ever doubt yourself? In a matter of an hour or so, he would have her on his bed and he would show her exactly what fantasies can produce.

"You're looking at me, like that, again," Sara said gently as she watched him.

"Like what?" Jesus, but he thinks he's getting a hard-on just looking at her.

"Like you're going to start undressing me. . ."

"What makes you think I'm "not?" She had to be reading his mind, he thought, because already he had her jacket and blouse off.

"Is that all you're doing?"

"No, my dear. It is not."

"Care to tell me about it?"

"Let's just say it involves office furniture."

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know that when you look at me like that, it makes me absolutely weak. Like my arms and legs wouldn't support me if I tried to get up."

"What I'm thinking about wouldn't involve you having to get up to walk. At least not very far."

"You "do" want to tell me about it!" Her eyes lit up as she leaned closer to him.

He watched her closely, then after a moment he began in a low, steady, unhurried pace. "Right now, I'm sitting in my office, behind my desk. You come in and close the door. You'll be wearing your black jeans and white blouse with the lace at the buttons." He watches as she swallows and continues listening to him. "You'll be wearing your heels–maybe red ones–maybe black. Then you'll come around the desk and push my chair back so you can stand in front of me, and lean back against it–almost sitting on it, but still standing. I'll unbutton your blouse, and I'll pull you close so I can start kissing your stomach, tasting it until I work my way up to your breasts. My hands and tongue are craving you, I need to feel you and as I'm sucking and biting you, I run my hands over the firmness of your legs, over your buttocks. I'd pay special attention to your deliciously round bottom, then I'd feel your thighs, your strong thighs that I lay between. I'd lift my hand and I can feel the moisture already gathered–so much that I can feel it through the denim. I'd open your pants and just look at you as you lean back against the desk again–your jeans open only enough to see some dark curls, and your blouse hanging open on either side. I'd look at how your legs seem to go on forever, especially in those heels. Then I wouldn't be able to wait any longer and I'd tug your jeans over your hips, push them down over your knees, then pull them from your legs. Your legs–I'd be hungering for your calves, so perfect, and I'd start kissing them–your knees–your thighs. I'd need to hold onto you because your anticipation of what's to come is overpowering you. You start to sway, so you put your hands behind you on the desk to hold yourself upright. I press your legs open farther, trailing my tongue up the most sensitive area on your inner thigh before. . ."

"Hey! You guys want to go for breakfast? I could really go for some sausage about right now," Greg called into the room, shattering the spell that they had woven around themselves. "Or maybe some eggs, sunny side up–you know, with just the slightest bit of slime on them."

Sara's face was completely crimson as her eyes darted from Grissom to Greg and back again. She swallowed with great difficulty as her throat went dry. Her breathing was irregular and the papers in her hands were now crinkled from having grasped them too hard. Grissom's breath seemed to have caught in his throat, and the thoughts he was conveying to Sara had aroused him into a thumping stiffness. He was glad his back was facing Greg and his "tent" was hidden under the table. He continued watching Sara as he felt the heat flowing through his body.

"What do ya say? Up for something to eat?" Greg asked again.

"Yes, I certainly am." Grissom said with a twisted smile as he continued watching Sara as she got up on unsteady legs and walked around the table to join Greg.

Grissom, on the other hand, felt he had better remain seated for a few moments more.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Grissom arrived at the restaurant just as Greg was pulling in, and he noticed that Catherine and Sara were already waiting at the entrance. Sara was laughing at something Catherine had said but when she saw Grissom approaching them, her smile changed to one of embarrassment.

"Grissom!" Catherine called to him. "Settle a bet for us."

"No, there's no need to bother him with it," Sara spoke up.

"Why not? He should know the answer."

"I'll do what I can," Grissom told her as Greg walked up to join them. "What's the question?"

"Sara says a man can go up to four times a night."

"As in go–you mean?"

"You know," Catherine said in a low tone. "Have sex."

Greg offered his opinion first. "It's a proven fact that a teen can ejaculate multiple times in one night–I'm not exactly sure the amount–but I wouldn't be surprised at four times."

"No–not a teen," Catherine said, and Grissom watched how Sara's face turned pink and she avoided his gaze.

"Really, Catherine. Just drop it. I don't want to discuss this with them," Sara tried to convince Catherine.

"You're the one who said it's possible," Catherine told her. "I told you the older they get, the slower they're able to reach their ejaculation. So, achieving four of them in one night is–well, rather far-fetched."

"Yeah," Greg agreed. "I don't think it's possible after the teen years. Maybe in his early twenties–but not much beyond that."

"No, not his twenties," Catherine said. "Sara says she knows for a fact that a man in his fifties can go at least four times a night."

"I'm going in and sitting down," Sara said as she opened the door and stepped inside behind Catherine. "Greg, are you coming?"

"Yeah–sure." He turned and glanced back at Grissom. "Jesus!"

Catherine excused herself to go to the ladies' room while Greg went to the counter where he immediately started a conversation with the young waitress. Sara and Grissom went to the large booth and Sara slipped into her usual position.

"Where's Nick and Warrick?" Sara asked anxiously.

"I'm sure they'll be along shortly." Grissom sat down on the same side as Sara, and slid in closer to her, then glanced out the window. "Here they come now."

"Nick usually sits there," Sara reminded him, only loud enough for him to hear.

"I'm sure he won't mind sitting elsewhere," he whispered back to her, then looked down at her. "Four times? You flatter me."

"Who says I was talking about you?"

"You've been seeing someone else in their fifties?"

"Hey, guys!" Nick slid into the seat opposite Sara, and Warrick sat next to him. "I'm starving! I think I'm going for the steak and eggs. How about you Warrick?"

"I think I'll watch the waistline a little closer than that."

"Man, but that's why you hit the gym–to work all the fat off."

"Hey, guys," Catherine approached them. "Where's a girl to sit?"

Warrick got up and let her slide between him and Nick, then Greg joined them shortly, sitting on the other side of Grissom. Grissom moved closer to Sara until their thighs were touching. They ordered their meals and Grissom noticed that Sara was settling on two slices of toast, coffee, and a cup of orange juice. He knew she was antsy, still a bit rattled over his little "fantasy" back in the office, otherwise she would have gone for her usual breakfast. He, on the other hand, ordered two eggs over easy with toast, four slices of bacon, and home fries.

"You're going to get fat," Sara whispered as the others were too involved in placing their orders.

"No, I'm not." He leaned back and placed his hand under the table to rest on her thigh. "I'm sure you'll work it off of me in no time."

Sara reached under the table and moved Grissom's hand from her thigh and placed it on his own, but when she tried to release it, he grabbed onto her fingers and wouldn't let them go. She quickly yanked on her hand so forcefully that her fingers slipped from between his and her knuckles slammed against the bottom of the table. She grunted with the pain and threw irritated daggers at him through her eyes.

"What are you doing over there?" Catherine asked.

"Nothing."

They gave the waitress their orders and the others started conversing about a multitude of subjects, but Sara and Grissom remained quiet as they listened to them. When their food arrived, Sara only picked at her toast while Grissom and the others dug into their food. Finally Sara pushed her food aside and looked over at Grissom.

"Could you let me out, please? I'd like to use the ladies room."

"Nope." He worked on a slice of bacon. "You'll leave."

"Now, why would I leave?"

"Because you're embarrassed, and when you get embarrassed, you tend to hightail it off through the closest exit."

He watched as she looked around for help from one of the others but they were either too busy talking about work, or trying to tackle a thirteen ounce steak. She looked back at him with an expression that voiced her irritation, but he only smiled at her. He didn't expect her to reach under the table and grab the tender part of his waist and pinch so hard he nearly chocked on the slice of crispness he had in his mouth.

"Oww!" He yelped before he realized it.

"What the "hell" is going on over there?" Catherine insisted.

"Nothing," Grissom reassured her as if she were making a mountain out of a molehill. "She tried to get out and stepped on my foot. Um–Greg, let us up so she can go to the bathroom."

He watched her go back the short hallway to where the restrooms were located, then within a few minutes she came back out. She looked at Grissom's plate. "Wow, Grissom–I think your eyes were bigger than your belly today. You'll never get through all that food."

"That's what doggie bags are for," he told her as he and Greg got up so she could return to her seat.

"Are you going to the dinner with anyone?" Catherine asked Sara.

"I'd rather not go at all."

"Why not?" Nick looked at her with concern. "I was hoping I'd have my dance partner."

"You will," Catherine assured him. "She has to go. It's mandatory per Ecklie."

"So? Are you going with anyone?" Catherine asked again.

"I'll take her," Greg spoke up, then did a double-take on Grissom when the he glared at him. "What?"

"How about you, Griss?" Catherine asked.

"No–noone. I'll show up empty-handed, I guess."

"You could always ask Sophia again," Nick told him.

"I don't think she'd be interested," Catherine told him. "She seems to have backed off of our mad scientist, over there."

"Yeah, I noticed," Warrick agreed. "Anyone else notice that she's chilled out a lot lately?"

"Hey, as long as she's not trying to get my job–I can tolerate her." She looked at Sara. "How about you? You seem to be getting along well with her."

"She's actually quite friendly," Sara said as she sipped at her coffee. "She's rather loyal, too."

"So," Grissom interrupted. "Warrick–will Mrs. Brown be there?"

"Uh–no." Warrick looked down at his meal and picked at it. "She has to work. How about you, Catherine? Who are you going with?"

"Ya know," Sara spoke up. "We really "don't" have to go with a chaperone, guys. It's not like we're teenagers looking for a date to the prom. We're big girls and we are allowed out past curfew."

"Do you have your gown?" Catherine asked her. "Are you going with me to get your hair done?"

"If you want," Sara agreed, beginning a conversation with Catherine that quickly became girl talk and lost Grissom's interest.

By the time everyone was leaving, Grissom looked at his plate that still had over half of his meal. He knew if he tried to eat one more bite, he'd explode, so he left it behind as they all started for their vehicles. He drove in the direction of his apartment, feeling more and more bloated and nauseous the closer he got there. He glanced in his rearview mirror for any signs of Sara, finally seeing that she caught up when he was only a few blocks away from home. She met him at his car door, watching as he slowly got to his feet, then she immediately beamed at him and started giggling.

"What's so funny?" He asked miserably.

"You don't feel good, do you?" She smiled at him.

"Not really. And thank you for your concern. You seem so distraught over it," he grumbled as he started toward the door to his apartment building.

"Didn't I tell you, you had too much to eat?"

"Thank you. I always enjoy being told "I told you so." He opened the door and they entered his apartment, removing their jackets and hanging them in the closet before heading down to the living room.

"I'm not saying "I told you so." But–I did, didn't I?"

"Yes–you did." He put his arm around her waist and started for the bedroom. "This certainly isn't how I expected to spend the rest of the morning."

"Would you like something for your stomach? Alka-Seltzer, maybe?"

"That might be helpful. Thank you."

He went to his dresser and stripped off his clothes until he only had his boxer/briefs on, then he pulled on a tee shirt and went to the bed. He sat back against the headboard and watched as Sara brought in the fizzing glass of liquid. He downed its contents, then looked imploringly at her.

"Why don't you lie down and take it easy for awhile?" She soothed him as she sat near him. "You rest, and I'll go do some laundry."

"You're going to need some rest, too. I imagine you'll be heading out to prepare for tonight's festivities by early afternoon."

"I'll probably meet Catherine around four. Until then I can sleep to my heart's content."

"I'd rather you come to bed now."

She looked at him as if in indecision, then stood up and started taking off her clothing until she was in her bra and panties. She went to her drawer and got out a pair of lounge pants and tee shirt. As she climbed in bed with him, he was maneuvering himself to lie down as well, holding out his arm for her to settle in her familiar spot against his chest as she leaned her head against his shoulder. His last conscious thoughts were of how her gently stroking fingers were helping his stomach feel better, but, perhaps that was only his imagination. He did know that the touch of her hand on his stomach was very pleasing as he drifted off to sleep.

He woke up around five o'clock and went to the kitchen where he found a note from Sara, explaining that she had made him a sandwich and put it in the refrigerator, which, she thought, would tide him over until dinner that night. He sighed as he retrieved the snack, wishing he didn't have to attend the dinner–he would much rather stay at home and catch up on the latest forensics journal. This was a part of the job that he didn't appreciate.

His collar was too tight and he tugged at it irritably as he looked at the table he had been seated at. Ecklie–he had been seated next to Ecklie! Granted, he had Catherine on the other side of him, but other than that, he was surrounded by people he either didn't get along with, or weren't very familiar with. He glanced up into the eyes of Mrs. Robbins as she sat directly across from him and next to her husband. David sat on the other side of Mrs. Robbins, and David's fiancé was next to him. On the other side of David's fiance was Hodges and then Greg. He couldn't even see Sara as she sat on the same side of the table as himself, but was all the way at the other end, directly across from Greg and seated next to Nick. He would have to strain his neck if he wanted to glance at her–and he definitely did want to steel another look at her. Jesus, she was a sight tonight.

His jaw must have dropped when he watched her enter the room. Her hair was pulled back and pinned up in some style that he didn't know the name of, and she had bangs that gracefully slanted down across her forehead. Her makeup was done to perfection and she could easily have walked off the pages of some fashion magazine. Her dress was white with silver trim, its simplicity hugged her curves as it fell to the floor. It's top left little to the imagination as its halter-type straps covered breasts adequately, but he remained fearful that they may peak out and allow someone a glimpse–someone who had no right looking at her in the first place. When she turned to look at Nick, he saw that her back was bare down to her waist and he could see the way Nick's fingers were itching to move up from the small of her back to touch bare skin.

But that was over half an hour ago, and he had barely had a glimpse of her since then due to the ridiculous way the seating was arranged. Dinner was something that he barely tasted as he listened to Doc Robbins and his wife discussing their latest batch of kittens they had fostered. David and his fiancé were much quieter than the good doctor and Mrs. Robbins, but their conversations held them captive to each other and wasn't loud enough for Grissom to hear. Catherine spent much of her time talking with Warrick and when she did talk to Grissom, he was so distant that she would turn back to her friend on the other side. And of course there was Ecklie–and Grissom wasn't interested in what he had to say, so he was easily ignored.


	41. Chapter 41

a/n: Add a little alcohol and some people can let go of their usual inhibitions.

Chapter Forty-One

After another half hour and the people sitting around Grissom were finally starting to disperse. He pushed back his chair and finally got another good look at the beautiful brunette down at the other end of the table. She seemed to be completely consumed by conversation with Nick. Goddamned Nick, looking as cool as can be as he stood with his arm around Sara's waist. Grissom couldn't see, but he was sure the younger man was touching bare skin this time. He wondered what else he was touching while they were seated together, eating. And Sara simply looked at him as if she hung on his every word.

"Dr. Grissom, would you care to escort me to the dance floor?" Mrs. Robbins asked as she approached him.

"I–I don't. . ." He began, but Catherine cut in.

"Of course he would, Mrs. Robbins. Don't let him fool you, he's a wonderful dancer."

Grissom looked at Catherine with a flash of embarrassed anger, but she simply smiled back at him, then walked with Warrick to join with the people who were beginning to dance to the slow instrumental music.

Grissom held his arm out for the older woman to hold onto and he moved with her to where he was supposed to move, and danced with her through one dance, then efficiently escorted her back to her husband. He glanced around for signs of Sara and as he suspected, she was on the floor with Nick. He glanced at his seat, noting that Mrs. Robbins was sitting across from it, quite prepared to offer herself up for another dance, so he slowly made his way to the bar. A single scotch wouldn't harm anything, he decided. He turned and looked back to the couples dancing and noticed how Sara and Nick were looking at one another as she had her hands on his shoulders. Okay, maybe another scotch wouldn't hurt anything. Another song, and this time Greg took over Nick's spot, slowly dancing her from one end of the floor to the other. This went on for almost an hour before another scotch took his courage to the level that insisted he step in and not only show those two juveniles who really had possession of Sara's heart, but convince Sara, herself.

"Well, Dr. Grissom," Sara's sultry voice sent a jolt directly to his center. "I was wondering when you were going to detach yourself from the bar and get over here."

"You were watching me?"

"Of course. You weren't feeling well this morning–remember? I wanted to be sure you were doing alright. So–are you doing alright?"

"I'm doing better," he said as he moved with her to the sounds of Whitesnake's "Is this Love." "But, I have to admit, this dress is causing a bit of a problem."

"And what kind of problem would that be?" She looked at him through teasing eyes, prompting him to pull her more tightly against him until she could feel the beginning of his arousal. "Oh, I see. Well, that is a problem, isn't it?"

"I don't see any doors here that would lead to a dark parking lot–so, yeah, I'd say it's a bit of a problem," he said as he looked down at her.

"Ohh, there you go again, looking at me like that. Are you trying to make me lose all sense of propriety and simply drop to my knees and take care of you in your tux and my gown?" She almost moaned.

"Are we talking about one of "your" fantasies, now, my dear?" He smiled at her as he moved her closer toward an EXIT sign at the far wall of the room. If he couldn't get her to her car, like he did at the bar, he could at least get her some other little secluded spot where he could steal a few kisses. "How long did it take for you to come up with that one?"

"About two seconds after I came in here tonight and saw you standing with Doc Robbins. But, I'm afraid it wouldn't simply stop with one part of your body. I want to see your tux hanging open, exposing your body all the way from your beard down to where your pants would be opened and lowered enough to release the part of you that would be begging to be taken care of."

Grissom carefully looked at the people dancing around him and didn't notice anyone that knew them. Catherine and Nick were dancing at the other end of the room and the rest of the people from their tables were sitting down. He danced her as close to the exit sign as he could, then pushed the door open and pulled her through with him. He glanced around, first seeing that they were in a stairwell, then noticed the sheets of plastic that were covering the walls, closing off some portions; some sections containing painting equipment; some, like the area they had walked into were left open. He went past the plastic that was separating this floor from the next one up, and saw that it was in the process of being painted, but had been abandoned for the day. This whole section of stairwell was blocked off behind the sheets of plastic, making him turn to look at her with satisfaction.

"Did you know this was here?" She asked as she eyed him suspiciously.

"No," he laughed. "Really–I didn't. I was just hoping to sneak you into the stairwell for a few kisses. I didn't realize it was blocked off like this."

"It's kinda. . .nice," she said as she looked around. "It's almost like an ice castle, the way the plastic surrounds us."

"And that would make you. . .the queen?" He asked as he put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, beginning to sway to their own music. "You are stunning tonight."

"If that makes me the queen–what does that make you?" She smiled up at him.

"Whatever you want me to be," he dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. "What do you want me to be?"

"Gilbert Grissom," she breathed against him. "That's all I ever wanted you to be."

He kissed her again, more deeply this time. "I want to go home."

"I know. But, we can't."

"Then lets stay here for the rest of the night," he said as he became more insistent with his kisses. She tilted her head back to give him greater access. He continued kissing her and pulling her against him until he had her leaning back in his arms as his mouth trailed down between the straps of her gown. "Christ, Sara, you're ambrosia."

She pulled his head back up to her kiss and pulled him back until she was leaning against the wall. "So, Gilbert–what exactly do you have on your mind?"

"My mind's telling me that I should've only had one drink tonight–not as many as I did, because right now I want to lift this enchanting gown of yours and make you scream my name in ecstacy."

"And with only one drink," she said softly as she ran her lips over his. "You wouldn't want to do that?"

"I always want to do that," he answered as he held onto her and responded to her kiss. "But I'm not feeling the need to restrain myself right now."

He ran his hands down over her gown, pulling it up inch by inch until he had the complete bottom half in his hand. He let his fingers slide over her stomach then down to feel the lace of her thong and he groaned his need into her mouth. He had been primed for her practically since the evening began, so preliminaries weren't on his mind as he slid his fingers beneath the lace, confirming that she had been just as eager for him.

"What are you going to do?" She breathed against him as her arms went around his shoulders and she clutched at his back.

"What do you want me to do?" He reached to his trousers and unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his button and pushed his zipper down, releasing himself. "Sara, tell me you want me to do this."

She leaned her head back against the wall as she looked at him through eyes that were melting him with their intensity. "Now's our chance. Please, hurry."

Grissom grabbed her thigh and pulled her leg up, lifting it beneath her knee with one hand as he positioned himself with his other and slid deeply inside of her. The intensity of the sensation coupled with the effects of his drinks made him grasp onto her as he stilled himself and panted to try to get under control. He slammed his eyes closed in an effort to block out the completely sensual vision she presented with her lips that were slightly swollen from his kisses; her hair that was carelessly toppling from its intricate bun that was pulling it up to reveal her exquisite neck; the way her deep brown eyes were watching him so closely, as if searching for his very soul.

Slowly, he began sliding himself in and out of her, a rhythm that was torturing him and making her squeeze his upper arms as she held onto him for support. It created a slow friction that soon had their heads swimming with need. He started moving faster, going deeper, each thrust pressing her back against the wall and he couldn't seem to control the urge to move his kisses to her throat and side of her neck. Her moans sent shockwaves through him and soon he was pressing into her completely as he bit and sucked at her tender skin.

"Gil," she breathed between moans. "Gil, please, don't. Not the neck. Not tonight."

He lifted his gaze to look at her, finally realizing that she had nothing to cover herself with if he marked her, so he moved his kiss back to her lips as his hips took full control of them.

"Jesus, Sara," he got out between thrusts. "I never. . .this is the first time. . ."

As usually was the case, Sara had a way of reading his thoughts as he tried to convey that he had never had sex in a location that was this risky.

She let her tongue slide inside his mouth, then pulled back enough to whisper in his ear. "You're fucking me where anyone can walk in and see us–at any second. They only have to open the door and move the plastic back–and they'd see everything."

He moaned as he started slamming into her, hearing little whimpers between thrusts until his name was forced from her in a low, gravely yell. He thought he surely was going to die from sheer bliss as her walls clamped down around him, going into spasms that milked him so exquisitely that he nearly blacked out from the euphoria she was sending him too. Another slamming thrust, and another, and he exploded within her as he fell against her, letting the wall behind her hold them up as he continued to empty himself inside of her. They remained like that as they both slowly recovered; his cheek pressed against hers as their heartbeats became more manageable. He lifted his head with effort and looked at her.

"Have I told you that I love it when you talk dirty to me?" He asked with a smile so brilliant that she couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Oh, once or twice."

She reached up and pecked his lips as he slowly withdrew from her and lowered her leg. He stepped back as he went about readjusting his tuxedo and watched her smooth out her gown as it fell to her silver heels. Jesus, but she was breathtaking–and she was his. He took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly, then placed it in the crook of his arm as he escorted her down the half-flight of stairs to the doorway that lead back to the formal dinner.


	42. Chapter 42

a/n: Add a little more alcohol and there are no inhibitions left to hold onto.

Chapter Forty-Two

For some inexplicable reason, the rest of the night went much smoother for him than before his interlude in the stairwell. If not enthusiastically, then quite easily took Mrs. Robbins out onto the dance floor and listened to her stories of different animals that she and her husband had salvaged. Catherine was in his arms several times through the night as well, and he even got the opportunity to dance with David's faince, who was extremely shy and barely looked at him as they danced together. Each "fast" dance found him at the bar where he would be talking to one or the other of the members of his crew; whichever wasn't out dancing with Sara at the time. And each time he talked to a different member of the team, they seemed inclined to buy him a drink (even though the drinks were technically free). He noticed that his three CSIs were finding his "relaxed" attitude quite funny, and at this point, he didn't care.

"So, you've danced with all of our women numerous times tonight, boss," Nick baited as he stood with Warrick. "But you only took Sara out to the floor once."

"Ah," he said as he looked over at the two men, who, by now, were the slightest bit blurry images to his inebriated eyes. "But, you see, there's a point to that story." When they both just stared at him, waiting to hear what that point was, he went on. "She's got a crush on me."

"Yeah, but, Griss," Warrick began. "That's no reason to ignore her. So what if she likes you a bit more than you want her too? She's a great kid."

"Yeah, I agree with Warrick," Nick said as he pushed another scotch in front of Grissom. "Here, have another drink. Just because a woman likes you in a way that you don't reciprocate, is no reason not to associate with her. You should feel flattered! She's a beautiful woman! And she's got the hots for you! Celebrate!"

"Thank you," Grissom lifted the glass and drank from it. "I'll do that. But you don't understand. . .she's. . ."

"Gorgeous," Nick said as he watched her dancing with Greg.

"Looking good enough to eat," Warrick added, bringing a chuckle from Nick.

"You're married, buddy. No thoughts like that."

"I can look," Warrick said huskily, "and I can think."

"Well, don't think too hard," Grissom almost slurred as he pointed toward Warrick, then added in a rehearsed tone, almost as if he had practiced it a million times. "It's against company policy to be in an intimate relationship with a member of the same department."

"Yeah," Nick chuckled again. "But, what a waste."

"As in what a waste that you can't have her? Or as in what a beautifully trim waist that you could almost circle with your hands alone as you held onto her and. . ." Grissom said thoughtlessly as he leaned back against the bar and watched as she would glance at him with an expression that told him he was going to get extremely lucky again once they got home.

"Okay–okay," Warrick said as he turned away from her and toward the bar again in a clear attempt to get his mind off of any woman in general. "Enough! Let's talk about. . .finding a body in an enclosed container that's been there for three days–three extremely hot days."

Nick and Grissom looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"No, I'd rather talk about Sara's long legs," Nick told him. "You ever get a look at them in heels? Jeez-Louise! They go on forever."

This comment brought a chuckle from Grissom. "You ought to feel them when they. . ."

"I said that was enough, Nick," Warrick cut in, not having heard what Grissom was about to say. "We don't need to think about Sara that way. She's too good for that."

Nick looked at his friend and seemed appropriately abashed at his thoughts he was having about his colleague. "You're right." He turned to look at Grissom again. "But, like we said, you should at least make her feel good about herself and offer to dance with her one or two more times."

"Really?" Grissom asked the other two. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah," Warrick agreed. "She's a great kid. Make her feel like she's appreciated–even if it is only until we go home tonight."

"Alright." Grissom put his half-finished drink on the bar and started toward the woman in question. "I'll do that."

"Boy, I hope she doesn't read too much into this," he heard Nick say.

"Nah," Warrick said. "She's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll understand that he's only being social."

Grissom was having great difficulty kissing his beautiful lady. For some reason, every time he'd try, she'd evade him with a nervous smile. When he would move his hands from her waist to her ripe bottom, she would promptly move them back to her waist. When he tried to slip his hand beneath her halter, she slapped his hand.

"You slapped me!" He was shocked. Sara never slapped him for trying to cop a feel.

"Gil, I think you ought to stay away from the bar and the other guys." She moved her eyes around them as she kept that stiff smile. "I think you've more than reached your limit for the night."

"But the guys keep buying me drinks. I can't refuse them. That would be ill-mannered."

"They aren't "buying" them. They're free. And they're only doing it to get you drunk–which it looks like they've succeeded at quite nicely."

"Really?" He glanced back at the three men standing at the bar, who were all watching him with great interest. He smiled at them and gave them a little wave, to which they all responded with little waves of their own. "Good thing I don't get drunk."

"Yes. Well, I think maybe we should go sit this dance out." Sara tried to steer him in the direction of their tables.

"No. I came out here to be with you, my dear," he insisted.

"You can be with me at the table."

"Will you sit with me? You can have Ecklie's seat. Okay?"

"Alright."

Sara turned him and suddenly the stupid floor dropped about six inches! Damn! That never happened to him before! Imagine running an establishment where people are dancing and the floor has a tendency to drop out from beneath them!

"Okay, big guy!" Catherine miraculously appeared on the other side of him and grabbed under one arm as Sara held onto his other, both keeping him upright.

"Hi, Cath!" Grissom looked at the beautiful redhead walking next to him. "Where've you been all night?"

"Oh, sitting next to you at the table–dancing with you on the dance floor. But I can understand if you didn't happen to notice. Letting Huey, Dewey and Louie get you blasted all night can have that effect on you."

"They're ducks–right?" Grissom asked her.

"No–they're CSI agents," Catherine said in a tone as if she were talking to a disobedient child. "Sara, let's get him outside. I think he needs some fresh air."

Sara agreed and they walked past the bar, bringing the three other agents to their feet as they followed along to see what was going on. Once outside, the air hit Grissom like a sledgehammer and he lost his balance again. This time, prompting Warrick and Nick to grab onto him and take Sara's and Catherine's places.

"Jesus!" Grissom managed. "What was that?"

"It's called a breath of fresh air," Catherine told him, then turned to look at Nick, Warrick and Greg. "Why? You know he doesn't drink that much! What, in your wildest dreams, could have convinced you that you needed to get your boss completely plastered?"

"I didn't do it!" Greg blurted out.

"He looked like he needed it," Nick said with complete sincerity.

"And–he kept drinking the stuff. It's not like we poured it down his throat," Warrick told her.

"What's going on here?" Ecklie walked out of the building and joined them, looking at all of them with disapproval. "Jesus! He's drunk."

"Who?" Grissom asked, then smiled at Sara.

"Get him to my car," Ecklie told the men with obvious distaste. "I'll drive him home."

Nick and Warrrick managed to take one step when Grissom suddenly didn't feel quite so good anymore. He leaned forward and emptied his stomach in spasms before looking back at Sara and smiling again.

"Woe!" Warrick got out as he stared at the damage his boss had done.

"Eww!" Nick turned his head away from the person who had been targeted.

"Oh, my God," Catherine said with huge eyes as she looked at that person, waiting for the explosion.

Sara simply rolled her eyes and smiled at said person in sympathy, and a hopeful glimmer that her boyfriend didn't get murdered before the night was over.

"Ah, man!" Greg said in awe. "You spewed all over Ecklie's pants!"

Ecklie stood like a statue as the steam rose from his now, wet, pants.

"Um," Nick began as he took another step with Grissom. "Which car is yours, Ecklie?"

"Not on your life!" Ecklie said through grit teeth. "You guys got him in this state! You can see that he gets home! There is no way you're putting "that" in my car!"

They all watched Ecklie walk off to his vehicle and drove away.

"I can't take him–I damn near drank as much as he did," Nick explained.

"Me too," Warrick agreed.

"I'm taking those two home," Greg told Catherine.

"Put him in my car," Catherine told them hesitantly. "I certainly don't like the idea of him throwing up in there–but we need to get him home."

"Put him in my car," Sara told them. "My car isn't as new as yours. And I have a container in the back that he can try to aim for."

Catherine seemed genuinely relieved as she looked at her. "Are you sure? Do you think you can manage to get him in his place by yourself?"

"I'll stop by after I drop these two off," Greg told her. "I'll see that he gets home, okay."

"Well–alright." She looked at everyone. "Guys–it's been eventful."

Nick and Warrick moved Grissom to Sara's car, then went with Greg as Sara pulled out to the boulevard and continued to Grissom's apartment. Grissom really didn't remember how he got home, or even in to his bed, but he did remember seeing Greg smile down at him.

"Goodnight, Griss. Sara will take over from here."

Grissom nodded his head and watched as Sara walked out of the room with Greg, then returned moments later. She removed her gown as Grissom sleepily watched her. She retrieved an old football jersey from her drawer and threw that over her nearly naked body, then started removing the pins from her hair. When she was done, she came back to the side of the bed with a bucket and placed it up near the bed stand.

"Hey," she said gently as she sat next to him.

"Hey," he said back, not feeling his best.

"I brought this bucket out–just in case you need to throw up again."

"Tell me I didn't regurgitate all over Ecklie," he implored.

"He'll survive," Sara smiled gently at him. "You should try to get some sleep."

"Where will you be?"

"Right here."

Grissom closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake him, vowing never to stand at a bar with his co-workers again.


	43. Chapter 43

a/n: Sorry it took so long for this chapter–but I wanted to get it right. I hope it's obvious, but just in case it isn't. . .this chapter will be done in flashbacks between what is going on after Brass got shot–and Sara's memories of him. Again, thanks for reading and all your wonderful comments!

Chapter Forty-Three

She was only told that he was shot. That's really all Grissom knew as she watched him leave his apartment and head for the hospital. She stayed at Griss's apartment, waiting to hear how he was doing, not having any doubts that he was fine–after all, how could he "not" be? He was Grissom's best friend–and he had become her rock.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Hey, Cookie, life can't be as bad as all that, can it?" She remembered him saying two years before. It was when she became aware that Grissom had spent the night with Lady Heather, and it was widely presumed that there was a lot more going on than sitting around a table sharing tea.

"I'm fine," Sara said as she sat at the bar, receiving her fourth beer. "I couldn't be better."

"And you think that the more of this stuff you drink, the better it will get?" Brass took a seat on the next stool and ordered a bourbon. "Okay–if that's what it takes, then I'll join ya."

Sara looked over at him, not understanding why he was there to begin with. She had chosen this bar because she felt there was little to no chance of running into anyone she knew. But, she had barely been there over an hour when she saw the detective walking across the room until he was next to her. So, what was he so concerned about? Who was he to care if she got blitzed?

"Do you come into this place a lot?" She asked him. "Is that why you're here?"

"I'm here because I saw your car the first time I drove past, and then again the next." He toyed with the bourbon in front of him. "Look, I know it came as a bit of a shock when Grissom. . ."

"I don't care what Grissom does, Brass. Why would I care what my supervisor does–or who he sleeps with?" She tried to say cooly, but felt herself blush when Brass gave a soft non-humorous chuckle.

"Jim," he said simply.

"What?"

"Call me Jim. My friends call me Jim."

"Okay. Jim."

"Now, to answer your previous question–you care. You care so much that it has you sitting in here downing beer as if it were your lifeline to sanity."

"How do you know it isn't?" She asked quietly.

"Is it working? Are you feeling loads better?" He asked, but when he received no answer, he went on. "Normally I'd say that my best friend isn't worth doing this to yourself–but I've watch you handing your heart to him since the day you arrived here. So, I don't think having me merely mention that I think he's a piece of shit for sleeping with . . ."

She watched him as he hesitated, almost as if he couldn't bring himself to say her name–or couldn't find a word vile enough to describe her.

"Is he in love with her?" Sara asked so quietly that Brass barely heard her.

Another hesitation. "I don't know. But if he is, I've got to admit that his standing as someone I respect is dwindling fast. He's giving up paradise to go to hell."

"Are you getting religious, Jim?" She smiled at him.

"No–I was speaking metaphorically. She's no better than any streetwalker on the strip, the only difference is that she charges more and she pays taxes. At least the girls on the strip are honest about what they're doing."

"You don't believe she's being honest?"

"If she is, and she really believes all the crap she's spouting–then she's crazier than I thought. I tell ya, she's like this cold, zombie-type, imitation of a woman. I'd say she'd be an excellent candidate to play Morticia Addams, but Morticia was more loving than that creature."

"But he doesn't see that," Sara said, taking another swig from her bottle.

"No," Brass sighed. "He doesn't see that."

"So, let's buy another drink and try to forget that they even exist. Bartender! We're having another round!" She waved for the tender, but Brass waved his badge and slowly shook his head no, indicating that he didn't want Sara to be served anything more.

"Sorry, little lady," the burly bartender explained. "But you've hit your limit in this bar. If you want more, you'll have to wait an hour or two."

"Some friend you are," Sara moped.

"Sara–this isn't going to help. Believe me, I know about trying to drown your broken heart in a bottle. It doesn't work."

"Then what does?"

"Moving from the east coast to Nevada helped me."

"So, you want me to move away?" She looked at him.

"No. I don't think even that would help you. You'll go on loving that idiot no matter how far away you go. He's jut an ass for not seeing it–and if he does see it, then for rejecting it."

"That sounds like a toast, if ever I heard one. Let's have a drink on the fact that Grissom's an ass!"

She lifted her bottle and tapped it against his glass, then took another drink from it. Then with surprise, watched as he took the bottle from her hand and put her hand in his.

"Let's make that toast over a cup of coffee? Okay? I know Frank's Restaurant is serving up some hearty breakfasts at this time of day."

That was the first time he came to her rescue.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sara was dressed and on her way to the lab when her cell went off. It was Grissom, telling her where to meet him and Nick in Henderson where there was a DB on the railroad tracks. Then he went on to tell her about Brass's condition. She felt a fear wash over her that she hadn't felt since watching Nick lying in a see-through coffin the year before. Her mind was racing with the realization that Brass, most definitely, was in danger of losing his life. When she arrived at the site, she couldn't tell if the headless corpse had been emaciated–or just what caused such an incredible deformity. She watched as Grissom dug into the job and knew this was his way of dealing with his incredible distress regarding his friend. So, she dug in right along side and helped to keep his mind on the job. They worked all through the night and by morning they had the corpse back to the morgue, although they still hadn't found its head. She stood on a ladder, taking photos of the body, but her mind wasn't on her job.

OoOoOoOoOo

"How's it going, kid?" Jim asked Sara as she walked with him to the scene of a murder/suicide. "I hope your day's going better than theirs was."

"I'm fine," Sara gave her standard answer.

"Fine?" He looked at her with raised brows. "Does that mean that you're not drinking and driving anymore?"

She stopped and looked at him, feeling complete betrayal at having Grissom tel Jim about her "near" DUI.

"He told you," she said quietly.

"If you mean "Grissom" by "he"–then no. He didn't tell me. I saw them pulling you over that night."

"You saw me! And you didn't do anything?"

"Sweetheart, who do you think talked them into going easy on you and calling Griss? They were ready to throw the book at ya, but I reminded them that I knew a little bit about each of the two arresting officers. It didn't take them long to determine that you barely reached the limit. You're a good CSI. No point losing you simply because you had a bad day and did something stupid."

"I had a "lot" of bad days," she said with her gaze pointed to the floor. "I stopped having them after Grissom took me home that night. The fear of his disapproval saw to that."

"I thought it might."

OoOoOoOoOo

Sara got some sleep after working a double, knowing that Grissom was spending his time at the hospital. By the time she went back to work, he met her at the lab and let her know that he instructed the surgeon to go in and get the bullet. She watched as he worked the rest of the night, driven to keep himself busy and try to get through this case. By the next morning, he returned to the hospital to check on Brass. By mid-morning, she had heard that he was back, so she joined him at his desk as she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"How's it going? Are you okay?" Sara asked turning his attention from the book he was reading to her.

"I'm okay." He nodded.

Sara looked at what he was leafing through. "That's a man in a corset."

"Corset training," he explained. "A venerable practice."

"Maybe for Scarlett O'Hara. Since when was it equal opportunity?"

"Well, in Victorian times it was considered the staple of masculine attire. Students in British boarding schools were encouraged to lose an inch a year from the time they were fourteen on."

"I guess I should feel comforted that sadistic ideas of beauty aren't restricted to women."

"Hmm." He looked back at the book. "It's called a wasp waist, which is revealing. The wasp is from the insect group hymenoptera. The notion of hymen indicates virginity. In predacious wasps the genitalia no longer function as a reproductive organ. It's used as a stinger."

"Go in for sex and get stung," Sara told him. "Pretty much every man's fear."

"Hmm." Grissom agreed with another nod of his head. "The victim was shot. Body dumped. Clothes burned."

"The corset too. The bone fragments that Nick found at the crime scene were whale bone, which is used to make corsets out of. Where–did you learn so much about corsets?"

"I have my sources."

She eyed him closely. "Do you think you might want to elaborate on that?"

"I think–I do not."

"Hmm," she said as she got to her feet. "I'll remember that when you want to know where I learned so much about. . .jock straps."

She turned and walked out and went in search of local proprietors of whale-bone corsets. Through some investigation with Sophia, they found the name of their victim and his residence where they did a walk-through inspection. Later, Grissom joined them, moving to look at a miniature battlefield of Gettysburg where Sophia joined him. Sara went to the dressing area where she found a corset and began processing it.

"Looks comfortable," Sophia remarked as she entered the room with Sara who was dusting the piece of clothing.

Sara turned to look at her, noting that Grissom was standing next to her. Her annoyance with the man showed clearly on her face as she looked at him. She only hoped Sophia didn't think it was meant for her. Grissom, on the other hand, seemed to ignore her mood.

"Well, he was into discipline and self-denial," Grissom told Sophia.

"This corset ties from the back which means Mr. Carson couldn't have tied the laces by himself. He had to have help," Sara told them as she kept her gaze focused away from them, although, peripherally, she could see Grissom picking up an old photo book.

"Seems to run in the family." He showed the old photo to Sophia, then flipped it around for Sara to see, although she was busy lifting a print from the piece of clothing.

Sophia alerted the other two that she was going back to run the prints in search of the person who would assist Mr. Carson with his dressing.

"Wait," Sara said as she began packing her equipment. "I came with you, remember? I'll need a ride back to the lab."

"Alright," Sophia said a bit uncomfortably, clearly picking up a little tension between the couple.

"Sophia needs to get those prints back," Grissom said as he looked at some other artifacts throughout the room. "You can ride back with me."

"It will only take a second," Sara told him as she continued putting her things together.

"Sophia," Grissom glanced at her. "Take the prints back awhile. I can drive Sara."

Sara looked up at Sophia to see her hesitating as she waited for the prints that Sara had lifted, silently asking if she wanted her to wait, or if she would be riding with Grissom. Sara sighed and handed the evidence to the other woman.

"Go on. I guess it will get done faster if you take it."

Sara smiled gently at Sophia and watched her nod in return, then turn and leave. She continued to pack her things, then took a surprised step back when Grissom picked up her case to carry it for her. She walked with him to his Denali and they both got inside then started on their drive.

"You're still angry," he said simply.

"I'm not angry," she said in a sigh as she continued to look out the windshield. "And even if I were, you've got more important things to worry about. Like whether or not they're going to get the bullet out of Jim."

"It's out."

She turned to look at him. "How do you know? "

"Sophia told me."

"Oh. Well, thanks for filling me in."

"See. You "are" mad."

"Grissom," she said sternly. "I told you–whether I'm annoyed or not is of little relevance right now. Worry about Jim–not me."

"All this–just because I won't tell you how I achieved my knowledge of women's underclothes?" He looked at her with his crooked smile that could usually melt her heart. "It couldn't simply be that I just read up about the corsets before you joined me, could it?"

"Is that true?"

"It could be."

His evasion could sometimes drive her nuts, but right now she wasn't in the mood to argue. If she was a bit sore from his comment regarding his knowledge of women's intimate apparel, then she felt she had the right to be a bit sore. As far as she knew, everyone had the right to get peeved about something–so she was peeved–so what. She also knew she had better forget about it, because he was so damned mule-headed that he'd never give her the satisfaction of a full explanation. She knew it would drive her nuts if she'd try to dwell on it too much. The obvious question of "what was he trying to hide" would come to the forefront and bring up things that she would rather forget about. Instinct told her that corsets were a part of Lady Heather's attire, but she pushed that thought out of her mind; he told her he was finished with that "woman" so she shouldn't be wasting her time fretting over her. So, she glanced over at him and tried to smile.

"Okay–so you read up on it. Enough said."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

OoOoOoOoOo

"Sara, are you sure about this?" The memory of Brass's question rang through Sara's mind as she listened to the gunfire from the Civil War re-enactment and unloaded two cameras from the Denali.

"I'm not sure about anything," she said quietly as they stood in the break-room of the lab, having stayed behind as everyone else returned to work. "I sometimes wonder if I have any control over any of it."

"Of course you have control," Jim told her as they discussed the temporary break-up over Grissom's behavior with Lady Heather surrounding the death of her daughter. "You tell him no–and that's the control you have."

"I miss him."

"Then take him back."

"I don't trust him."

"Then don't take him back."

"I love him," she told him with a bit of a hiccup, her grief sounding plainly.

Brass sighed deeply, then put his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. "No one ever said this was going to be easy. And when you're dealing with Gil Grissom, you can be guaranteed that it will be a complicated run. Just take your time, use your head, and I'll be here if you need a shoulder."

OoOoOoOoOo

Sara walked the twenty feet where she met Grissom as he waited for her. His plan was to recreate the duel that had taken place between Carson and the Yankee, hoping to find some evidence to prove the man's comments.

"Anyway," Grissom told her with a wry smile. "Who knows? You might enjoy it."

"Having a duel with you?" She asked as they walked toward the area where the duel had taken place. "Do they have extra pistols."

"Very funny, my dear." He moved until they were, hopefully, in the position of the previous shootout. "We'll use our cameras. You may shoot me all you like with your camera."

They stood with their backs to one another and started the count–upon reaching nine, Grissom turned, but waited until Sara turned on ten. Her camera went off first, swiftly followed by Grissom's. He looked at her with his most playful smile and Sara couldn't stop her responding expression–at least not completely. She knew, that "he" knew, he was going to get his way and win her heart over so quickly that she'd forget about their previous squabble. He always did, and she couldn't seem to fight his boyish charm when he decided to pour it on.

Sara and Grissom returned to the lab to go over some of the evidence they had collected that morning, and by afternoon Sara and Sophia had Carson's dresser back in for more questioning. Within minutes, the man explained the accidental death of his boss, and the reasoning behind the bizarre disposal of his body. The case was finished.

This allowed Sara some time to go back to Grissom's apartment and get some sleep while Grissom went back to the hospital. A few hours later she got the call that Brass was conscious and she quickly dressed and went to meet the rest of her crew who were anxiously awaiting his recovery. She stood behind the window and watched Grissom as he spoke to Brass. Nick and Warrick stood on either side of her, and when she saw Brass look out toward them, she tried to hold back her tears of relief. When he waved, she hugged Warrick without even realizing it, overwhelmed with the knowledge that her friend would be alright. She watched Grissom's heavy sigh and knew the weight of the world had just dropped from his shoulders.

While Grissom showered and changed clothes, Sara made some dinner. They ate, then returned to the bedroom where he lounged on the end of the bed while she took her turn in the shower. Once he heard her finish and start drying herself, he leaned up on one elbow and waited for her to join him again.

"I can only imagine what Jim's gone through these past two days. One minute you're looking down the barrel of a gun, the next you're fighting for your life; and then after that, you wake up in a hospital room with a whole slew of people watching your every move."

"I'm sure he didn't mind," she called back to him as she put on her robe. "He seemed glad to see us."

"I'm sure he was. But the thought of facing death with possibly only moments before it all ends. . ."

"You'd prefer another way?" She brushed her hair.

"I don't know. Most people want to die in their sleep, I suppose, and never know that it's happening. Like a crime scene. Surprise! You're dead! I'd prefer to know in advance that I was going to die. I'd like to be diagnosed with cancer, actually, have some time to prepare, go back to the rain forest one more time, re-read Moby Dick, possibly enter an international chess tournament; at least have enough time to say goodbye to the people I love."

Sara entered the room with him and knelt on the floor in front of him. "I'm–not ready to say goodbye."


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four

Sara looked into his eyes; a very dangerous thing to do when one wished to simply go to bed and sleep; nearly impossible for her to accomplish. He, most definitely, had "that look" again. She tried to avoid it as she started to get to her feet, but his hand shot out and caught the belt of her robe. She stopped immediately and looked down at him as he simply rolled onto his back and smiled up at her.

"You won't need to get dressed yet," he told her.

She looked at the blue shirt he was wearing, noting the way it was opened at the throat, and she had a powerful urge to open it all the way. He tugged on the belt, pulling her closer until she knelt on the bed next to him, then moved herself until she was straddling his thighs. This time she didn't hesitate to unbutton his shirt as he lazily watched her. She pushed it open so she could view him from the top of his head clear down to the top of his jeans. Then, wanting to see more, she unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down; not quite freeing him, but allowing her to see him bulging against his boxer/briefs.

"I think, I'd like to keep you around for awhile," she told him as her forefinger danced across his stomach. "That is, unless you plan to run off to the rain forest without me. I don't mind if you re-read Moby Dick or enter an international chess tournament, though."

"I'm so glad I have your permission. Move up farther."

She got up and moved to sit on his groin and he opened the belt to her robe then spread it open. He grasped onto each side of the silky cloth and pulled until she came down on him; bare breast to bare chest; then touched her lips to his. He slid his hands up beneath her robe and slid them down her bare back until he grasped onto her buttocks.

"Is this far enough?" She asked as she looked down at him, watching how his eyes seemed to pull her into them.

"For now." His gaze moved over her face, almost as if searching for something, then finding what he was looking for as he smiled at her again. "You do realize we have two days off together soon, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Did you have anything in mind that we could do on those two days?" His hands started to gently squeeze her bottom, then just as gently pulled her down against him.

"Um, I thought I'd go home and paint my livingroom." She watched how his eyes seemed to open with a shocked disappointment. "You wouldn't like to help me paint?"

"You can't be serious."

"Not in the least," she giggled at him, then yelped as he flipped them over until he was on top of her. "So? What do "you" have in mind?"

"This, for a start." He smiled mischievously. "After that, we'll take it as it comes."

She giggled again. "You mean, we'll take it as "you" come."

"That too." He dipped his head and nibbled lightly on her lower lip. "But then, we can't forget about you, can we?"

He slipped his tongue over her lips, tasting her, gently pulling her lip between his until he was granted access and entered her mouth. She could go on for days, simply kissing him as she sucked his tongue, dueled with it in a teasing, but delicate manner. He seemed to be as involved in their kiss as she, and she could feel him growing against her. She reached down to the back of his jeans and started pushing, hoping to release him, but she couldn't get them down past his hips. He grunted his disapproval at being interrupted and continued kissing her , then slid his kiss over her jaw line and on to her neck, going to the tender spot where it joined her shoulder. He nuzzled her, sucked on the skin, bit it, then licked over the reddened area as if to heal it. She tilted her head to give him greater access to the areas he wanted to lavish his attention on, then reached up and pushed his shirt off his shoulders. He lifted his head and looked at her with his boyish grim.

"You really want me out of my clothes, don't you?"

She smiled back and watched as he straddled her legs as he sat up, then pulled his shirt off and pushed his jeans down over his hips. He lay next to her and kicked the jeans off completely, then rolled back to her where he kissed her again, then moved down to her chest. He could work magic with his hands and his mouth, using both as he massaged and tweaked her left breast, while sucking hungrily on her right. She sighed deeply as she ran her fingers through his short hair. God, she loved when he was in this position with her. Not only was she receiving primary pleasure from what he was doing to her, she was getting added benefits as she held him to her and could run her fingers over his hair and whiskers. Soon, he was working his way down to her belly. She looked down at him as he kissed it almost tenderly, and stroked his fingers over it. She thought for a moment that this was the end of his journey, but he did go on, moving between her thighs as he traced the soft skin with his fingertips. She shivered at the sensation, then inhaled deeply as his lips found her sensitive spot. He moved his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her slightly for better access as his tongue slid along her length, pausing to enter her, then return to her nub of nerves. She would have never suspected he was so good at this–but he was amazing and each time he did it, he seemed to get better and better. He took her to the edge of her reality, waited until her thighs trembled around his face, then he would back off and wait for her to calm herself before starting in all over again. His control over her was driving her mad until finally he allowed her to climax. She kept her fingers in his hair as he reversed his procedure and started working his way back up her body until he was lying between her legs and resumed his intimate kiss as he rubbed his groin against hers. This time when she reached down, she pushed his boxer/briefs over his gorgeous bottom, then slid her fingers around to the front and pulled him from the confines of the cloth. He was enormous and he was throbbing in her hand.

"Are you ready?" He breathed against her lips and she nodded her head yes. "Put it in."

She guided him to her opening and allowed the pleasure of having him throbbing inside of her to wash over her. She encouraged him when to go faster, when to move more forcefully, and soon he was biting at her shoulder where he would then apply his own form of healing. As was usual, she came before him, almost as if he needed to feel her spasm around him to take him over his own edge.

She didn't know exactly what had gotten into him that night. She could only put it down to his extraordinary relief that his friend was indeed going to be alright. But whatever it was, he couldn't seem to be satisfied with one or two romps. Every time she would doze off that night, she was soon awakened by his insatiable hunger, and though she adored this type of lovemaking, she couldn't help but wonder what it was that made him wake her with his tongue circling her throbbing nub three more times before the morning sun came through the windows. By mid-morning, she was doing something she never thought she would do, and that was begging him to slow down, to let them get some rest before they had to return to work that evening. Finally, he relented and pulled her up against him, wrapping his arm around her as he slid his leg between her thighs.

"Sara? Darling? Are you getting up?" Grissom's voice finally broke through to Sara and she stretched her long body but winced with the burning pain she felt on her thighs, shoulder and neck.

"Oww!"

She jerked in response to the pain, bringing Grissom's attention from the bathroom where he was dressed in his trousers only, evidently having just come from the shower. She slowly moved to get out of bed, but when she tried to walk toward him, her thighs were so irritated that she resembled a cowboy who had been in the saddle too long.

"Sara?" Grissom looked at her questioningly. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," she said, just as puzzled as he and when she got to the bathroom, she put the toilet lid down and lifted her foot to it so she could inspect just what was going on with her thighs. There was some kind of a reddened abrasion on both sides and it burned so badly that she knew if she went to work like this, there was no way she could perform her duties without calling attention to the way she was walking. "What is that?"

Grissom moved to stand next to her and looked at the area she was gesturing toward. Then looked up at her neck. "Umm–you've got the same thing up here.'

Sara looked in the mirror to see the large abrasion on her throat, the side of her neck, the top of her chest, and her shoulder.

"Gilbert! What did you do?" She stared wide-eyed at the marks, wondering how in the hell she was going to make it through work now. She looked pointedly at the man standing next to her and thought she actually saw a spark of pride as he looked back, but it was quickly masked over with concern, then a bit of embarrassment.

"It's–um–I think it's from my beard."

"Your beard?" She cried as she looked at the damage on her legs again then turned to look at him through dismayed eyes. "Gil! I can't go to work like this!"

"Here," he reached into the medicine cabinet and handed her an ointment, but still she couldn't take her eyes off of him. "It will help with the pain."

"But what about my neck? I have to wear a turtleneck in the middle of summer!"

He looked at her with concern and shrugged his shoulders. "I–don't know what to tell you. Can you use make-up? I can try to assign you to the lab, anywhere you'd have to wear coveralls or something like that."

"But you can't keep doing that. I have to go out into the field sometime."

He stared at her, then reached down and gently placed his fingers against the abrasion between her legs. She jumped at the contact and he pulled his fingers away again.

"Alright." He moved back to the cabinet and started pulling shaving supplies out. "We'll take care of this, right now."

"But, what are you doing?" She moved to stand next to him as he started lathering up his face. "Gil! Don't! I love your beard!"

"And there are things that I love, too–and I'm not going to stop doing them because they're marring your beautiful skin. I'll simply get rid of the source of the marring."

She reached her hand up to cover his as he lifted his razor to his face. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure," he smiled as he leaned over and kissed her, leaving some shaving cream on her face as he did so. "If I have a choice between being able to make love to you the way I want –or having a beard–the choice is simple."

She retrieved her robe, then moved back to stand next to him as she watched him shave. His eyes kept glancing in the mirror to her until finally, he stopped shaving and looked at her with a raised brow.

"What?" She smiled brightly at him.

"You're watching me."

"So?"

"So, "why" are you watching me? What can be so fascinating about watching me shave?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's those strange faces you make while you're doing it," she laughed.

"Uh-huh." He put his hands on her upper arms and turned her around. "That's it. No more watching."

"No," she laughed as she turned around again. "I want to watch. I like watching. Actually," she began in a suggestive voice. ". . .it's kind of a turn-on."

He went back to his work with his beard. "You're kidding–right?"

"Not at all. I mean–what's more masculine than a man shaving? Unless, of course, they prefer wearing a beard. But, I think you're looking–wow," she breathed as she moved closer, causing him to chuckle at her.

"Sara–if you get any closer, I'll be shaving your face instead of my own."

"Okay–fine!" She moved back and sat on the toilet lid. "Is this better?"

"Much."

"I can let you watch me shave my legs," she offered.

"You already do."

"Fine." She got back to her feet and removed her robe as she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. "You can keep your shaving ritual all to yourself. Ow!"

"Water doesn't agree with your beard burn?"

"No!" She whined, then went about doing a quick wash-up, so she could get out and put something on the abrasions.

She was just stepping out of the shower as Grissom held a towel out for her to walk into. She took a moment to take in this bare-faced look again, but found it just as much to her satisfaction as ever. She moved back into the bedroom and sat down to put the ointment on but Grissom picked it up before her.

"I'll do it."

He spread it on her throat, neck and chest, then gestured for her to lie down. She did as he suggested, but when he opened her towel and moved down toward her hips, she hesitated giving him access to the other excoriations. Although she knew he had been as close as a person can possibly be to that area, suddenly, she felt rather shy about allowing him such an intimate view of her. She watched him and could feel the blush spread across her cheeks and down to her chest. He looked up at her when he noticed she was holding her legs closed, then with an understanding smile, he placed his hands on her knees and pulled them apart. He went about the job very professionally, almost as if he hadn't been the person who put those marks there in the first place.

When they got to the lab there was barely a mention of Grissom's new look, and if anyone noticed Sara's slight limp or the fact that she was wearing a collared blouse in the Las Vegas summer heat, they didn't mention it.


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: Hi everyone! I apologize for the long break I took, but real life grabbed onto me with a vengeance! First I had to take care of my ex's two dogs (they're actually my kids' dogs, but he's raising them–he went on vacation and sent them on to me) for five days and since I'm not allowed to have animals in my house, I decided to camp out in a tent with my three daughters and their two Jack Russells. Then, when I finally got home after the first five days, I found that my internet was disconnected and it didn't get reconnected until last evening. So, I'm ready to start passing on what I've written (although I'm afraid it isn't much–without my reviews I was lost!). I hope you can still follow the story and enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Five

It took awhile for Grissom to get used to shaving on a daily (sometimes twice a day) basis, but, if that's what it took to be able to respond to Sara the way he wanted to–he'd willingly do it. The fact that he practically attacked Sara the night they returned from Brass's hospital room, came to as much of a shock to him, as it was to Sara. He had been insatiable. It seemed he no sooner would drowse off and he would awaken with the intense need to confirm that she was there and not off getting gunned down by some lunatic. And, well, if he needed to confirm his ability to bring her to a screaming climax, then so be it. And–how could he help it if, getting her stimulated, got him stimulated as well? Frankly, the fact that he actually achieved his own climactic ending four times in one night amazed him. He was like a frickin' teenager. It must have been all that adrenaline and the coffee he had while going between the hospital and the lab. As far as their two days off work, all he knew was that he wanted to either get completely away from their surroundings–or close themselves up in his apartment and not come out until it was time to go back to the lab. Either way, he knew he needed a rest.

Sara went to her own apartment to finish up some chores that needed to be caught up, with the promise that she would be back to his place by noon. At eleven-forty-five she walked in and curled up on the sofa next to him.

"All finished?" He put his arm around her.

"Mm-hmm." She lay her head on his shoulder. "Still no ideas on what to do for the next two and a half days?"

"Either we stay confined here–or we go somewhere completely different for the next two days."

"I vote we go somewhere else."

"And where would that be?"

"I don't know. Nick said the last time he wanted to get away, he rented a house for the weekend. It wouldn't be anything exciting, but it certainly would be something different."

"Did you get the name of this agency?" He asked.

"As a matter of a fact. . ." She retrieved her wallet then looked through it until she came up with a slip of paper with Nick's writing on it. "I have it right here."

So, after spending another hour on the computer researching the agency's web site, they made a call and settled on a home that was on the outskirts of the city. By the next morning they had the key and were settling into a two-bedroom with both an in-ground pool and a garden that Grissom could explore for various insects to his heart's extent. By early afternoon Grissom was doing just that and after at least two hours, he thought that perhaps he should spend some quality time with the person he actually came with. He made his way back to the patio and then on to the pool area, quickly feeling a jolt as he witnessed the long-legged beauty resting on a lounge chair. She lay on her stomach, with the back of her swimsuit untied, evidently preferring not to have any tan lines. He moved closer and picked up the suntan lotion that was lying next to her, then sat on the edge of the lounge next to her hips.

"Looks like you could use a helping hand." He spread some of the lotion in his palms, then started massaging across her back and shoulders. "You sure ya don't want to take this off, too?"

She giggled as he slid his finger down the inside of her bottoms. "Are you sure "you" don't want me to take it off?"

"I wouldn't complain, if you did."

"Equal opportunity," she said as she placed her hand on the front of her swimsuit top and turned over to face him. "I'll take them off when you start peeling off some of "your" clothes."

"Can't. I don't have any swimming apparel." He went about spreading the lotion on her stomach, then down her thighs.

"Yes, you do," she told him. "I got you a pair of trunks. They're right over there. I though you might come up with that excuse so you didn't have to get in the pool."

"Okay–when you help me index what I find in the garden–then I'll spend time with you in the pool."

"That's not fair! You were already in the garden."

"I know," he smirked.

"Come on. You go in the pool first, then I'll help you in the garden next time." She gave him a coaxing smile. "Go on. Put on the trunks. Pul-ease?"

He sighed deeply, then went to where she pointed and picked up a pair of blue trunks with a white pattern that closely resembled Hawaiian flowers.

"Well, at least I should be thankful it isn't a Speedo." He started to go for the patio so he could change inside, but she stopped him.

"Huh-uh. You can change right here. There's a fence. No one will see you."

"I'm not changing out here!"

"If you do–I'll lose this." She gestured toward her top.

He looked at her for a moment, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Next came his shoes and socks, followed by his jeans. He looked imploringly at her.

"You're going to make me go through with this, aren't you?"

"Mm-hmm. Underwear too."

He sighed, then removed his boxer//briefs before pulling the swim trunks over his hips. He handed her the suntan lotion, then sat on the lounge chair, between her legs, allowing her to spread it on his back. When she was finished, he turned to retrieve it, but she refused to give it to him as she got to her feet.

"No. I'll finish it."

He watched as her swimsuit top hung loosely from her neck, allowing him ample view of her white breasts. "I "am" capable of putting lotion on myself."

"I know that," she told him as she gestured for him to move back in the seat, then got to her knees between his legs and started putting it on his chest. "But, I had the urge to do it for you."

"You'll let me know if any other "urges" suddenly come up, won't you?"

"I will definitely do that."

He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, allowing her the freedom to spread the sun protection from his face to his feet. Needless to say, she saved his thighs for last, and as she moved slightly up his pant-legs, he could feel himself stir again. He could see how she watched his arousal with interest, but remained somewhat laid back, choosing to avoid direct contact with the part of him that was, at this point, beckoning her. Instead, she got to her feet and took his hand in hers.

"Now what?" He asked as he looked up at her.

"Now we get into the pool."

"Like this?" He nodded toward his "problem" in his trunks. "You want me to go into cold water–like this?"

"Gil!" She laughed at him. "It's probably not even that cold. It's probably warmed. Come on, I promise to make it worth your while."

He looked up at the way she stood before him, coaxing him to go with her. He normally was stubborn enough that if he didn't want to do something–he simply didn't do it. But he had to smile at the way she was curling her finger at him as she covered her breasts with her other arm.

"Fine," he said as he got to his feet and took her hand in his, "but you're losing this."

He reached around her and untied the knot at the back of her neck, letting the straps fall down over the arm that was still covering herself. She walked with him to the steps leading into the pool then lay the piece of cloth on its edge. He was relieved to find that the water was, indeed, warmed and didn't make certain parts of himself shrink deep inside of his body. He did notice the difference in temperature, though, so as he made his way into waist-deep water, he pushed off and went under to adjust. He came up about ten yards from where she stood, looking at him as if she had never seen anything more surprising in her life.

"You can swim!" She gasped with wide eyes.

"Of course, I can swim. My mother made sure of it. Why would you think I couldn't swim?"

"Because I had such a hard time getting you into the pool," she told him as she swam out to meet him. "Let's see–it isn't the fact that you can't swim; it isn't your body that you're trying to hide–I mean, after all, I've seen it all before, and you certainly have nothing to be embarrassed about; so–just what is it that makes you "not" want to show off your athletic abilities?"

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. "When do I "ever" show off my athletic abilities to you?"

"Every time we have sex–I'd say that's rather athletic." She put her arms around his neck.

"Anyone can have sex. You can weigh five hundred pounds and still have sex."

"Not like us."

He had to smile at this comment. "So, do you plan on spending the next two days in the water?"

"Of course not," she smiled back. "I found this amazing bed upstairs. It must be a king-size mattress. We could go to sleep and never find each other."

"That doesn't sound too promising."

"Who knows, maybe by the time we go to bed, you'll want to be left in peace."

He pulled her more tightly against him, allowing her to wrap her long legs around his waist. He floated them toward the deeper end of the pool as he held onto her.

"I can think of other things to do than being left in peace in that bed."

"I sort of thought you could. You're very good at using your imagination."

"I don't plan on imagining what I have in mind," he told her with an arched brow.

"Ya know, we don't have to wait until we get to that bed for you to use your imagination," she said suggestively.

"Who says I'm not using it right now?" He laughed. "I'm imagining all sorts of things I could do to you, right here–or up on the lounge chair–or on the patio. . ."

She chuckled as she looked at him. "Or in the kitchen, the game room, the bathroom, or den?"

"Hmmm. How about the lawn at midnight, with the moon shining down on us?"

"Gil, you can suggest any place you like, and you know I'll agree."

He moved them around the pool as he held her, listening to her talking as if listening to a symphony. She made him laugh with some of her thoughts; a feat that was rare for him, and she made him think about some of her ideas that intrigued him. At any rate, he was never quite bored in their conversation and before he realized it, the sun was beginning to dip in the sky and they had spent over three hours in the pool.

They returned into the house and re-dressed, both very casually in tee shirt and shorts, leaving their feet bare as they moved about. Their dinner was casual as well, as they settled for salad and sandwiches. Some old B-rated Sci-Fi movies caught their attention after that, and they watched television until nearly twelve o'clock. When the final movie finished, Sara got to her feet and took his hand, but instead of walking toward the bedroom, she went back outside.

"Where are we going?" He asked as he stood on the edge of the patio with her, then started walking again until she took him to the grassy area next to the pool.

When she turned to face him and slid her hands up under his shirt until they rested on his chest, he had a pretty good idea.

"I kinda liked your idea about making love on the lawn at night. There's not much of a moon out, but this will do, won't it?"

He put his arms around her waist as he smiled down at her, then answered her with a kiss. She smelled of chlorine from the pool, and she tasted sweet to his tongue. It was a combination of senses that he would remember for a long time. She pulled him closer as her fingers held onto the back of his neck and she strained her body against his. He held onto her waist, pulling her against him even tighter, until her hips were pressed securely against his groin. He suddenly couldn't seem to get enough of the taste of her as his lips played with hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth and taking the delights he found there. He wondered if he would ever tire of kissing her. He memorized the shape of her mouth; the small gap between her front teeth that he found completely enchanting; the way her lips perfectly fit against his; the sensation of her tongue as she would slip it inside and stroke his mouth.

He only paused long enough to remove his tee shirt, then pull hers off as well. Then he watched as she lowered herself to her knees and pulled his shorts over his hips, freeing an erection that was already throbbing and ready. He lowered himself to his knees and resumed their kiss as he lowered her to the grass with him lying next to her. His fingers moved to her breast, massaging and squeezing before finding her nipple and pressing his thumb and forefinger around it until he heard her moan with satisfaction. His hand moved lower, across the flatness of her abdomen, then on to the waistband of her shorts where they slid inside to the silkiness of her dark curls. He could feel her legs parting as he slid his finger lower, between her folds until he came to her core and he slid it inside. This time, he stopped kissing her and leaned on his elbow as he watched her react to his touch. She looked back at him, her brown eyes even darker with her need of him. He began stroking his finger inside of her, watching the way his pressure made her breasts move with each invasion of her body. He lowered his mouth to them and took her nipple inside his mouth, sucking it with a hunger that only she seemed to be able to satisfy. As she moved her hips to the rhythm of his hand, she was rubbing against his throbbing erection and soon he needed to be embedded within her. He moved himself until he was kneeling between her legs, then pulled her shorts over her hips and off her long legs. He lowered himself until he was on top of her, her arms going around him in a welcoming embrace, and he kissed her again, not being able to resist her as she looked at him with such adoration that he felt his heart constrict. He had never felt anything close to this with any other woman–she had a way about her that could make him feel like a god and he gloried in it. The sensation of her breasts being crushed beneath his chest excited him even farther and it wasn't long before he reached down and positioned himself, then thrust deeply inside of her. He continued pressing into her, wanting to be implanted as deeply as humanly possible, then slowly withdrew, only to return to his previous position.

"You are exquisite," he whispered against her lips. "You're like a fine wine that I can't seem to get enough of."

"God, Gil, I love you so much." Her hips began rolling in response to his slow penetrations. "Don't let this ever end."

He smiled as he kissed her and before long their mating turned more powerful and faster until they reached a peak that had their heads reeling. He lay with his head nestled against her chest as she ran her fingertips over his shoulders and back. He didn't want to move, and fell asleep where they lay until the coolness of the night woke him an hour later. When he raised his head he saw that she was watching him, and again, he felt the tightening of his emotions at the love he saw shining through her eyes at him.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-Six

The rest of the night was spent on the sofa as they would get in their favorite "reading" position; one on each end of the sofa, with her feet lying on his lap as his feet went on either side of her hips. They each worked on a novel as he would absently give her a foot massage and she would rub his legs. He had an idea that the story she was reading was became more interesting as her gentle caresses turned a bit more intriguing. She suddenly pulled her feet from his lap and turned until she was on her back, lying between his legs with her head resting where her feet had been. He went back to his novel as she did the same, but he couldn't help notice how her free hand resumed its caress on his calf. When she began lightly running her nails over his skin, he decided he might as well give up trying to read his book and put it on the coffee table.

"Good book, is it?" He asked as he watched her lying between his legs.

"Shh," she shooshed him and went on reading, then turned her head until she was gazing up at him. "You wouldn't believe what's going on now."

"I can truly imagine." He couldn't stop the smile that tilted his lips as he looked at her, more or less upside down, as she looked back at him, just as he couldn't stop the way his fingers stroked her temples, then down to her cheeks. "Would you like to share the experience?"

"Really?" She looked at him, then turned on the sofa again, this time kneeling between his legs as she faced him and began reading.

"Bending, he grasped the other half of the grave-liner top and pulled upward. As he did so, he felt something squelch coldly under his fingers. When he had this second half of the top standing on end, he looked down at his hand and saw a fat earthworm wriggling feebly there. With a choked cry of disgust, Louis wiped it off on the earthen sidewall of his son's grave.

Then he shone the flashlight downward.

Here was the coffin he had last seen resting on chrome runners over the grave at the funeral service, surrounded by the ghastly green Astroturf. This was the safety-deposit box in which he was supposed to bury all his hopes for his son. Fury, clean and white hot, the antithesis of his former coldness, rose up in him. Idiotic! The answer was no!

Louis groped for the spade and found it. He raised it over his shoulder and brought it down on the coffin's latch once, twice, a third time, a fourth. His lips were drawn back in a furious grimace.

"_Going to break you out, Gage, see if I don't!_"

The latch had splintered on the first stroke and probably no more were necessary, but he went on, not wanting just to open the coffin but to hurt it. Some kind of sanity finally returned, and he stopped with the spade raised for another blow.

The blade was bent and scratched. He tossed it aside and scrambled out of the grave on legs that felt weak and rubbery. He felt sick to his stomach, and the anger had gone as quickly as it had come. In its place the coldness flooded back in, and never in his life had his mind felt so alone and disconnected, he felt like an astronaut who has floated away from his ship during an EVA and now only drifts in the great blackness, breathing on borrowed time. _"Did Bill Batterman feel like this?" _he wondered.

He lay on the ground, on his back this time, waiting to see if he was under control and ready to proceed. When the rubbery feeling had left his legs, he sat up and slipped back down into the grave. He shone the flashlight on the latch and saw it was not just broken, but demolished. He had swung the spade in a blind fury, but every blow he had struck had gone directly there, bull's eye, as if guided. The wood around it had splintered.

Louis slipped the flashlight into his armpit. He squatted down slightly. His hands groped, like the hands of a catcher in a troupe of circus flyers, waiting to perform his part in a mortal docking.

He found the groove in the lid, and he slipped his fingers into it. He paused for a moment–one could not rightly call it a hesitation–and then he opened his son's coffin.

(Stephen King's, Pet Sematary)

Sara looked up from the pages. "Would you like me to go on?"

"Uh–no." He took the book from her and placed it on the coffee table next to his, then pulled her forward until she was lying on top of him. "I wasn't expecting Stephen King's "Pet Sematary."

"Really?" She asked as she nestled against him until she pulled her knees up on either side of his hips, allowing her warm core to center directly over his groin. "And just what "were" you expecting?"

"I don't know. Maybe some fiery historical romance where the debonair, yet ruggedly handsome hero has his beautiful heroine in the throes of passion before getting on his horse and carrying her off into the sunset."

She laughed at this. "You've been reading historical romances?"

"No, not really. My mother would read one from time to time. I wondered what all the interest was about, so I worked my way through one."

"Well." She slowly inched her tee shirt up over her stomach as he watched her intently, then went even farther as she revealed two luscious breasts with nipples that made him swallow with difficulty. The shirt was then tossed to the floor as she watched him. "I'd say you haven't read any recent ones, or you'd know, that they not only have sex "before" riding off, but then again "as" they're riding off into the sunset. The galloping of the horse intensifying every movement and adding to the danger and excitement."

He moved with her until he was sitting more upright, then placed his hands on her waist, tracing his fingers upwards until his thumbs were beneath her breasts. With the movement of his legs, he nudged her forward until he easily reached the treasure she was offering him.

"Are you saying we need to get a horse?" He asked as he leaned back again and gave her a small smile.

"I. . ." She got to her feet and pushed her jeans down over her hips, then stepped out of them. "don't think we need a horse."

He watched as she reached for the snap to his jeans and the zipper, then as he lifted his hips and slid down again on the sofa, she pulled them down and off as well, before regaining her position straddling his lip. The fact that his erection began the moment she took off her shirt, and only intensified with each article of clothing that was removed, made her sitting on him rather enjoyable. Although not penetrating her, she had him pressed between their bodies as she gently rocked against his length. His fingers tightened on her hips as he watched her; her teasing smile turning him on as much as her overt caress.

"I'm so glad you said that, because although I've ridden horses before–I'm definitely no fan of it. Anyway, I don't think I'm quite coordinated enough to balance both myself as well as you and still maintain enough rhythm to actually achieve anything remotely romantic, let alone fulfillment."

He moved his hand down the front of her, letting his thumb stroke over her pleasure zone several times before urging her to get up with his left hand while grasping onto himself with his right. He watched as she pressed down on top of him. He loved watching this; watching the way her breath would always catch; watching how she would tilt her head back slightly and let her eyes close in anticipation of the invasion of her body. He knew he was of ample size, and it thrilled him to know that each time he joined with her, he could feel her tightness stretching around his massiveness.

"I think. . ." She seemed to be having trouble matching her words with her thoughts and he couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. ". . .that I would rather ride you–than a horse."

"I'm glad to hear it!" This time, he couldn't stop the small burst of laughter that escaped from him, turning her wide eyes on him as she realized what she had said. Her cheeks flamed as she dropped forward in embarrassment and hid her face against his neck. "I didn't think bestiality was one of your preferences."

"Gil! You know I didn't mean that!" She started laughing in spite of herself as she lifted her head to look at him. "You're being absurd! Anyway, I bet you'd compete very favorably in that department."

"Now. . .do you mean in performance? Or size?" He asked, having a slight amount of difficulty keeping up the conversation, himself, as she started moving her hips and he was sliding in and out of her.

"Um," she tried, closing her eyes and getting that expression on her face that told him she was becoming more involved with his penetrations than what they were saying. "What were we talking about?"

"Nothing, my pet."

His term of endearment opened her eyes as she laughed at him and gave a little whinny. He smiled in response against her lips as he placed his left hand at the back of her head and turned with her, pinning her between himself and the back of the sofa. He took over the rhythm of their lovemaking as his right hand held her hip, and his right knee lifted her left leg so he could press into her fully. The sounds of their humor eventually faded, to be taken over by moans of need and whispered instructions of what they wanted or needed to increase their pleasure.

"Oh, God, Gilbert," she sighed as he pumped inside of her, now letting his hand wander behind her to squeeze and caress her pert bottom. "Yes, right there. Mmmmmm."

She was perfection and he wanted to touch every part of her that he could manage. He nuzzled at her lips, her ears, her neck and throat and on to her breasts and nipples. He could feel her hands moving to his back; her nails lightly scoring his skin as they slid beneath his tee shirt, then start pulling it over his head, only to get it stuck. He stopped all movement and looked at her with a raised brow as the cloth of the shirt was bunched around his head. She started giggling again although she did try to conceal it when her hands moved to cover her mouth.

"Are you going to fix this?" He asked with faux sarcasm, slowly beginning to roll his hips against her again and making the laughter stop as another moan of delight escaped her, but when he stopped again, the smile returned to her eyes.

"I don't know. You look kinda cute that way. Like a little boy who cant get his shirt on or off." She reached up and pulled the offending piece of cloth completely over his head, then off his arms. "I can visualize it now. You running into your house after playing all day, whipping off your little red, black and white striped tee shirt so you can shower and watch Bonanza, and then having to go to your mother so she could get the shirt off of your head."

He rolled his hips again, bringing another low groan. "First of all–don't talk about my mother while I'm having sex–it kills the mood. Second–I'd be running in to watch Hawaii-Five-O, not Bonanza. And, third–how did you know I used to get my "red, black and white striped tee shirts" stuck on my head in the first place?"

"You had to," she told him in all seriousness before letting the corners of her lips tilt upwards in a betraying smile. "You're such a genius that your head must have been huge in comparison to the rest of your body. I bet your mother had to cut the shoulder seams of your shirts and put snaps on them–you know–like those little baby shirts."

Another roll of his hips. "Ya know, for being in such a compromising position–you're not very complimentary."

"I thought you'd like being called a genius."

"I "don't" like being told I had a head like Mr. Potato-Head."

This comment made her chuckle at him again, then sober as she looked very closely at him and started moving her hips to the rhythm of his. "No, not Mr. Potato-Head. You're head is amazingly beautiful."

"Beautiful?" He asked with another raised brow.

"Mmm, beautiful. It goes beyond handsome, my love."

She placed her hands on both sides of his face and started kissing him hungrily, and soon their banter was forgotten as their bodies took over and lead them both on a familiar journey that had them sweaty, breathless and clinging to one another at its end. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her.

"You know, we could always get a dog instead of a horse."

She laughed her wonderfully infectious laugh. "And what? Ride the dog off into the sunset?"

"Not exactly what I had in mind. Just–a dog." He bent again and started nuzzling her neck in a spot he knew was rather ticklish and she squirmed beneath him and started laughing again.

"A dog. I think you just want to continue playing these animal games! So, don't you dare start barking at me!"

"Ah, darling," he coaxed as he raised his head and looked at her again, his smile shining from his eyes. "I was hoping to make "you" bark like a dog. I know I can make you whimper–every time I stroke you right. . ."

He started moving his hand lower on her body but she jerked away and laughed at him. "Gil! No! Don't!"

"Alright," he said with fake despondency, then moved to get off the sofa and took her hand. "Let's get our things together. We should have enough time to pack, grab a shower, then get a few hours sleep before we go back to work tonight."

He pulled her up to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"You take your shower first. I'll pack our things," she offered and he took her up on it.

By the time he came out, wearing only a towel around his waist, he saw that she had left his work clothes on the dresser, as well as her own, but everything else was gone. He made his way through the house and saw her wiping the kitchen sink and putting a few dishes away. She had managed to get everything back in shape for the occupants while he was in the bathroom.

"You didn't leave anything for me to do." He moved behind her and put his arms around her waist.

"Yes, I did." She hung the dish towel over the counter to dry. "You get the opportunity to pack our cars before we leave. In the meantime, go get some sleep while I shower. I'll join you in a few minutes."

It was almost nine o'clock and Grissom knew that including time to take their belongings to their cars, travel time to any place for something to eat before work and any then travel time to the actual lab, would leave him with about seven hours of sleep. He hoped Sara wouldn't be long taking her own shower. She needed sleep too. The last conscious thought that he had before drifting off to sleep was that Sara smelled incredible as she slid into bed behind him and placed her arm around his waist as she snuggled against his back, then he turned onto his other side and enveloped her in his arms as he fell into a deep slumber.

It wasn't uncommon for him to wake up to the sensation of Sara caressing his body, most often rubbing his back or arms, occasionally gently running her fingers over his face, and even rarer, actually stroking him into an erection. Today, he woke to the delicious knowledge that she had her lips and tongue encircling his shaft. He shifted slightly to prop his head on his pillow so he could watch this gorgeous creature who was now lying, fully clothed, between his legs and the sight nearly doubled him over with her erotic sensuality. God, but she was beautiful! He slipped his fingers into her soft hair, letting it slide through them as he watched her but when she looked up at him with complete devotion, he had to close his eyes at the intensity of it all. She knew where to touch him, when to touch him, and the combination had him bucking against her in no time, and not much longer, he was releasing his seed, which she swallowed, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She slowly crawled up beside him until she was on her hands and knees over him. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her.

"Time to get up," she sang to him.

"You already got me up," he said in a still-sleep-laced voice. "And you brought me back down to perfection."

This earned him another smile. "Why, thank you. I value my satisfied customers."

He reached up and grabbed her, pulling her down and turning until he partially lay on top of her while her legs were still draped over his side in a tangle of limbs.

"This customer prefers monopolizing the product, if you don't mind."

"No," she smiled at him again. "I don't mind at all."


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter Forty-Seven

"I don't know what's gotten into him, but something's sure put an extra bounce in his step tonight," Catherine murmured to Nick as they entered the break room.

Sara looked up as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee and smiled her greeting, having a good idea that her erotic awakening of Grissom that day was just what put that "bounce" into his step.

"I don't know about somethin' getting "into" Grissom–but it sure looks like "he" got into "someone" today. He hasn't been in this good of a mood in a long time." Nick chuckled, then turned a shade pinker upon sight of Sara.

Catherine gave a nervous cough and quickly changed the subject. "So, there was a gunshot victim at Sam's tonight? Tell me why I'm not surprised."

"Appears to be a staged suicide," Sara told her, then moved to the side as Nick got himself a cup of the blackness in a travel-cup and started back out the door.

"I'll see you ladies in a while. I'm heading back to the circus!"

"See ya, Nick," Sara called after him, then turned to watch as Catherine poured herself a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Catherine said as she took a sip of the hot liquid then looked at Sara.

"Hear what?" Sara asked dumbly.

Catherine merely nodded her head in understanding. "So–what are the chances that Sam's involved in this staged suicide?"

"About as good as anyone else right now. I wouldn't want to say one way or the other. Are you worried?"

"I'm always worried when something goes down around him," Catherine sighed as she leaned back against the counter just as Sara's pager went off.

Sara looked to see who it was from. "Well, I've got to go. Doc has some info on that suicide. I'll fill you in if anything comes up."

She was about to join Doc Robbins when she nearly walked into Grissom as he came down the hallway with his nose in some documents.

"Oh, excuse me," he said automatically without even looking to see whom he almost ran over, but she side-stepped in front of him again, making him pull his attention from the papers in his hand. "Oh–it's you."

"Yes. It's me," she said with a suggestion of a smile, then leaned closer to his ear and said quietly enough for only him to hear. "I hear you've got a little extra bounce in your step tonight."

"What?" He crinkled his eyes at her in confusion.

"It seems your coworkers feel you must have had some extraordinary sex before you came to work tonight because you're in an amazingly good mood."

"I'm not in any better mood than I normally am. . .I mean–I'm not usually in a mood any worse than today–am I?"

"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not the one working with you. But. . .if you're saying you didn't have extraordinarily great sex today. . ."

"I didn't say that." He gave her a mischievous smile. "I'm just saying that I'm not always in a "bad" mood. I didn't know I presented myself that way."

She reached out and brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his chest then whispered, "I guess a good blow job can make even the most somber of men a little joyful."

"Then consider me ecstatic–and if I happen to show it a little on the outside, think about how I feel on the inside." He tilted his head as he looked at her with a sparkle in his eye. "Are you going to be in the lab for a while? Or do you need to leave?"

"Actually, I was about to go see Doc. He's going to fill me in on his findings. I don't foresee me leaving for anything soon."

"'kay, bye." He continued on his way again, pouring over the paperwork in his hands as if he had never been interrupted in the first place.

She watched him walk away and smiled in spite of herself. He certainly could separate himself from their involvement at the flip of a switch. But then, she always enjoyed flipping that switch back to the "on" position whenever she had the chance. Ah, yes–men. Especially men she happened to be in love with. And if he rarely admitted feeling the same for her. . .well, she'd be patient.

As she made her way to her meeting with Doc Robbins, she felt herself flush as she recalled just what Grissom could do to her and how he could make her feel when he did it. Often she would catch herself looking at him while at work, and taking in the sheer size of him; the width of his body; recalling how he felt as he would lie cradled between her thighs; how he felt with his head resting on her chest after having released himself within her; how his fingers felt as they would move across her skin. Okay! Enough of that! She moved through the doors that brought her face-to-face with the gunshot victim's body.

Another few hours she and Warrick clearly determined the event to be a suicide, which she offered to convey to Grissom. She brought the evidence on paper to him in his office.

"Hey!" She greeted him as he stood at the front of his desk.

"Hey."

"Thank you for lunch. The veggie burger was very thoughtful of you. I had to share the fries with Warrick though." She gave him a brilliant smile. "I thought it might alter his line of focus on just why you bought me lunch."

"Did it work?"

"Immediately. The quickest way to sidetrack a man is to offer him food."

"Really?"

"Well, that and sex."

"I see." He took the papers from her hands and looked down at them. "Is that your tactic with me?"

"Why would I ever want to sidetrack you? You always have in mind exactly just what needs to be done at the appropriate moment."

"Including buying you lunch?"

"Of course. That was sweet and you know it. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Dr. Grissom."

He raised a brow as he looked at her, then looked back at the papers again. "So, your verdict on the gunshot victim was. . ."

Sara filled him in on everything she and Warrick discovered then was called away to return the victim's personal belongings to his business partner. It was during this time that she realized that the two men had shared more than a business together and when she saw the grief in the other man's eyes, she wondered if she would ever get to that level of a relationship with Grissom.

With the new morning came a new case, and this time Grissom called her in to assist. The scene was like none she had ever come across before with its exact replica sitting on the kitchen counter; tiny half-inch model of the actual murder in every detail imaginable. Both she and Grissom were amazed and though Grissom seemed to recognize the victim, she wasn't quite aware of the man's history. Sara was actually getting quite involved in the crime scene when she was paged by Catherine. A quick call to the number informed Sara that she was to meet her at a motel, by herself, and not to give out any details. She was devastated at learning that her friend may had been raped but set about trying to help her find who could have done this to her. She eventually got back to the case if the murdered rock star, "Izzy Delancey" and his miniature replica of his death, which, being high profile, took a front seat and involved almost all the CSIs. After pulling a double, she went home with Grissom, but barely made it through the door before his pager went off. She watched as he called for information before turning and looking at her.

"Catherine's been in an accident and whoever ran into her apparently took Lindsey. I have to go back in." Grissom started for the door again and Sara watched a bit nervously. She didn't now how he was going to react to being left in the dark regarding Catherine's possible rape. She picked up her keys and started to follow him but he stopped her. "There's no need for you to come in now. You stay here and get some sleep. You'll be more useful if you've got a fresh mind tonight."

"But what about Catherine? Is she okay? She must be a complete wreck regarding Lindsey. Was she hurt in the accident?"

"Only some minor bumps and bruises. Physically, she's fine. And as far as Lindsey's concerned, we've got more than enough manpower to cover it. Brass is already involved. Just get some rest and I'll see you tonight." He opened the door and started through it.

"But, Gil! I need to. . ."

"Tonight," he said then closed the door behind himself.

Sara didn't get much sleep over the next six hours, so she came back a bit early to find that, thankfully, they had retrieved Lindsey and she was back with her grandmother. Catherine was determined to find out who was behind this, and she was sure it all lead back to her father, Sam. Meanwhile, Sara continued with the Izzy Delancey investigation, coming up with bits and pieces of information that she shared with Grissom. She noticed that although he "seemed" almost normal, she could sense a slight withdrawal. Throughout the day, she and Sophia worked at suspects, one-by-one eliminating them until late in the day when there was nothing left to do but admit temporary defeat.

She approached Grissom's office and knocked to get his attention, noting how he was going over the scale model of the death scene in detail.

"I hear we're out of suspects," she told him.

"Not necessarily. It could be anybody in town–or anybody out of town, for that matter. That's a lot of suspects."

She sensed his frustration as he looked at her. "What do you want us to do?"

He looked away from her, back to the model. "I don't know. I'll deal with it."

She looked at him a moment longer. "You're angry."

"I'm not angry." He continued to study the model.

"You're angry because I didn't tell you about Catherine."

"I said–I'm not angry." He still refused to look at her.

"Then why are you blocking me out?"

"I'm working. I've got no direction to go on this and I'm completely frustrated. If I'm blocking out anything, its not as important as trying to decipher who's diabolical enough to put this much effort into an act of violence."

"It's not as important as. . ." Sara straightened at his statement. "I see. Well, when you decide that I "am" important enough to take a few moments to discuss what happened–let me know, and maybe I'll be around to listen." She started to turn away but his voice stopped her.

"You had no right to keep such vital information from me!"

"I had every right, as one woman helping another, not to tell you what happened. Catherine trusted me and she needed me. I wasn't going to betray that trust or let her down when she needed my help the most."

"As your and Catherine's supervisor, I needed to know what was happening!"

"As my supervisor? Tell me something, Gil–would you have expected me to go to Ecklie and tell "him" what happened?" She asked but he didn't answer. "No. I didn't think so. It was an extremely private matter. So, don't try using the "supervisor card" on me."

"Alright–then as your. . ." Grissom began but clearly didn't know how to go on.

"As my. . .what?"

"I don't know! But I thought we had an understanding."

"Gil, could you imagine any woman going home and sharing such a thing with . . ." She didn't know what term to use to describe them since it was clear that he didn't even know. "I don't know what you expect from me. But if you're really hell-bent on remaining angry over this, you go right ahead. I'm going home to get some rest."

Sara turned and left his office. She knew he'd be upset, but to this extent, she hadn't planned on. So, she decided that instead of putting up with his nonsense, she'd be better off just going home. Her drive to her apartment seemed to take forever and when she finally opened the door, it seemed alien to her. After spending so much time at Grissom's place with him, her apartment was stuffy from disuse. She went through her home and turned on the air conditioning and after about a half an hour, the rooms seemed much cooler and more liveable. She went to her refrigerator, but as she thought, found it empty. There had been no use putting food in it when it would go bad before she could use it. Her time had been spent primarily at Grissom's and leaving unused food in her refrigerator made her cringe at the thought of the waste it would have become. A quick look in her pantry and she came up with some Ramen noodles and within minutes had herself a somewhat filling, if not very nutritious meal.

She nearly went back to her bedroom, but for some reason grabbed her remote and turned on the television where she was quickly alerted to the assassination of Catherine's father, Sam Braun. Sara took a deep breath. God, how much more could Catherine take? She got to her feet and picked up her keys then drove to Catherine's house. There were other cars in the drive, and she could see that Brass was already with her and her mother.

"No–I'm okay–I'm okay," Catherine told Brass then turned to look at Sara as she entered the room with them. "So, news travels fast."

"It was on the television," Sara told her.

"Yes," Catherine seemed to realize that, of course, the death of Sam Braun would be a big issue in the town. "I guess it would be."

"Is there anything you want me to do?" Sara offered.

Catherine nodded her head. "Yeah. Call Grissom and tell him I won't be in to work tonight. And–and, I don't know what else. I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do right now, or what I'm supposed to feel."

Sara reached out and touched her arm, bringing Catherine's attention back to her. "Let me get some food for the three of you. Even if you don't feel like eating, you'll get hungry some time, and at least the food will be here."

"Yes–yes, Lindsey's probably hungry. She should eat."

"Where is she?"

"In her room. I guess it was a little too much to handle–seeing her grandmother in tears like this."

"How about if I take Lindsey along with me and we'll bring back enough food to last the day–and it'll give her a break away from all this."

Catherine tried to smile at Sara. "Thanks, Sara. That's an excellent idea."

So within minutes Sara had Lindsey in her car, taking her to whatever restaurant or fast food dive she wanted. As she waited at the local KFC, while Lindsey ordered, she called Grissom.

"Grissom," he answered.

"It's me."

"I know that. I saw your name."

"Catherine asked me to let you know that she won't be in tonight." Sara felt the tension in his side of the conversation. "I take it, you know about Sam."

"I've heard."

"Alright, then," another paused, not knowing what else to say. "I guess I won't keep you from your work."

"No," he sighed deeply and she could picture him running a tired hand over his face. "I'll be home within half an hour. Wait up for me."

"I'm not there, Gil."

"You're at your place?" She could hear the stiffness in his voice.

"I was–until I saw what happened to Sam. Then I drove over to Catherine's house to see if there was anything I could do."

"And was there?"

"I have Lindsey with me. We're getting some food to take back for them."

"Where are you?"

"KFC at the moment." She watched as Lindsey handed the cashier the money. "I think Lindsey said something about Pizza Hut and Wendy's on the way home. I don't know if Catherine and her mother are going to like her selection, but I suppose at this point, they won't be aware of "what" they're eating."

"Do you plan on going "back" to your place when you're through?"

Sara stiffened, not knowing what to say; not knowing if he was suggesting she do just that. "I–don't know."

"Then don't let me keep you. I'm sure Lindsey and Catherine need their food." Grissom hung up.

Sara looked at the telephone, not understanding why he would still be angry, especially now when Catherine's family was in need of their friends. Sara gave a weak smile to Lindsey as the girl tried to carry two large bags of food back toward her.

"I don't think we'll need to stop at Pizza Hut or Wendy's, after all," Lindsey told her.

"No, I don't suppose we will." Sara looked at the change the girl gave her, noting that the bill must have gone well over fifty dollars. "I think this will last you through today–and maybe tomorrow."

"I get hungry when I'm nervous," Lindsey told her apprehensively, as Sara took one of the bags and carried it to her car. "I guess I overdid it on the ordering thing."

"That's alright," Sara told her. "You need your strength right now–and I'm sure your grandmother and mother won't mind eating a warm meal once they're up to it. You did a good job."


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter Forty-Eight

When Sara arrived at work that night she went to Grissom's office where she found him sleeping on his sofa with his shades drawn. She looked up and down the halls and didn't see anyone moving about, then she closed the door behind her and went to his side where she sat at his hips. She knew that the motion of the sofa under her weight woke him as he blinked twice, then looked up at her.

"You don't seem surprised to find me sitting with you," she said quietly.

"Should I be?" He ran his hand over his eyes then looked at her again. "I would've been surprised if it were anyone "else."

"You didn't go home."

"Neither did you. I called several times. There was no answer."

"I didn't think you wanted me there. So, I went to my place instead."

"I told you I was coming home to be with you when we were on the phone today."

"Yes–you did. But, then you hung up on me after that. I figured you'd rather be alone than have me there."

He looked at her a long moment. "You figured wrong. And I didn't "hang up" on you. I merely finished my conversation and hung up."

"O-kay. But, if you really wanted to be with me–then why did you stay here all day?" Her hand went to his, stroking it and intertwining their fingers.

"Because you weren't there," he said simply.

"Then . . .why?"

"Why–what?"

"Why were you so angry this morning? I don't understand. You know Catherine's been through hell these past few days. I would've thought you'd have been at her side, too."

"Catherine's got enough people at her side right now. I know who's there. I doubt one more person would make a difference." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers. "And I wasn't as angry as you seemed to think I was. I'm sorry if I overreacted this morning. I guess things are getting to me–and I took it out on you."

"If things are getting to you, let me help you. I love you, Gilbert."

He put her hand over his heart and continued to watch her. "I know."

"What's wrong?" She asked upon seeing how he seemed to be studying her a bit closer than usual.

"You're a beautiful woman, Sara," he told her, making her roll her eyes and look back at him a bit self-consciously. He glanced at his watch. "It's only nine o'clock. You're early."

"Only two hours."

"Is anyone else here yet? Or are they all with Catherine?"

"I don't know if they're with "her"–but I haven't seen anyone since I've come in. Why? What do you have in mind?" She teased, feeling a lot better than she had all day.

"Turn off the light, then lie down with me. Maybe we can stay in here and no one will notice."

"Alright." She moved to his desk and switched off the lamp, then made her way back to the sofa where he had moved onto his side and made room for her. "Any particular way you want me?"

"Not really. You choose."

That was easy, she thought, as she sat next to him, then maneuvered herself until she was facing him with her head on his arm. She put her right hand up, against his chest, and put her left arm around him, as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close.

"Like this?" She asked.

"Spread your legs a little."

She did as he told her and allowed him to slide his left leg between hers, then he gently kissed her forehead before nestling in for more sleep. Relief at knowing they were putting the day behind them flowed through Sara and before she realized it, she fell asleep to the rhythm of his breathing.

It was an easy night as far as work goes, and by morning they were both eager to get out of the lab. It was decided that they would drive separately to Catherine's to see how she was, then afterwards, heading home and working on their reconciliation.

Several weeks passed and out of the dozens of cases she had worked on, Sara's favorites were the ones that she and Grissom worked together. They were like a well oiled machine; their minds clicking and purring until together the came up with the answers they were seeking. It would usually start on the scene where their powers of silent communication would go into effect immediately, then their verbal insights would invigorate one another; an identical awe of one another as they stimulated each other's ideas. Sometimes they would become so involved in their cases that they "forgot" that they were actually working and their physical interactions would slip through.

"So!" Jim Brass approached them with a smile as Sara and Grissom were photographing two bodies that were pulled from Lake Meade. "You two came out of the closet, I take it?"

"What are you talking about?" Grissom turned to look at him.

"You're not keeping it quiet anymore. You're letting everyone know you're a couple?"

"No," both Sara and Grissom said in unison.

"Huh–could've fooled me. I mean, the way you were rubbing his ass back there, it was rather obvious."

"I–wasn't rubbing–his ass," Sara said with bewilderment.

"Yes, you were," Grissom admitted quietly as he looked at Brass with a raised brow. "It's just that someone has so much extra time on his hands that he's spending it watching every move we make, rather than investigating this case."

"Oh, no ya don't. You're not going to turn this on me. I dohave an invested interest in both of you, and if I happened to be looking your way while she copped a feel. . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Granted, I was probably the only one to see it since you were standing behind the Denali. But I must say, when you grabbed a handful of–shall we attempt to be a bit refined here–a handful of "breast," everyone had to have seen it. You both were standing right here next to the bodies."

"I did not grab a handful of "breast," Grissom said indignantly. "I was getting a pair of gloves from her pocket–I dropped mine."

"Yeah," Brass chuckled. "You just keep telling yourself that, buddy. But if I were to ask any one of those people over there, they'd say you were completely full of shit. And look at Sara. Her face is so red right now that it's a dead giveaway."

"So my hand might've lingered a bit longer than need be. That's all." Grissom started to turn back toward the corpses, then turned back toward Sara. "Anyway, if I want to touch her–I'll touch her–no matter who's watching."

"I bet you wouldn't be touching her like that if Catherine or Stokes was here." Brass started walking toward the bodies again with Sara and Grissom joining him.

"That's because Catherine would have it spread through the office so quickly we wouldn't even have time to return to work before everyone there would know. And Nick? I think we could stand right in front of him, making out, and he'd just think we were finally being friendly."

"Gil!" Sara said with a bit of shock. "Nick isn't as bad as that. Nick is very intelligent and very loving."

This statement raised Brass's eyebrows and turned Grissom's attention to her, but she was already kneeling closer to the bodies.

"Got yourself a little competition?" Brass asked Grissom, but only received a smug look in return.

Sara heard him, but didn't respond. She loved Nick–he was everything in a brother she could have wanted, and if they want to misconstrue their relationship, then let them. She could just as easily say that she loved Warrick and Greg for the same reasons. They were all dear to her.

Sara noticed that over the next few cases, Grissom's casual "touching" in public was slowing down, so she, in response, pulled away from him as well. But behind closed doors he didn't hesitate to show his (for lack of a better word) physical need of her. And she could always count on him to show his appreciation when she would figure out a case they were working on; when he was lost and needed the extra boost that she could give him. The case of the chainsaw catastrophe was such a case as they worked together until he got stumped, then with an simple idea from her, they went on to solve the deaths of the two men. It was during times like these that for some inexplicable reason, their days following such epiphanies would be filled quite memorably.

It started the moment he returned to his apartment and found her making a pot of coffee for them in the kitchen. Sara had just finished pouring the water into the machine and switched it on when he grabbed her from behind and turned her until was facing him.

"You were amazing today." He moved in closer to her and she knew what was coming as his groin pressed against hers, already showing signs of an arousal that he must have been harboring since getting out of his car. "Once again, you jumped in and saved the day when I was at a complete loss."

"Oh, I don't know," she told him as she allowed him to pull her arms up around his neck and she looked into his eyes, practically feeling giddy at his display of affection. "You would have figured it out eventually."

"Even if I would have–and I'm not saying that I would have–you saved lots of time that we can now use for much more interesting things."

He moved his hands from her arms down to unbutton the three buttons of her blouse she had changed into, revealing the creaminess of her breasts that were partially hidden behind a lavender lace bra.

"So, I take it, the "more interesting things" doesn't include simply having coffee with me," she asked as the liquid began dripping into the pot.

"Nah, not even close."

He dropped his head to touch his lips to hers, then leisurely let his tongue slide over them before he moved his kiss to her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access, then guided his head to a breast ached for his touch. With a little hop, she positioned herself on the edge of the counter so he wouldn't have to bend to reach her cleavage and he responded by pushing the lace aside and taking one of her coral-tipped offerings between his lips and teeth. She moaned when he lightly bit down, then rolled his tongue around it before sucking earnestly, feeding on her as he moved between her spread legs. She thought she was going to climax on the spot when he pressed himself against her core, gyrating slightly in a movement that was pleasing them both.

The sound of someone at the door jerked her back to reality, but he seemed intent upon finished what he had started.

"Gil," she whispered as she tried to pull back from him, but only succeeded in moving his attention from her now wet nipple back up to her neck and shoulder. "Gil! Someone's at the door!"

"So?" He mumbled as his hand moved under the back of her blouse and he pulled her more closely against him then with the snap of his fingers efficiently unhooked her bra. "They'll go away."

"O-kay," she said doubtfully as her eyes returned in the direction of the front door, having lost her momentum, even as he pushed her blouse and bra straps from her arms.

His fingers made little work of her jeans as he opened them, then pulled her back off of the counter as he pushed them down over her hips. Another knock, louder this time, echoed through the apartment to them, but Grissom merely grunted in response.

"They're not going away," Sara whispered as he continued nipping at her neck.

He sighed deeply then stood erect as he looked down at her. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"Of course not! Whom would I be expecting here? Who even knows I'm seeing you, let alone staying here."

"Alright. Fine." He handed her the blouse and bra that had fallen to the floor, then started toward the other side of the apartment. "Go back to the bedroom until I see who it is."

Sara moved to stand close to the bathroom, on the other side of his bed, ready to move into the shower, if need be.

"Nick!" She heard Grissom say with surprise. "What's up?"

"I was driving by and saw Sara's car parked here. I wanted to talk to her anyway, so, I thought I'd invite you both out for some lunch."

"She's–um–in the bathroom. She was in the area too and had to use the facilities. She should be out soon," Grissom said in a voice a little louder than before, clearly intending to let Sara in on the conversation.

On cue, she re-entered the living area and gave a timid smile to Nick. "Hi, Nick. Looks like this is a popular area today."

"Yeah," Nick told her. "I was heading over to get some new boots for work."

"Me, too," she lied, knowing that the store they purchased such items was about five blocks past Grissom's apartment.

"I was just asking Gris if he wanted to go out for lunch. We'll all go out together, then you and me can go get our boots when we're finished eating."

Grissom closed his eyes and turned away from the younger man and Sara had the idea that he would love to be able to throttle him at this moment. Instead, he turned his gaze to Sara as if she had an answer to this dilemma.

"I–uh–I don't know. I–guess–I could join you for lunch."

"Great!" Nick said enthusiastically. "Grissom? You in?"

"I don't think so, Nick. I had a rough night. I think I'm just going to head to bed and sleep through until we go in to work tonight."

"Ah, that's too bad," Nick said with authentic disappointment, then turned his attention back to Sara. "I wanted to tell you–there's a "ladies night" at the Blue Dixie tomorrow night. And we haven't been out for a while. You want to go with me? I guarantee to show you a good time!"

"I–um," Sara stammered as she looked back at Grissom who rolled his eyes. "I'll think about that, Nick."

Nick put his hand on Sara's back and escorted her out the door as Grissom closed it behind them. "Come on, Sara. You aren't going to tell me that you're still with that jerk who cheated on you last year, are you?"

"No–no, of course not," she admitted as she walked along with him.

"Well, then its settled! You've got nothing better to do than sit alone in your apartment–and I need a dance partner and you're one of the best!" Nick told her. "You can't deny me a night out with my favorite kid sister."


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter Forty-Nine

"Wo! Pick on somebody your own size." Grissom's voice came from immediately behind Sara as she kicked the dummy on the floor.

She turned and looked at him, letting her desire show clearly through her eyes. "Are you volunteering?"

She almost laughed at first the shock, then the indecision that crossed his face before simply stating, "No."

"Two scenes are related. I found two common treads on both vics. An athletic shoe and a boot. I ran them through the sole-mate data base. The athletic shoe is a Converse Chuck Taylor and the boot is a Doc Martin."

"Could this be a woman's shoe?" Grissom points to a shoe print.

"Yeah. I ran that through the sole-mate data base too. That is a Steve Madden Dynasty stiletto open-toed shoe."

". . .cause Catherine found a female toenail in the vic's mouth."

"Most of the treads are on the sides and the back of the vic's clothing. . ." Sara started.

". . .which suggests that they were on the ground for most of the beating," Grissom continued.

". . .kicked to death," Sara finished.

She looked at him, watching as his mind processed the information, then saw the slightest of emotions change before he looked back at her.

"So–how was lunch?"

"Oh," she smiled uncomfortably as she dropped her gaze. "You're asking about that."

"Was it that bad that you don't want to talk about it?" He asked smugly.

"No, actually it was a nice lunch. But I did have to purchase an extra pair of work boots that I hadn't planned on."

"And your reason for not coming back to my place and finishing what Nick so rudely interrupted was. . ."

"You said you were going to sleep for the rest of the day." She reached out and traced her finger down over his shirt-covered stomach, stopping at the top of the zipper to his pants. "Anyway, we weren't finished boot-shopping until nearly two-thirty. If I would've stopped in at that point, even without picking up where we let off, you'd only would've gotten a few hours sleep."

He responded by double-checking that they were indeed hidden by the two dummies standing before them, then reached for her and slid his fingers up her bare arm, now coated in sweat from her earlier activities. His eyes followed his touch until it stopped at her shoulder, then when he lowered his fingers to her breasts that were pressed against her tank top, he looked at her.

"Need I remind you that if I'm lying there–waiting for you to return so I can establish some form of "relief" from a condition that you put me in–I'm not able to readily fall asleep anyway."

"Ahh, honey," she pouted as she dipped her finger into the top of his pants and tugged him closer. "Are you saying you had to take care of yourself today? Tell me, were you thinking of me while you were doing it?"

"No! I am not saying that!" He looked around them quickly, then grabbed onto her hand and pulled her into the small lavatory at the other side of the room and closed the door behind them. "I'm saying. . ."

Her laughter stopped him and he looked at her with his raised-brow-expression that she loved. "I know what you're saying," she chuckled. "I'm sorry if I kept you awake all day. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"You know that I'm not in favor of doing "things" on company time. You "do" know that, don't you?"

"Yes, my love. I'm well aware of your prudishness."

"I am "not" a prude," he said smugly. "I simply don't tolerate anyone doing things on company time that they shouldn't be doing."

"But, sweetheart," she leaned in very closely to him and ran her hand down over his zippered area then gave him a gentle squeeze. "Who's to say that satisfying your needs so you can work with a clear mind, is something we "shouldn't be doing?"

"You're a tempting witch, you know that?"

"I try to be," she leaned in even closer so that her lips were almost touching his.

"That really got you tuned up, didn't it?" He chuckled as he nodded toward the door leading to the room where her kicking-dummy lay.

"Lets just say the combination of exerting energy and finding you directly behind me was a bit overwhelming at first. Now, I think we should both take our lunch breaks. I might go out to Frank's. Care to join me?"

"And then what? Make out in the parking lot? I don't think our cars would keep prying eyes away from us, no matter how dark it is. It isn't quite like the drive-in where everyone's supposedly looking at the movie screen and not at the car parked next to them."

"We could always use the back of a Denali. You know, with a touch of the button, all the seats fold down." She slipped her fingers up to the top of his pants and unzipped him then slid her hand inside, watching as he jerked in response as her fingers found him and slowly started to stroke him.

"Unless you intend to finish what you're starting–you better remove your hand." He pulled back slightly until she released him. "And as far as the Denali. . .can you explain how we'd fit with all our equipment in the back with us?"

"Oh, Gilbert!" She practically stomped her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. "You take all the fun out of everything!"

"Patience, my dear. Once we get this case finished, we can go home and continue where we left off. . ." He started, then hesitated as he saw the way she looked back at him. "You're kidding? You actually told Nick that you'd go dancing with him?"

"Well! He nearly insisted! And he looked so lonely, I just couldn't refuse."

"Fine," he said with obvious irritation as he reached for the door that lead back to the room they occupied earlier. "Then go dancing."

"Honey," she coaxed as she grabbed his hand and pulled it from the knob, then leaned in to him and put the hand she held around her.

He stubbornly hesitated, then reluctantly looked at her. She wound her arms around his neck and smiled coyly.

"You–are–a tease," he said without removing his eyes from lips, and she knew he wouldn't remain angry very long.

"I'm not teasing," she said in a throaty growl, then placed her lips on his. God, his taste always stimulated her; right now being the remaining flavor of his coffee and the taste that was completely him. "I love you."

He turned with her until he had her pressed against the wall and he met her lips more forcefully and before long their kiss deepened and their breathing became heavier as their pulses raced. He pressed his groin against her as if trying to assuage the throbbing that she could swear she felt through their clothes. She couldn't seem to stop her hands from moving to the front of him where she slid them up, inside his shirt until she was massaging his chest. Then, suddenly, he pulled his head back and leaned his forehead against hers, still breathing heavily.

"I'm not going to do this," he breathed with his eyes pressed closed.

"Aren't you?" She breathed right back, her determination and need taking precedence completely over her logical mind.

"No." He held onto her upper arms although he still didn't move from her. "I am "not" going to do this. I "can't" do this."

"Oh, yes, you can!" She growled as she shrugged free of his grasp and dropped to her knees, immediately grabbing onto his belt and opening it.

He tried to stop her, but her hands were too fast for him. All she could concentrate on at that moment was that he had excited her beyond belief and she had never wanted to appease her hunger of him as much as she did right now. She pulled his pants down before he could catch her hands, then pulled his boxer/briefs down as well, releasing a huge, bobbing erection. She had him in her mouth in an instant and she could hear his breath hissing between grit teeth.

"Dammit, Sara! I said. . ." He started, but when she started moving her head back and forth, using her lips and tongue to relay a message as old as time, his breath caught in his throat and he cupped the back of her head with one hand, while leaning his other against the wall for support. "Ahh, Jesus, Sara."

She waited until she knew he was extremely close to release; too close to actually have the presence of mind to stop her, then she instantly got to her feet, pushing her own pants down to her ankles. She yelped with frustration as she bent to grab the bottoms of her pant-legs and tugged on them but couldn't pull them off, then started to lose her balance as a result of her useless tugging.

"Goddammit! I can't get 'em off," she squeaked, but before she could completely stand erect he had her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall again.

"Forget them," he ordered as he grabbed her bare bottom and lifted her until she spread her knees and kept her feet pressed against the wall, allowing him to step in closely and with her assistance, press himself inside.

The sensation of him sliding inside of her as she was held mid-air against the wall sent chills through her. As she stretched around him, she could feel herself begin trembling and already near an explosive ending; an ending that didn't quite come as they heard someone enter the room on the other side of the door. Although Sara tensed as she held onto Grissom, he kept up his slow, powerful thrusts.

"Sara! You in here?" Nick called as he knocked on the door.

"Y-yes, Nick," she answered, her voice slightly ragged although she tried to keep it to a normal tone. "I'm using the facilities."

"I was hoping you finished matching those sole prints."

"No–no–I'm not quite done yet."

Grissom's voice was low enough that only she could hear as it rattled through him and vibrated against her skin. "End your conversation–now!"

"Um–Nick, I might be awhile. I'm not feeling real well, so you can go back to what you were doing and I'll let you know what I find–okay?"

"Yeah–sure. Hey, did you happen to see Grissom? I need to talk to him too."

"No–no, I haven't seen him all night."

"Well, that's not true–you saw him when we came in to work. I saw you getting your assignment," Nick argued.

"For Christ's sake!" Grissom breathed against Sara's neck, then started pumping into her a bit faster. "Get rid of him!"

"Well, I haven't seen him lately. I'll talk to you later, Nick."

"Okay. I'll see ya later."

Sara grabbed her mouth and covered it as she felt herself begin to climax around Grissom's massive size, but she no sooner started her spiral into bliss than a loud growl escaped between Grissom's lips and he exploded inside of her.

"What? Did you say something?" Nick called to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm–I'm fine, Nick. I'll talk to you later."

She listened as he finally walked out of the room, then turned her eyes onto Grissom, watching as he stared at her. Shock was evident in every pore of his skin until he seemed to snap out of it and pulled himself from her, then lowered her until her feet were touching the floor. He quickly righted himself as he continued to stare at her.

"Why did you do that?!" He asked sternly. "You "knew" I didn't want to do it in the lab!"

She pulled her pants up and looked at him with a cocked head. "Oh, it was okay when I was giving you head and you were the only one receiving the pleasure?"

"No! Of course not!" He looked imploringly at her. "Sara!"

"Alright–alright," she pacified him as she looked into the mirror and put her hair back into the ponytail he had managed to pull it from. "No more sex at the office. I got it."

"Sara," he said much more gently as he put his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her close then gently kissed her lips again. "It's not that I "don't" want you. God–you know better than that. But, if it were anyone else that I would have caught doing anything like this in the lab, they'd be severely reprimanded."

"I know. And you've reprimanded me–so let's just get back to work."

"And it won't happen again–right?"

"And it won't happen again," she mimicked.

"Sara," he warned, bringing a smile to her.

"Well? I'm sorry, Gil–but you can't tell me that you didn't need that! If not only to release your frustrations from earlier–then certainly to loosen you up a bit. Think about it, Gil!" She looked closely at him with a smile still playing at her lips. "You had sex at the lab! And it was pretty good sex, if I have to admit to it, myself. And you survived!"

"God, you're incorrigible," he sighed as he reached for the knob again, then opened the door to step outside, stopping immediately upon sight of Warrick who was looking at the dummies standing across the room. "Christ–now Warrick's out there," he whispered.

"I love you, Gil," she teased in a whisper then moved around him and went to the room with the other man, closing the door and effectively trapping Grissom in the bathroom. "Hey, Warrick. What can I do for ya?"

"Actually, I was looking for Nick. He said he was going to talk to you, then he wanted to talk to Grissom."

"Nick was here earlier, but I was in the bathroom–and I think he went in search of Grissom. Maybe you'll find them both down at his office."

"Yeah, I'll try there."

He turned and walked out of the room, and she did the same, moving toward the break room for a cup of coffee.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

"What do you "mean," Greg's been attacked?" Grissom's voice vibrated across the telephone with anger. Goddammit, he just got done telling the kid he was a "big boy" and didn't need any help on his run–and what the hell does he do but go chasing down trouble. Just wait until he gets his ass back into the lab, if he manages to get out of Grissom's office in one piece, he's going to be one lucky little shit! "Put him on the damned phone! No–just tell him to get himself back here immediately–BEFORE immediately!"

"Grissom!" Sophia attempted to break through his rant. "Gris, you've got to stop and listen. Number one, he "can't get himself back there" anytime soon. And at this point, he can't even lift his head to put him on the phone. Even if I'd hold the phone down to him, you'd never be able to hear him–he can barely speak."

Grissom sat back in his seat. "How bad?"

"It's bad," she said simply. "He's been beaten severely–comparable to the last two victims. It was the same gang. We've got another victim here and what appears to be one of the assailants."

Grissom's focus seemed to fade as he seemed to be staring out to the hallway, but didn't see anything but the young CSI's teasing face. It wasn't quite sinking in that anything major could happen to Greg, and Grissom truthfully couldn't understand why. Grissom knew the risks every time he sent one of his crew out into this insane city–but with Greg, it always seemed different. Greg was the little terrier always yapping at his heels, not a threat to anyone–definitely not one to put himself in the forefront of danger. So, logically, there would be no reason for Grissom to imagine that whatever trouble Greg had gotten himself into could be serious.

"Is he. . ." Grissom couldn't even finish his question.

"He's still alive. He can speak, but barely."

"I–I'll send Nick and Warrick over immediately. Give me your location." Grissom jotted down the information then hung up the telephone. "You're a big boy, Greg. You don't need a wingman for this." The comment played through Grissom's head, taunting him, torturing him. Jesus, the kid didn't deserve this. He was such a good kid, so much like a small puppy that vied for attention and gloried in it. If it hadn't have been for his insuppressible crush on Sara, he probably would have been more receptive to the boy's eagerness to establish himself. Christ–Sara. How was he going to tell Sara. Although he knew Sara felt no more toward the boy than a strong kinship–the fact was that it was as strong as anyone who had a younger brother, and he knew she would be devastated. He speed-dialed his other two members of his crew and instructed them on their new assignment, then he leaned back in his seat again–and waited. He ran a tired hand over his face and suddenly he felt very old. "You're a big boy, Greg. You don't need a wingman for this." Again, he heard himself saying to the boy. He sighed deeply, then with closed eyes, leaned his head back against his chair. Jesus Christ, what had he done? He knew sending one person out alone was an open invitation to the gang swarming the streets last night.

"Hey," Sara's voice opened his eyes as he looked at her smiling at him, her hair now down and brushed through from the disheveled appearance from earlier that morning. "You're not still upset because we. . ."

"Sara," he said with no energy as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk.

"Oh, great," she sighed as she moved to plop down in the chair across from him. "If you're going to lecture me on the rule about "not screwing my boss while at work," you can save it. If it upset you this much, it isn't worth the trouble."

"Sara," he tried again, twinging slightly at her comment regarding "her boss" but letting it pass for now. "Darling. . ."

The use of the endearment brought her attention to him and her expression turned to that of worry, evidently realizing it was something far more serious than sharing a romp in the lavatory at work.

"Gil? What's wrong?"

He got to his feet and moved around to the front of his desk, kneeling down as he took her hands in his.

"It's Greg. He tried to intercept another attack after he left earlier this morning–but he didn't fair well. I'm afraid they got him, as well. He's in bad shape."

"What do you mean? Bad shape?" She looked at him blankly.

"According to Sophia, he's barely able to speak. He can't get up from where they left him. He's still holding on, but. . ."

"Where is he?" She jumped to her feet and Grissom rose to stand in front of her. "Is he in the hospital?"

"He's still at the scene. They only found him within the past few minutes."

"But if he's in such bad shape. . .we have to get him to the hospital!"

"Sara–if we want to find out who did this to him–did this to all three other victims–we need to process him as well as the scene."

"Where is he?"

Grissom looked at her, hesitating as he debated with himself whether or not he wanted her to face this. "I sent Nick and Warrick to process the scene."

"But what about Greg?" The first tear spilled over her cheek. "Who's going to be there–just for Greg? My God, he must be terrified! He must feel so completely alone!"

Grissom took a deep breath then nodded his head once in understanding. He wrote down the location and gave it to her, then watched as she wiped her tear with the back of her hand as she turned and raced down the hall.

OoOoOoOoOo

Her shift was close to ending and she decided to stop in and check on Grissom. She had a feeling that he'd continue working until they had those lunatics in custody. The sight of him leaning back in his chair, looking extremely tired, made her suspect that he still wasn't quite over the shock of having had sex in his place of work. Oh, well, she might as well go in and face it head on.

"Hey." She watched as he opened his eyes and looked at her. "You're not still upset because we. . ."

"Sara," he said as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, clearly showing her that he was "very" upset.

"Oh, great." She dropped into the chair across from his desk. "If you're going to lecture me on the rule about "not screwing my boss while at work," you can save it. If it upset you this much, it isn't worth the trouble."

"Sara," he interrupted. "Darling. . ."

Darling? She wondered at this. She looked more closely at him, finally noticing that it wasn't anger that she was seeing, but a sad weariness that seemed to be overwhelming him.

"Gil? What's wrong?"

He moved around to the front of his desk, kneeling down as he took her hands in his.

"It's Greg. He tried to intercept another attack after he left earlier this morning–but he didn't fair well. I'm afraid they got him, as well. He's in bad shape."

She stared at him. Greg? Didn't fair well? They got him and he's in bad shape? All of these phrases were racing through her brain. She couldn't comprehend what he was saying to her. "What do you mean? Bad shape?"

"According to Sophia, he's barely able to speak. He can't get up from where they left him. He's still holding on, but. . ."

She didn't want to hear anymore. She "couldn't" listen to anymore. Good God–this was "her" Greg he was talking about! Innocent, naive Greg, who wouldn't hurt a flea! "Where is he?" She jumped to her feet and Grissom rose to stand in front of her. "Is he in the hospital?"

"He's still at the scene. They only found him within the past few minutes."

"But if he's in such bad shape. . .we have to get him to the hospital!"

"Sara–if we want to find out who did this to him–did this to all three other victims–we need to process him as well as the scene."

She knew what he was saying was true, but all she could see in her mind was her "little brother" lying broken and alone. Her heart was breaking for him.

"Where is he?" She silently demanded that he speak as he continued to stare at her.

"I sent Nick and Warrick to process the scene."

"But what about Greg?" The first tear spilled over her cheek. "Who's going to be there–just for Greg? My God, he must be terrified! He must feel so completely alone!"

All she could think about was getting to the young man. He had been there for her so many times when she needed him, and now he was lying alone somewhere in God only knows what condition. She wiped her tear from her cheek and took the note Grissom gave her, then went straight for her car.

Thankfully, the officers guarding the area recognized Sara as she ran through the crowd, because if any one of them would have tried to stop her, she wouldn't have been responsible for her actions. Her eyes went immediately to the three bodies lying off in the short distance, only recognizing Greg because of his clothes. She swept past Sophia, as the other woman got in step with her.

"Hey," Sara commented briefly.

"Hey," Sophia answered as she stepped quickly to stay up with Sara's rapid gait.

"Why isn't there a medic on Greg?" Sara wanted to know.

"He's been stabilized. Sara, he's going to be okay."

Sara barely noticed Sophia leave her to go back to her job as she approached Greg. She knelt down at his head immediately, half afraid to speak as she felt her throat constrict with emotion. The sight of her young friend lying there so bloody and broken tore her heart in two. He didn't deserve this. He never deserved anything like this. Her left hand went to the top of his head immediately stroking his blood-spattered hair.

"Sara," Greg managed to get out in almost a whisper. The effort it took him to speak filled her eyes with moisture.

"I didn't think you could see me."

"I can't." He swallowed with difficulty. "I know that Sidle scent."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," she tried to tease, but her anxiety slowed her words. She looked around them, momentarily unable to look at her friend's broken features.

"I scratched one of them." He told her and she took his hand in hers. "And you should check my vest. I think the same guy spit on me. One of their cars crashed into the Denali. I guarantee there's transfer on it. You should process the scene now–me later."

She continued stroking his hair as she looked down at him, this time unable to stop the emotion from choking her voice. "I came here for you, Greg."

Sara tried to stop the tears that slid down her face, thankful that he couldn't open his eyes to actually see them. She needed to be here for him, to ease any fears that were most likely running rampant throughout his mind and body. Every time she thought of the degradation he had suffered at the hands of those animals, she was overcome with a combination of fury and extreme grief. As the tears fell, she made certain that they weren't falling on him, although she really doubted he would be aware of them in his state. She remained quiet, knowing that with each word he spoke, he was suffering incredible pain, but she didn't let him forget that she was there as she stroked him in the only area that seemed to be available to her without causing him discomfort, and that was the softness of his hair.

Finally, Nick approached them, looking just as emotional as she as he knelt next to them. He shook his head as if to clear it, then put on his false smile.

"Hey there, trooper," Nick said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "I guess going to the Blue Dixie with Sara and I tonight is out of the question, huh?"

"Rain-check," Greg managed to get out.

"Yeah–sure, sure." Nick started swabbing Greg and placing the samples in envelopes. "You go to an awful lot of effort just so you don't have to out-dance me. I couldda told ya that I'm the better dancer. Ya didn't have to go to all this trouble just to back out of it."

"In your dreams," Greg said as he even attempted a tiny smile, but the swelling of his face prevented it.

Greg's response brought a nervous burst of relief as Sara held his hand while Nick scraped under his nails.

"So you're not up to dancing with me tonight?" She asked him, trying to keep his mind off the pain Nick was causing by moving him around slightly.

"Tomorrow night," he told her.

"I'll keep you to that."

Sara watched as Nick motioned for the paramedics to come with the stretcher. She moved out of their way, but when she tried to release his hand, he held onto it tightly.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to let go while we transport him," the gentleman in the white shirt told her and finally Greg released her.

She watched as they lifted him and heard his pain-filled moans as he was put on the stretcher, then moved to the ambulance.

"Sara," he said quietly, but she heard him.

"I'll be right there, Greg." Her voice cracked slightly. "It'll only be a few minutes and I'll meet you at the hospital."

"Promise."

"I promise."

"Hey there, buddy!" Nick called after him. "We all know who the best dancer is–so you can stop trying to win points with our girl!"

They watched the door close and Sara turned into Nick's arms and let her tears fall as silently as his. Then after watching it drive away, she helped him collect his evidence and put it in his truck. He walked her to her own vehicle, neither saying anything, both at a loss for words.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"You're a big boy, Greg. You don't need a wingman for this." Grissom looked through some of Greg's clothing that had been brought to the lab, but he couldn't seem to stop hearing what he had told him. "You're a big boy, Greg."

He couldn't concentrate and as he turned away from Greg's belongings he saw Nick and Sara coming down the hall, then stopping at the doorway to the break room. He watched as they moved together and embraced one another, then Nick turned to head toward Hodge's lab while Sara moved into the room where he suspected she was going to pour herself a cup of coffee. He remained where he was, feeling that the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he would, at that moment, give up the responsibilities of his job in a second. His eyes dropped to the floor until he heard Sara's familiar steps approaching him.

"Here." She handed him a cup of coffee. "You could use this."

"Thanks."

He looked at her tear-stained face and reached out to touch her cheek, then took the cup from her and walked next to her, down the hall to his office.

"It isn't your fault. You know that, don't you?" She asked quietly.

"Do I?" He sipped at the hot liquid. "I sent him out alone. He's practically a rookie, and I sent him out there, knowing what was happening in the area. Why wouldn't it be my fault?"

"Because you didn't know this was going to happen. You didn't send him out there with this in mind."

"He asked me–before he left–who I was going to send along with him–and I told him he was a "big boy." I told him to go out by himself. I can't seem to stop hearing those stupid words I told him."

"He doesn't blame you," she tried to assure him.

"I don't know that."

"Gil, I think you need to go talk to him."

"I–doubt he'd want to see me now."

"I think if you went, it would show him that you care about what happened. I think it would make you feel better." She walked up to him and looked into his eyes. "Don't let this go on too long, Gil. Go to him. Talk to him. Just let him know you're there and that he's important. Not only will it make him feel better, it will help you too."

"Will you come with?"

"I'm going down to see what they retrieved from the suspect." She squeezed his arm, then started back out of his office. "I think this is something for you to do without me. But I'll be there as soon as I can."

Grissom watched her leave, then drank his coffee. He moved through the building and entered the hospital, finding Greg in such an appalling condition as he lay propped up in his hospital bed, that he had to pause before he could actually bring himself to say anything. His guilt was immense as he looked at the handsome young man's distorted face, bruised so badly that you had a hard time seeing the actual color of his skin. He stood at the foot of the bed, not knowing where to begin, then after a few moments managed to get out his name.

"Greg?"

Slowly the injured man's eyes opened and Grissom felt himself relax in the knowledge that his young friend was going to be okay.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-One

He was reading–only reading. Then she walked in to his office, looking as beautiful as ever in her black suit that showed off her dark hair and dark eyes.

"I heard the guys solved a double-murder," Sara said with awe.

"Mm-hmm."

"I spent the day sitting on a bench outside the courtroom. They never got to me."

"That sucks." He went back to the book he was reading.

"Feeling transcendental?" She asked as she read the cover of the book.

"Hmm?"

"Thoreau? I haven't read him since college." She smiled at him.

"Me neither," he told her. "It holds up. _"I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion." _

She looked at him thoughtfully, then glanced down at his crossword puzzle book and picked it up.

"Oh, look! You missed one–sixty-three-down. Misanthrope," she said with a bit of irritation, although she tried to hide it very well as she looked back at him. When he didn't respond, she started for the door. "I won't wait up."

He watched her with a bit of confusion. What the hell brought that up? Then he recalled the passage he had read and wondered at his selection. Was there something to it? Was there a reason he chose that quote to read–to her? Was he feeling crowded? He didn't know anymore. He thought back over the past few weeks, recalling how he had eventually come to terms with what happened to Greg. She had been right. Once he actually faced the boy and they talked, things seemed to flow a bit easier in that regard. He watched as she would cater to the boy, and he had no problems with that. Sometimes he even went with her when she would stop in after work to visit with him, taking various types of food for his enjoyment. And it really didn't take that long for him to come back to work; only a week after being released from the hospital and he was back to the lab.

Grissom didn't think there was really any friction between himself and Sara at that point. Oh, there was the discussion regarding his faith in Catholicism, but that was a simple discussion. There definitely was nothing more to it than that. And, of course, there was the soft reprimand he received because he was being "too hard" on Greg, in Sara's eyes. He accepted that, and even lightened up with the kid.

It was later that day that his migraine became unbearable and he more or less hid on his sofa. The case they had been working seemed to get to him more than usual, and when it was over, he shut himself off in his office. He had finally fallen asleep with the help of his medicine and stayed there until the shift started again that night. He could see how Sara watched him as he was handing out assignments that night and how she remained quiet, almost showing a bit of pain in her eyes when she looked at him. She didn't hesitate as she left with Warrick to go to their scene. It wasn't until nearly dawn that he caught her alone in the lay-out room.

"You okay?" He asked as he entered the room with her.

"I'm fine." She used that tone that told him she was "not" fine, as she went about placing photos on the table in front of herself.

"You're upset."

She looked up at him. "I guess I should be asking if "you're" okay." When he looked at her blankly, she went on. "Your migraine."

"It's–better."

"I'm glad to hear it," she went back to looking at the photos. "You didn't answer your phone when I called. I had no way of knowing where you were or if you were alright."

"I guess the medicine knocked me out. I didn't hear the cell."

"Maybe next time, you can let me know if your head is splitting so bad that you can't make it home."

"Sara, I could barely open my eyes. How did you expect me to call when I was in the middle of a migraine?"

"I don't know. I guess you open your cell and press number nine on your speed dial. Next time, I won't waste my time waiting in your apartment only to spend the entire day by myself. I could've gone home to my own place."

"I didn't stop you from going to your own apartment. You could've gone once you realized I wasn't coming home."

She looked up at him and nodded her head. "I'll do that next time."

He watched her walk past him and head to the ladies room.

By the time they worked on their next case together, he couldn't say they were on "bad" terms. They still went home together after work. They still made love almost every night, although he wasn't into repeat performances these past weeks. He started what had become known as the second miniature killing with her, and together they gathered what information they could, but the fact that this was the second connected case that he couldn't solve, was eating at him.

And then last night when he was going through his mail. The offer to go on sabbatical caught his attention. He sat it aside and really thought no more about it as together the rest of the crew worked together to determine who killed the identical twin sisters. It was only after Sara's return tonight, and her declaration that she "wouldn't" wait up for him, that he put his book aside and picked up the letter he had looked at earlier.

He re-read it again. Frankly, he didn't know what to do about it. He wasn't overly interested in going. But still, it lingered in his mind. He gathered his things, sighing as he realized he was preparing to go home and try to smooth things over with Sara. He took his time as he went to the garage, seeing that she had already left, but just as he was unlocking his door, he heard the tapping of heels approaching him.

"Heather!" He was surprised to see her. He hadn't seen her since the death of her daughter the year before. He had promised Sara that he "wouldn't" see her, but those promises seemed to fade as he looked at her loveliness as she stood before him.

"Grissom," she said in a voice as soft as silk. "It looks as though I'm lucky to have caught you."

"Yes. Another moment and I'd have been on my way home. Is there something I can help you with?" He opened his door and put his things in the back seat, then looked at her again.

"You always seem to have a knack of "helping" me, Grissom. Tonight wouldn't be any different."

He looked at her as she watched him and he could see her loneliness and despair. How could he "not" help a friend in need. "Would you like to discuss it over a cup of coffee?"

"I believe tea is much more to my liking–as well as yours. I'd rather we sit and talk in the comfort of my sitting room. Much more civilized, don't you think?"

"I–uh, I'm–not. . .," he stumbled over his words.

"Not allowed to associate with me?" She smiled indignantly at him. "I can understand that–really. I mean, I'd be a bit alarmed about my relationship with you also, if I were another woman. After all, we do share a rare friendship. But the fact that we are "friends" should count for something. I really didn't take you to be quite like the others, Grissom."

"The others?" He asked.

"It's quite common for husbands of domineering women to want to spread their wings when they visit me. I'm a release for them–a chance for them to become "real" men when they aren't allowed that luxury at home."

"It isn't quite like that," he said quietly, but she merely smiled sadly at him, almost with pity. "I can follow you back to your place. I wouldn't mind having a cup of tea."

She nodded her head once in understanding and turned back toward her own car, slowly getting inside and giving him full view of her long legs before she closed the door. He drove behind her for the forty minutes it took to arrive at her house, then followed her inside. If the rest of the house seemed a bit quiet and dark compared to what it used to be, he didn't notice. He watched as one of Heather's employees, dressed in a black and white maid's uniform, brought in a tray with the elegant tea pot and cups, then bowed to show her respect as she left the room.

"I'm sure you're curious as to why I suddenly showed up out of nowhere," she said as she poured the tea.

"I'm sure you have your reasons." He took the cup she offered him.

"I was very interested in finding out what you know about Wolfowitz's sentencing." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs as she looked at him.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean. You probably know just as much as I do."

"Is there any chance this "ace" lawyer that he obtained, is going to get him off with the "insanity" card?"

"I couldn't tell you. There's always a chance. We can only hope that wherever he's sent–he stays there for the rest of his life."

"I see," she said as she dropped her eyes, then looked back up at him. "I guess I'll have to accept that. For now."

"Heather," he started, but didn't know how to exactly warn her not to try to do anything stupid.

"Then we'll talk about you. I can see the stress showing on your face, Grissom. I can only imagine what's causing it."

"And that would be?"

"You didn't have this stress before. And when you did, I took care of it." She uncrossed her legs and got to her feet as she started pacing in front of him. "I certainly can take care of it again."

"I–I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Drink your tea, Grissom. It wasn't an order, it was simply an offer." She looked very closely at him. "No, I can see that you're in no position to do anything like that. You don't seem to be in a position to do much of anything anymore, are you? And it's stifling you–smothering you."

"I'm–fine," he said, but already he was starting to wonder if she was correct. She had such an incredible talent for seeing what goes in other people's lives.

"Perhaps we should move out onto the patio." She moved to the double doors across the room. "Suddenly the tension I feel radiating from you is making it rather stuffy in here."

Grissom followed her through the doors to the cooler night air as they sat on the chairs displayed there.

"My tension is no more severe than any other time, Heather. My job is stressful. I think you know that."

"I also know that you're having a bit of trouble settling into the white house with a picket fence lifestyle that is being forced upon you. It's very plain to see. Every time I bring up the subject, you almost cringe with discomfort."

"That's because. . .my life with Sara is something. . ."

"That you don't want anyone else to know about. There is a reason behind that, you know."

"That wasn't what I was going to say. . .but to answer your question. It would jeopardize our jobs," he said simply.

"I don't think that's your reason for keeping your "affair" a secret." She leaned forward as she looked at him again. "Grissom–I "know" what kind of man you are. And I know how threatening she can be. Believe me, I've had my share of run-ins with her this past year. She's very intimidating. You aren't the kind of a man to be manipulated, Grissom. That's why you're subconsciously fighting against this so much; and your body's reaction is turning your inner turmoil into a tension that's becoming too much for you to control."

"You've had your "share of run-ins" with her?" He became alarmed at the thought of Sara harassing this woman even when they hadn't seen one another in all these months. "Has she done something? Have you seen her lately?"

Heather sat back in her chair, plainly refusing to answer that question. "I'm wondering if there isn't some way you could take a "break" from all the pressure you're under right now."

He watched her a moment, then his mind went back to the letter he had received. "There "is" something. I was offered a job, back east, for a few weeks."

"That isn't exactly what I was thinking of. But I guess it is a beginning. Do you think you're going to accept this offer?"

"I wasn't putting too much thought into it, but. . ."

"I think it would be good for you. You need to step back and look at your life. You're not a man to be dictated to, Grissom. That's what I don't understand, why you're allowing this to happen in your life. I always thought you were in charge of your life; that you had direction."

"I don't see your reasoning, Heather."

"My reasoning isn't meant to insult you, by any means. I only want to help. I can see how worn and tired you seem. You need a break, Grissom. You need to step back and look at what you really want in life. It certainly isn't going in the direction you had planned when we talked about it two years ago."

"No," he agreed quietly as he looked into his cup of tea. "It definitely isn't."

"Then do something about it. Now is your chance." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it. "You can regain yourself. You seem so lost now. I just hate seeing you like this. Go–and when you're through, we'll talk again, and I promise, you'll see things through fresh eyes. You'll be able to make all the correct decisions then."

Grissom nodded as he got to his feet, walking with her back through the house until he got to the front door where she reached up and kissed his cheek. He got into his car and started home, having a lot on his mind as he drove the forty minutes back through the city and then the extra half hour until he got to his apartment. He didn't notice that Sara's car wasn't parked there. He was too tired. At this point he simply wanted to get inside and get some sleep. It wasn't until he closed the front door that he noticed the darkness; noting the difference from the normal lighting that shone from the hallway to his bedroom when she would be home before him. He flicked on the lights as he moved down the steps, deciding this was her childish form of punishment, probably hoping he'd trip over something and break a leg on his way to join her in bed. He left the lights on as he went through the apartment, feeling a little testy, himself, as he decided he'd leave them on just to irritate her. But when he turned on the light to the bedroom, he saw that although the bed had been occupied earlier, it wasn't now. He looked around the room, then went back to the kitchen where he found the note on the counter.

_Grissom,_

_It seems I "did" wait up for you after all. But when you still weren't here after an hour, I decided to call the lab, like you had suggested the last time you forgot to come home. Judy told me you had left already. And, yes, I did call your cell because there was always the possibility that you had been in an accident or found some other form of calamity–but again, you didn't answer. After another hour, I took your suggestion that I go back to my own apartment. I think I'll be tired in the morning, so there will be no need to call._

_S._

Grissom crumbled the note and went to bed.


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty-Two

Grissom almost slept through the night, then his cell went off to alert him that he was needed on a new case. He woke up feeling aggravated and tired. He warmed up a cup of coffee then took a seat for a moment, in front of the paperwork he brought home with him. His mind went immediately to his visit with Heather and her suggestions that he "give himself some space" and he wondered about it. He definitely seemed to be at a loss regarding her insinuation that Sara had been tormenting her recently. He knew Sara's temper, but he never thought she could be so cruel as to harass someone in such delicate condition as Heather was in. Maybe she was right–maybe he was in jeopardy of losing himself in a situation that he just wasn't sure he wanted to be in. He sighed deeply as he picked up the letter from the college sponsoring his sabbatical and his decision was made. Within another five minutes, his acceptance was faxed. He would wait until later to make the final preparations.

It took another twenty minutes before he got to the scene where he immediately started taking pictures. His first instinct was to call Sara in to assist, but upon her instructions that "there will be no need to call," he resigned himself to taking care of the case on his own. Brass approached him as he was examining the wheelchair before moving on to the victim who had been hit and killed by a limousine full of teens.

Grissom busied himself with his investigation that quickly turned into a double-murder, then a triple and eventually a quadruple, and he had managed to not run into Sara through the day until he entered the layout room to find her standing with Greg and Warrick. He immediately went to look at the photos spread out before them, standing in the only place left for him; next to Sara.

"The victims: Ken Billings, Mason Carter, Derrick Paul and Johnny D'Angelo; all murdered in the last twenty-four hours," Grissom stated.

"Four victims–three killers–no connection between them," Sara added, moving her hand to within an inch of his, as it lay on the table.

"Johnny D'Angelo's on both lists," Greg told them.

"Could be he hired the others," said Warrick.

Sara looked at Warrick. "Could be. We don't know "where" they are. We don't know "who" they are. . ."

"Lets stick to what we "do" know," Grissom said a bit tersely. "All the victims work for Micky Dunn, who's been dead for thirty years."

The fact that Sara moved her hand back from his another few inches didn't go unnoticed, nor the sting that crossed her features, that his remark had caused.

"Check this out," Warrick said. "I've been digging through police files all morning and guess what I found. Officer Eddy Sanchez, the ghost rider. Now, assuming that he's alive, the officer would be fifty-five today, and he has family down in Mexico."

Sara turned her gaze from the photos back to Warrick. "So, you're thinking bike cop shoots Micky Dunn and takes the money?"

"And with the exchange rate," Greg adds, "lives like a king south of the border for the last thirty years."

"Fast forward; Micky Dunn's car gets discovered. . ." Warrick started and Sara finished for him.

". . .by a Mexican fisherman who would be about the same age as the bike cop."

"Only the discovery was bogus," Greg told her. "It turns out the hood ornament pulled from Lake Meade is a fake."

"So? What? The fisherman was pulling off a hoax?" Sara asked and Greg shrugged.

"That or fraud," Grissom spoke up. "He either planted that derringer at the crime scene–or someone paid him to."

Grissom glanced past Sara to Warrick, then dropped his eyes to the photos of the "killers" again, seeing something that stirred his interest.

"Either way," Warrick spoke up. "Whoever did it knew that this car was down there."

"And was missing the original hood ornament," Greg said.

"Who could know that?" Sara asked.

"Someone who was there the night that it went down," said Grissom.

"The motorcycle cop's looking better every minute," said Greg.

Grissom gathered the photos he was interested in and silently left them as he moved out of the layout room, only to have Sara call after him.

"Hey, don't rule out the ghost of Micky Dunn," she taunted, and he could have sworn he heard her add more quietly, "You're good when it comes to dealing with ghouls."

He thought he could hear some chuckles from the others, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure what the hell she was talking about. He took the photos back to his office and started his calculations and within several hours, they were wrapping up the case. He found it ironic that Sara had been right again–indeed, it was Micky Dunn, himself.

Again, he began gathering his things to go home. He had heard Sara discussing the possibility of stopping for breakfast at Frank's Restaurant with the three other guys. Grissom walked to his car and was just pulling out of his parking spot when he saw Brass coming toward him and flagging him down. He opened his window as he approached.

"Got a minute?" Brass asked. "Or are you in a hurry to get home to your better half?"

"My better half?" Grissom asked with raised brows. "That's rather a dated phrase, isn't it?"

"What can I say? When it's true, it's true."

"Is that all you wanted? Just to insinuate that Sara is a better person than I am?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you've heard anything about your old friend–what was her name? Madam Heather, I believe."

Grissom looked at him closely, not wanting discuss Heather in the garage. "What are you getting at, Jim?"

His defensiveness caught his friend's attention. "What do ya say we go down to Benny's? I could use a drink before I head home."

Grissom simply nodded, then drove to the bar that had been suggested. He went inside and sat at the bar, waiting for Brass and wondering just what the detective knew.

"Damn, you're certainly in a hurry! You lost me in the dust back there," Brass complained.

"You said you wanted to talk–so talk."

"Okay," he said then looked at the bartender who had approached them. "Double-scotch for both of us."

Grissom waited for the drinks to be put in front of him. "What were you asking about Heather?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Heather. I was wondering just what the hell you were doing at her place last night." His straight forward response turned Grissom's eyes up to meet his before dropping to his drink again.

"You into following me now, Jim? Or did Sara call you and have you search for me?"

"Up until now I didn't have any clue that I would "have" to put a leash on you. So, no–I wasn't following you. And no–Sara didn't call me. Actually, it was Sophia who contacted me when she went to question Madam Heather about the assassination attempt that was made last night on the man who killed her daughter. She was quick to use you as an alibi. So, unless you "weren't" there with her last night from eleven through midnight, I'd suggest you let me know so we can visit the–er–lady again."

"Someone tried to kill him?"

"Yeah. At around eleven thirty a woman was seen hanging around outside, then about half an hour later she was seen speeding off from the parking lot after the guy was shot. She wasn't a very good shot though and he only received a flesh wound. The guard, on the other hand, was out like a light from a mixture of lorazepam and alprazolam. Luckily it wasn't enough to do more damage than give him a good sleep." Brass took a drink from his glass. "So–I'll ask again. Can you verify that it wasn't Heather who shot at the prisoner?"

"I–I was with her from around quarter after eleven until about twelve-thirty. It clearly wasn't Heather." He looked back at Brass. "What makes you think she'd be able to get inside the penitentiary at that time of night, anyway? It would be impossible."

"I've seen stronger men than those guards fall victim to Madam Heather's charms," he told him.

"She is known as "Lady" Heather, Jim. There "is" a difference."

"Not in my book, buddy. I know a "madam" when I see one. Now, would you like to tell me just what you were "doing" with her until twelve-thirty?" He took another drink of his scotch, then reached in his pocket and pulled out several bills that he threw down on the bar. "Ya know what–never mind! I don't want to hear it! I told ya before–that bitch has got you by the balls so tight that there's nothing left of the Gil Grissom that I know. Jesus Christ! What the "fuck" is wrong with you!"

"Heather didn't do anything other than see the obvious. She saw how stressed I've been and she spent the night trying to get me through it."

"Really. And how the hell did she do that? Tell me something–just what the hell does she do that's got you so wrapped around her golden vagina? So, what is it? Doesn't Sara let you tie her up? Or no–that's right–Heather's the one who does the tying, isn't she? So, is that it? Sara doesn't quite get into turning you into some sort of half-male subordinate like Heather does?" He looked at the bartender who came and picked up the money. "Keep the change."

"Give me another one." He looked at the bartender after finishing his double-scotch. "Jim, I think you better watch your mouth."

"Or what?" He gave a sarcastic laugh. "You'll call for Heather to teach me a lesson? Well, you can keep her all to yourself. That kind of teaching–I'm not into."

"Jesus Christ, Jim! It wasn't like that! If you have to know–she was afraid! So she needed to talk to me. She was frightened that he was going to get out on an insanity plea. And–she was even afraid of Sara coming after her again."

This remark turned Brass's eyes huge as the bartender refilled Grissom's glass. "Sara–coming after her–again?"

"Yes," Grissom looked down into his drink again. "She insinuated that Sara's been harassing her again."

"Again?" Brass leaned closer to look him in the eye. "Where, in your wildest imagination, can you think of when Sara would even have the time to do "anything" to that woman? As far as I know, when the two of you aren't together, she's working. And why would she "need" to do anything? She thinks its over between you and Heather, doesn't she?"

"Yes. I told her I'd never see her again."

"Mm-hmm. Now, let's back up here a minute here. You said the little witch "insinuated" that Sara's been in contact with her. Are you saying that she didn't come right out and say it?"

"No–not exactly. She just said that Sara frightened her."

"Good! I hope she scares the shit out of her! But I don't think anyone can scare that woman. You can't frighten something evil." He finished his drink then looked back at Grissom. "So–did you really only talk about her "fears?"

"Mostly."

"Okay. Now–I want you to start thinking with your head–not your prick. When did you ever see Sara do "anything" to confront that woman? For that matter, when have you ever seen her do anything but be compassionate and try to "save the downtrodden?" Hell, she's about as opposite from what that woman's trying to accuse her of as a person can get."

"Why would she lie about it, Jim?"

"Why, indeed." He waited for Grissom to finish his drink then he started walking with him to the exit. "You better start opening your eyes before you lose the best thing you've ever come across in your pitiful life."

Grissom watched Brass get into his car and leave, then he started out toward his place as well, but before he even got three blocks he was turning in the direction of Frank's Restaurant. He saw Nick's truck first, then Greg's car, Warrick's and Sara's. He apprehensively pulled in next to Sara's car, then after a moment of watching the four of them sitting at a booth, got out of the car and made his way inside.

"Hey, Boss!" Nick saw him first. "Looks like you had the same idea as the rest of us. Move over, Sara. Let him join us."

Sara moved her dishes closer to Nick's then slid in closer to him, allowing Grissom to sit next to her. He didn't know exactly why he came back–he didn't know exactly what to say, so he merely smiled over at Warrick, who picked up the conversation by calling the waitress over to them. Grissom looked around and saw that everyone was nearly finished with their meals, so he only ordered a coffee.

"That can't be all you're having," Nick said as he sat with a fork in one hand and a piece of toast in his other. "Waitress–give him the wrangler's special–my treat."

"No, Nick!" Grissom objected. "I'll be here all day trying to finish it. I'll have a coffee so I'll be finished by the time you are."

"Granted, Nick can probably devour half a side of beef inside an hour," Warrick cut into his omelet. "But I don't think he'll be finished with all that food before too long."

"Yeah," Nick agreed. "Anyway, you didn't see what Sara's got coming yet. I swear she's got a gremlin inside that takes all her calories so she remains so thin."

Grissom felt Sara fidget next to him, then he looked over at her, making her drop her gaze to her mushroom omelet in front of her.

"So–what does our little Sara have coming that's so amazing?" Grissom asked.

"You're not going to believe what she ordered," Nick laughed.

"Shut up, Nick," Sara told him, obviously embarrassed by her choice. "I shouldn't even be sitting next to you. I swear, you eat enough beef each year that you probably could clean out a small ranch by the end of the year."

"Beef," Nick mimicked the old commercial as he sighed and cut into his steak. "It's what's for dinner."

"Who does that?" Greg asked. "Isn't it Tom Selleck?"

"No!" Nick sounded offended. "It's Sam Elliott."

"Didn't someone else do it before him, though?" Sara asked, plainly trying to change the subject matter from her large breakfast order.

"Robert Mitchum narrated the commercial until he died in ninety-seven," Grissom told her.

"Oh," she said simply then went back to her breakfast, but he noticed how she edged her way closer to Nick.

"How would you like your steak, sir?" The young waitress asked.

"Well done," Sara said absently, then looked up at everyone immediately, clearly hoping that they didn't catch her slip regarding Grissom's steak preference.

"Well done?" The girl asked Grissom.

"How'd you know how he eats his steak?" Warrick asked Sara.

"I–I don't," she told him after swallowing her bite of food.

"She said "Last Run," Grissom told him. "Robert Mitchum stared in "Thomposon's Last Run" back in the eighties."

"Evidently you're quite the fan of Robert Mitchum," Greg said to her with a knowing glint to his eye.

Grissom turned to the waitress. "I'll only have the eggs and steak–quarter pound, not the full pound–and make it medium."

"That's better!" Nick laughed at his boss. "No use getting a good steak unless it's just sliced off a cow's butt and slapped on the plate in the back room."

"Nick!" Sara scolded. "That's horrible!"

"Not as horrible as that sundae you've got coming next. . .," he told her, taking great pleasure in stuffing a chunk of said cow's butt into his mouth.

"With ground up Snickers and whipped cream," Greg added.

"Don't forget about the piece of peach pie with chocolate ice cream that's coming after the "first" diabetic coma she ordered." Warrick shuddered at the thought of all that sweetness.

"I–was planning on taking it home with me for later," she told them.

"You don't order your pie to be warmed if you were planning on taking it home. You'd warm it yourself."

Grissom had to smile in spite of himself. He caught onto her predicament as soon as Greg described her sundae. He had nursed her through enough "Snickers" cravings over the past twenty or so months to know it was her "time." He wondered if she was letting them have the brunt of her irritability the way she usually unleashes it during her bouts with menstruation. Her usual routine when she got near her menstruation was to gradually lose her energy as she would get a bit more prickly each day, then she'd get extremely crampy to the point of near incapacitation for about twelve hours before she'd force herself to get up to go back to work.

He looked over at her quickly, realizing the thoughts that just ran though his head. He knew her well enough to know that if she was craving Snickers already–she wouldn't have had the energy to go out of her way to hunt down Heather during these last few days. He tried to recall exactly what Heather had told him–she didn't come right out and say that Sara had done anything lately. Hell, he didn't even know if she said she had done anything "at all" or if she only insinuated it. He ran his hand over his face in complete exhaustion. He couldn't seem to think straight anymore.

"Eggs and a quarter pound of steak," she said under her breath. "That ought to do wonders for your cholesterol."

"Add a quarter pound of bacon to that–crispy, please," Grissom told the girl and watched her turn away and leave their table, then just as quietly as Sara, he said to her, "where's the mint tea? Maybe that'll help calm the ferocity of the lion."

"What lion?" Nick asked, hearing the tail end of the conversation.

"Hey, did you guys see that woman who got her leg caught by the bears at that zoo in California?" Greg asked quickly. "She got too close to the fence and it grabbed her by the leg and she couldn't get loose."

"No," Nick said, distracted already from Grissom's and Sara's previous conversation. "What happened? Did she survive?"


	53. Chapter 53

A/N: We're definitely in for a bumpy ride folks, don't be fooled. They will reconcile, as they did on the show, but there will be difficulties. I can write fluff–but I write angst and smut too. It's part of life. It's part of growing together. It's part of discovering one another. We all know that in the end, Sara and Grissom do get back together, but be prepared for the roller coaster ride in the meantime. Oh–and another thing–just what was that dog's name, anyway? I'm seeing a lot of "Bruno" but I only ever heard him called "Hank" on the show. Was there ever any reason mentioned on the show for the dog to be named after Sara's ex-boyfriend? Really curious about this one. Please–continue reading and enjoy!

Chapter Fifty-Three

She could smell the alcohol on his breath as soon as he sat next to her and it alerted her that things weren't going to run too smoothly. She knew Grissom would drink on occasion, but never enough for her to actually smell it from this distance. Perhaps if they were cuddling and their faces were closer together, and especially if they were kissing–she always knew when he would take a shot or two–but this time it was different. Her face was at least a foot away from his and she could still smell it. She only hoped the odor wasn't traveling across the table to Warrick–but then, on second examination, if it did–he seemed unconcerned by it.

"Um–could you excuse me, Grissom?" Sara asked quietly as her three other friends were deep in a conversation about the near-amputation of a woman's leg that had been mauled by a bear.

"No," he said just as quietly as he leaned his elbows on the table and brought his hands up to hold his chin, partially hiding his mouth as he looked over at her. "You'll leave."

"I won't leave."

"You did the last time we were here and we were fighting."

"Let me up," she hissed.

"Huh-uh."

"Fine!" Then a bit more loudly, enough for the other men to hear she added, "Excuse me, Grissom, but I think I just got my period. I need to go to the bathroom."

With a variety of disgusted exclamations such as, "Whoa–let her up, man!", "Ah, man! I didn't need to hear that!" and "Jeez, not something I want to hear while I'm eating breakfast." coming from around the table, and each man retreating to the point of almost pulling their plates away from hers, Grissom had little choice but to move out of her way. _They heard "that!,"_ Sara thought with half a smile as she moved out of the booth but noticed that the other three quickly became involved again in the possibility of actually having both legs removed by a bear. She guessed, _"that"_ was appropriate breakfast conversation.

Sara had finished in the unisex bathroom and opened the door to find Grissom leaning against the wall, shaking his head as if to clear it. Evidently whatever he drank was hitting him full force about now. He turned to look at her and stood straight, with God only knows what, in mind. Instead of waiting to see what he was planning to do, she grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and yanked him back into the bathroom with her.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded angrily.

"I–uh–came back to use the bathroom."

"You've been drinking!"

"That would probably explain why I need to use the bathroom!" He stared at her defiantly but when she didn't budge, he added, ""Brass and I stopped in at Benny's and had a couple."

"So you had to come back to the restaurant afterward?"

"No," he explained. "I "wanted" to come back. Why? Don't you want me here?"

"Why do you think I went out with the guys in the first place? Why do you think I didn't ask you to come along? If you're allowed "off" time from me–then I'm sure as hell allowed "off" time from you!"

"Fine," he said, but reached for her at the same time. "So, now we've had some "off" time. Let's go home and go to bed."

"No, Grissom!" She stepped back from him, and he took another step toward her. "Why didn't you answer your phone the other night?"

"I didn't hear it," he said honestly. "Let's forget about the other night for now. I need to go home and go to bed. You "want" to go home and climb in bed with me–don't deny it. I know how you are when you need your Snickers. A heating pad on your front and me on your back–and you'll be all settled in for the duration."

"I'm not going home with you! You didn't want to come home to me two nights ago–now you can just go home by yourself today! See how it feels to be alone, waiting, wondering what "I'm" doing while I'm not there!"

"I "know" what you'll be doing. You'll be in bed until your cramps go away."

"Not necessarily! Maybe I'm heading out to have the time of my life!"

"Come on, Sara. I just want to go home to bed. I'm tired. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours and I'm a little drunk. . ."

"You're more than "a little" drunk."

"Alright, so I'm more than "a little" drunk–I need to go home to bed." He moved up against her, pinning her against the wall with his big body as his hands rested on her hips; his thumbs slipping under her blouse and stroking the soft skin of her abdomen as he pressed himself against her. It didn't take long for her to feel the rising interest he was growing inside his pants as he whispered against her ear. "I'll take care of you, honey, I promise."

She stared up at him and could see the weariness tearing at him, but she had gone through that very same weariness while he remained distant and often snappy toward her.

"I'm not going back out there with you in "that" condition!" She informed him, regarding the tent in his pants.

"So, then take care of me, Sara." He urged quietly as his lips met hers in the softest of kisses and she knew that he was trying very hard to seduce her with his "gentle touch." But she wasn't in the mood for his "gentle touch" right now. "Come home with me and I'll make you forget you have cramps. By the time I'm through with you, you'll never even know you've got your period."

"Oh, really?" She asked as he pulled her even closer, moving his kiss down to her neck. "Are you saying what I "think" you're saying?"

"If you think I'm saying I want to take you right now, period or no period, then I guess I am."

He moved his kiss over the tops of her breasts, not stopping until he started suckling at her nipple that quickly tightened and sent a jolt through her so intense that she was glad she was propped up against the wall. She couldn't seem to stop herself from leaning back against it and cradling his head to her, until she felt the moisture of his caress coming through the cloth of her blouse and it sunk in what a picture they would present when they returned to the other guys.

"Stop it!"

He stood up and smiled his little-boy-smile that could melt her heart, but she chose to ignore it as best she could. When he slid his hand up inside her blouse and stroked his thumb over her nipple, she thought she was going to climax at any second. "Sara. Let's go home and finish this."

"Dammit, Grissom!" She shoved his hand away and tried to take a step on shaky legs. "You wouldn't be doing this–or "offering" to do "the other thing" if you were sober. So just stop it."

"I wouldn't want you if I were sober?" He asked with disbelief.

"I'm beginning to wonder," she said under her breath as she turned away from him and went to the sink, looking at the wet spot directly over her nipple that he had left there. She groaned as she kept trying to pull her jacket closed over it, then released it, only to have it part again, revealing the evidence of Grissom's affection. "How am I supposed to go back out there now?"

He moved up to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at her dilemma. "We can camouflage it."

"How?" She looked doubtfully at his reflection in the mirror.

"Easy," he told her as he put his hand under the faucet and turned on the water. "Like this."

He brought a handful of water up to her blouse and she watched in open-mouthed astonishment as he removed his grasp from her breast, leaving a perfect hand print in its place. Her gaze went up to meet his just as his met hers, both suddenly overcome with the ridiculousness of their situation and her giggle escaped her.

"Oh, that's a hundred percent better," she laughed sarcastically.

"I didn't mean to do that," he told her sheepishly.

"Really? And just what "did" you mean to do?"

"Just get it wetter, like you spilled something down the front of your shirt. I guess it didn't work."

"No, I guess not."

"Take your jacket off." He started pulling her sleeves off of her and even though she looked at him suspiciously, she continued removing the garment. Once he had that removed, he pulled her blouse up so she could remove her arms, then he twisted it around so she was wearing it backwards before putting the jacket back on. "There, good as new."

"Alright–now what?" She turned and looked at him, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of pure desire glowing from his eyes. "Gil! What is wrong with you! What did you have to drink down at Benny's?"

"Two double-scotch. Why?" He moved up again, pressing her against the edge of the sink.

"Well, whatever brand they gave you–we're getting that for at home," she said under her breath but he caught it as his hands clamped down on her waist and lifted her until she was sitting on the sink's edge.

"See, you "do" want to go home." His mouth lowered to hers, then after a few kisses, he moved on to her eyes and the tip of her nose.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember that water you tried to put onto my shirt with your hand?"

"Mm-hmm."

She knew he was only half-listening as he proceeded to press her knees apart and step between them.

"Well, you just sat me right in it–and my jeans are wet."

"I don't care." His mouth covered hers as he slid his tongue inside. "Take them off."

She pulled her head back and grabbed onto his face with both of her hands. "Gil!"

"What?"

"We can't do this in here! And you're getting my pants wet. . ."

"That's the idea." He gave her one of his sexiest half-smiles.

"Nooo!" She hopped off the sink and pushed him back a step, which was easily accomplished since he wasn't maintaining his balance very well. She turned around and lifted the back of her jacket to show him where there was a long streak of wet cloth outlining her bottom. "Look!"

"Sara!" He almost groaned as he looked at her buttocks. "Lets–go–home."

She turned and looked him in the eye, then before he could stop her, moved around him and grabbed the doorknob and said pertly, "No!"

She swung the door open without thinking and yelped with surprise when she saw Greg standing there, waiting.

"I–uh–thought you might be running into a bit of trouble back here." Greg put his hand on the knob, holding the door partially closed as he stood in the doorway.

"What kind of trouble did you expect to find, Greg?" Grissom asked irritably as he looked past Sara at him.

"Well, Grissom–it could be the way you sort of swayed as you were walking back here. Or maybe it was the cloud of alcohol fumes that was hovering over your head. I remembered the last time you drank too much–I had to put you to bed."

"I had two drinks! Hardly too much to drink!"

"You may have to put him to bed again," Sara told him, ignoring Grissom as he placed a hand on the edge of the sink to steady himself.

"You into going out and drinking alone now, Gris?" Greg asked with a nervous smile. "Ya know that's one of the first signs of a problem."

"I wasn't drinking alone!"

"Yeah?" Greg asked disbelievingly. "Prove it."

"You'll just have to track Jim down and ask him," Grissom told him, clearing intending to dismiss him.

"Jim? That's an easy name to come up with. Jim could be anyone," Greg said as if he were having an intellectual battle with a second grader.

"I think he's talking about Brass," Sara whispered to Greg.

"Oh–Brass," Greg said as it dawned on him who Jim was.

"Yeah–Brass," Grissom told him. "And when did "you" ever put me to bed?"

"When Sara couldn't carry ya, Ace! So, I helped her put you to bed."

"It was the night you threw up on Ecklie," Sara explained in a quiet tone.

"Oh. Well, I'm not going to throw up today. So, if you'll excuse us, we're trying to have a private conversation," Grissom told him as he tried to reach forward and close the door.

"No, ya don't." Greg held the door where it was then looked at Sara with an apprehensive warning. "I–don't think–it would be such a good idea to let the other guys see you two locked up in the bathroom together. So, maybe you should head back now, and I'll stay here with him."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Sara said as she dipped out the doorway beneath Greg's arm.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll look so much better with you and me walking out of the bathroom hand-in-hand," Grissom said sarcastically to Greg.

"No way," Greg chuckled at him. "You're not holding my hand. Who knows what you've been touching in here."

"Does Nick and Warrick know he's been drinking?" Sara asked.

"Don't think so. Nick's too preoccupied with finishing his pound of steak and dozen eggs. And Warrick's been on his cell with his woman–it hasn't been a pretty sight out there."

"Okay, send him out in a few minutes. I'm going back to the table."

"Sara," Grissom called after her in an almost warning tone, but she continued walking to the restaurant area of the building.

"Hey, guys!" Sara smiled at the two men, who, just as Greg had mentioned, were busy eating and talking on the phone. "I see they brought my sundae."

"Are you sure you want to eat that?" Warrick asked as he hung up his phone. "That ought to take your blood sugar up to around five-hundred."

"She's got her period, man," Nick explained as he put one of his three over-easy eggs on a slice of toast and folded it in half, preparing to take a bite out of it. "She needs the chocolate when she gets her period."

"How do you know what she wants when she's. . .doing that?" Warrick asked skeptically as he went back to his cup of coffee, having already finished his breakfast.

"Simple–she already told us she had it–and she normally doesn't eat like this–and I've known a few girls in the past who were chocoholics. It's like PMS or somethin'. It's like a woman-thing."

"Oh, not quite like that "man-thing" of devouring a three-thousand calorie breakfast just so you can go to the gym and try to work it off for the next five hours." Sara picked up her spoon and took her first bite of crushed Snickers, savoring the salty-sweet flavor as it melted on her tongue.

"It's all in the metabolism, kiddo," Nick told her as he bit into the "sandwich again, this time breaking the yolk and having it run down onto his chin. "When you've got a great metabolism like I do–you can eat as much as you want."

"And evidently eat like a pig, too," Warrick said with distaste as he looked away from the yellow about to drip off of his friend's chin, then looked up to see Grissom making his way back to the table and sliding in next to Sara.

"You count up all the calories in my breakfast–and I bet they aren't that much more than her sundae."

"Yeah, but like you said–she only eats Snickers when she gets her period. You eat like that almost everyday." Warrick sipped at his cup of caffeine.

"I do not!" Nick chuckled. "I only stop in here a few times a week–and I only order the wrangler special about once a week."

"How would "you" know she eats Snickers when he gets her period?" Grissom asked Nick irritably.

"I've got my ways," he teased.

"Here, big guy, clean yourself off," Sara said as she couldn't stand the sight of egg yolk on his chin anymore and moved her napkin to wipe it off. "Now, can we "please" stop talking about my reproductive cycle?"


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty-Four

Sara continued eating her sundae, giggling at the steady banter between her three coworkers, and every time the waitress returned, she would inconspicuously push Grissom's half-emptied coffee cup closer to the edge of the table to be refilled. She would occasionally glance at his plate as he poked at his food, clearly not wanting all that he ordered, and by the time he had one of his eggs, half of his steak and two slices of bacon finished, he was leaning back in the booth. She hardly noticed when he spread his arm across the back of the seat and provided more room for her to settle against him until she found herself stroking his thigh under the table from months of habit. And, she wouldn't have noticed herself doing that, if he hadn't spread his legs farther to make room in his pants for the extra blood flow that her caress was causing. She snatched her hand away and placed it on her own lap, quite relieved that Nick was still fighting to get the last few bites of steak down his throat.

"Christ, man," Warrick worked on his third cup of coffee as he watched Nick. "If you don't walk out of here and puke its going to be a miracle."

"Why would I puke?" Nick laughed at him.

"Well, Jeez," Greg spoke up. "It couldn't be because you're eating enough to fill a kitchen sink."

"Nah," he assured them. "I'll be okay. I didn't have the bacon."

"Oh, that makes all the difference in the world," Sara agreed sarcastically as the waitress placed her peach pie ala mode on the table in front of her, warranting a groan that alerted everyone that her eyes had been way bigger than her stomach when she ordered her meal. She pushed the small plate farther away from herself.

"Don't you want that?" Nick asked. "I'll eat it."

"Because you saved all those calories by not eating three slices of bacon, right?" Warrick asked.

Nick looked at him, then down at the pie, almost giving up on the idea, but then grabbed the plate and pulled it over, dumping the ice cream off the top and onto his breakfast plate. "There–I won't eat the ice cream."

"Well, why'd you dump it on your dirty plate?" Greg complained. "I could've eaten the ice cream."

"Here," Nick pushed the dirty dish of ice cream across the table at Greg. "Scoop around it–there's a lot there. You can just leave the part that touching the plate."

"I'm not eating it now!" Greg sounded indignant. "What if I get egg yolk on it? Egg yolk and chocolate ice cream don't mix."

"Give it here," Sara scolded as she took the plate and pushed it onto the saucer Greg's tea cup had been in, then scraped all the "offensive" egg yolk off of it. "Now eat it and be quiet."

At this point she couldn't eat another bite if she tried. She pushed her sundae toward the center of the table and leaned back, reaching down to place her hands on her stomach. She decided that cold ice cream wasn't exactly what she needed for her cramps that were now starting in earnest, but the Snickers was sooooo good.

"Well, it looks like everyone's about done here–so I'm heading out." Warrick got to his feet and started toward the cashier at the end of the counter. "I'll see you guys in three days. Try not to think of my name if you need extra help."

The group said their goodbyes as he left, then Sara glanced up toward Grissom to see that he was watching her. She looked back at Greg and Nick who were just finishing their desserts. Greg got up and moved toward the cash register, while Nick finished his cup of coffee, then sat waiting.

"Uh–Grissom–I don't know about you–but after drinking all that coffee, I sure could use the bathroom," Nick hinted. "I don't know how you can sit there–counting all those refills you had, you must've downed at least four cups."

Grissom still remained sitting until Sara looked at him. "Didn't you hear him?"

"Yes," Grissom said as he got to his feet then allowed Sara to slide out next to him. "He needs to use the facilities and wants to know if I need to do the same."

"Well, you two can stand there and discuss it all you want. I've gotta go."

Sara watched as Nick made his way toward the bathroom, then looked back up at Grissom.

"Are you feeling better?" She finally asked as he continued to silently watch her.

"Hmmm." He grunted.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said with a heavy sigh then started toward the cash register to pay her bill.

"Hers and mine are together," he said to the cashier.

"You don't have to. . .," she started.

"I know." They watched the woman tally the total, then he handed the money to her.

"Hey, Boss," Greg asked as he walked over to them from where he had been waiting by the door. "If you're paying for the crew's breakfast. . ."

"Greg," Grissom warned.

"Yeah–yeah, I know." He smiled at him. "You okay to drive now?"

"I can drive."

Greg turned his attention to Sara for reinforcement and she nodded her head in agreement with Grissom. He was clearly coming down from his alcohol high and in adequate condition to drive himself home.

"Okay, then. I'll see you two tonight. Tell Nick I'll see him later."

They watched Greg make his way to his car, then Sara moved to the door as Nick moved to the cashier next to Grissom.

"Hey, Gris," Nick began as he handed his bill to the cashier and she rang him out. "Have you heard anything about Micky Dunn's condition? I heard they took him to surgery for his heart."

"I'm not sure. Catherine's at the hospital. She should know."

Sara didn't hear the rest of the conversation as she went outside and got into her car. She wanted to make sure Grissom got home safely, because although he was sobering up, he was still running on no sleep in over twenty-four hours. But Nick showed no signs of ending his conversation soon so she felt if she remained any longer, it might open Nick's eyes to the fact that they were leaving together.

Her cramps were gaining strength the closer she got to home, and she looked forward to standing in a hot shower and letting the water beat against the small of her back. Once in her apartment, she plugged in her heating pad at her bedside so it would be ready for her, then went to the kitchen and made a cup of mint tea. She went to the bathroom next and turned on the water, not stepping in until she could see the steam rising from behind the shower curtain. She went through her regular ablutions, ending with her hair that she lathered as she let the warmth of the water flow down over her back. She didn't know "where" she was at that moment in her mind, but she certainly was not standing in the middle of a shower–maybe lying on a cloud of warmth preparing for a good, relaxing sleep, but wherever it was, the abrupt opening of the shower curtain riveted her back to awareness with a scream and an instinctive swing of her arm and then fist.

"Jesus Christ!"

She heard Grissom's muffled exclamation and she opened her eyes only to feel the immediate sting of shampoo entering them. She searched blindly for her towel, then grabbing onto the first cloth she could feel, brought it up to her face and attempted to get the burning to stop.

"Grissom!" She scolded. "What the hell are you doing!"

"Now?" He asked with obvious irritation. "Trying to see if my nose is broken!"

She didn't know what she had in her hands, but it certainly wasn't a towel and at this point, she didn't care as she wiped the shampoo from her eyes, then looked at him as he stood in his pants, bare-chested, looking into her mirror with his two forefingers pressing against each side of his nose. She didn't think twice about making a quick swipe of her body to dry it, but the unaccustomed texture turned her eyes down to see that, yes, indeed, the fool had put his shirt within reaching distance and it was now almost soaking wet. She threw it on the floor in exasperation and grabbed the towel, holding it in front of herself as she stepped out and moved to stand behind him, watching him closely in the mirror. She had managed to hit his face–and got quite the shot in, too. Part of herself felt a twinge of pride in the fact that she had actually hit her "attacker" with such precision, even while blinded with shampoo, but concern overshadowed her pride as she saw the first drop of blood drip onto the white porcelain of her bathroom sink.

"Oh!" She moaned, turning his gaze from his reflection to her face. "It's bleeding."

"Imagine that," he scoffed as another drop splattered against the brilliant whiteness.

"Here!" She tried to reach around him to grab onto his nose and apply pressure, but he jerked out of her reach. "You need to apply pressure–right here."

This time she managed to grab onto his nose and pressed on the appropriate area. This turned heated eyes up to meet hers, resulting in her nervous chuckle.

"That–hurts," he told her in a very nasally voice, making her chuckle again. "Let–go!"

"Unless you plan on writing a paper on the intricacies of blood spatter from a grumpy, middle-aged, man's nosebleed, then I don't want you spreading your stain all over my bathroom." She grabbed onto his arm with her other hand and maneuvered him toward the toilet where she flipped the seat down with her foot and guided him down on it. "Here–hold it right here until I get finished."

"You're going to finish your shower–while I'm out here bleeding," he said indignantly.

"Well, I'm not exactly going to stand out here resembling a drowned rat with shampoo running down my face and back, just to do something you can managed for two minutes. Now hold onto it, and I'll be out in a minute."

She waited until he put his fingers up to his nose before releasing her grip, then quickly jumped back in the shower and rinsed herself. She was half tempted to just stand there and let the warm water soothe away the pain in her abdomen and back, but thought better of it as she turned everything off again and stepped back out. This time she noticed that he had gone from the bathroom as she wrapped her hair in a towel, then quickly threw on her panties and a top. She bent to pick up his wet shirt, and padded through her apartment until she found him sitting on her sofa with his socks and shoes removed, evidently finding the cushions more comfortable than her white throne.

"Is all of this because I. . .," he began as he looked at her, letting his gaze move from her bare feet up to the white satin and lace panties she was wearing, then up to her spaghetti-strapped top before stopping at her face.

"All of this. . .," she interrupted. ". . .is because you scared the hell out of me. What were you thinking?"

"I was "thinking" I was going to help wash your hair."

"So you had to rip open the shower curtain like Norman Bates? Christ, for all I knew, you had a big old carving knife in your hand and was going to start speaking to me in falsetto! _Norman! Norman!_" She gave her impression of Anthony Perkins as his dead mother.

This brought a smile to Grissom which was absolutely charming, despite the fact that he was holding onto his nose.

"I think it's stopped." He released his grip and tilted his head so she could check it for him.

"Seems to have. Would you like to go back into the bathroom and clean you face up a bit?"

She watched as he moved back into the bathroom where she heard running water. She went to her bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweat shorts, and unplugged her heating pad. Her cramps seemed to be diminishing; it must be one of her "good" flows. As she returned to the living room, he returned as well. She didn't know what to say to him. She couldn't exactly order him to leave after giving him a bloody nose. But then, she still didn't like the idea of him taking off into the night and keeping his destination a big secret. He stood looking at her almost as if he were at a loss for words himself.

"I–uh. . ." They both started at the same time.

"No, go ahead," Sara said quickly. "What were you going to say?"

"I–um–guess I'm a bit more sober now than when I first came to the diner."

She tried not to smile at this. "Well, if you weren't by the time you got here–you certainly are now."

"Yeah, I suppose a good jab in the nose will do that to a person."

"Sorry," she smiled and received a "you look it" stare from him. "Next time, you'll let a lady know when you plan to scare the hell out of her with a re-enactment of the Janet Leigh scene from "Psycho."

"And you'll let me know when you plan to do a scene from "Ali."

"I guess that's reasonable." She watched him from across the room. "I don't think. . ."

"We'll just sleep," he assured her. "Okay?"

She looked at him and didn't know what to do. They rarely fought–and she couldn't even say that what they were going through right now "was" a fight. She tried to remember just what it was that happened as her eyes moved over his face. He didn't come home–or if he did, it wasn't until very late. He didn't call–and he didn't answer his cell.

She studied his features, the blue eyes that watched her, waited for her to make a decision; the lips that were pressed together in tension, almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Gil." She crossed her arms in front of herself, showing her anxiety. "I don't want to send you home. You're too tired and I don't want to send you out to drive in that condition. But. . ."

"You're still angry," he finished for her.

"I can't even say I'm angry, Gil. I'm confused. I'm not sure what's going on. It's not like I have to know where you are every minute of the day–but you're making it more and more clear that . . ."

"I don't want to fight about this," he interrupted. "Either I sleep here–or I leave. Right now, it's that simple."

"You're leaving me little choice in this. You know I won't send you home until you get the sleep you need."

"I'm not a child. I've gone longer without sleep and have managed to drive myself home."

She looked at the tiredness that seemed to ooze out of every pore of his skin. No, she couldn't make him drive like this.

"Go to bed, Gil. Get some sleep."

"And you? What are you going to do?"

"Like you said back at the diner. I need my mint tea. I made myself some before you came. I think I'll catch the news as I drink it."

She saw how he hesitated a moment, then turned and went into her bedroom. She sighed heavily as she went to the kitchen and re-heated her tea. When she came back to the living room she turned on the television and put on the news channel. But instead of drinking her tea and going to bed, she went to her hall closet and got out an extra pillow and blanket. She knew she was going to be in for an uncomfortable day's sleep–but she still didn't feel comfortable sleeping next to him. Perhaps she needed a few days to cool off, or simply try to forget this episode of mystery. That thought sent a chill through her as she lay on the couch and tried to get comfortable; no matter how much she knew she would be better off if she "could" forget about the other night, she knew she could not. It would nag at her. Forgive and forget–isn't that what they teach you? She wished it were that easy. She didn't even know what she was supposed to forgive–so how in the hell could she forget it?

She turned onto her side and faced the back of the couch and soon felt sleep's comforting embrace come over her.


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter Fifty-Five

He must have awakened at least every half hour. Even as tired as he was, he would wake up enough to reach across the mattress only to find emptiness, then glance at the glaring red numerals of the alarm clock and press his face against the pillow, inhaling her scent to lull him back to sleep. After nearly three hours of this, he finally accepted that she wasn't going to be joining him in bed and got up to see just what she was doing. He wore only his underwear as he moved throughout the apartment, stopping when he saw her untouched cup of tea on the end table and her lying on the sofa with her blanket tucked around her mid-section. He was familiar enough with her breathing pattern to know that she was sleeping fitfully; just how she managed to do so on that contraption she liked to call a sofa was beyond him.

He knelt next to her and watched her sleep. She certainly was a beauty and she always managed to stir emotions in him that no one else could; whether it be anger, frustration, awe, desire, need or longing. When he remembered how he had "longed" for her earlier that day, he was a little embarrassed, to say the least. Jesus–he never suggested they do what he said they should do. He couldn't even remember her reaction completely. All he could remember clearly was the fact that he didn't care what phase of her cycle they were in–he wanted her. It had always been taken for granted that when it was her time–they would refrain from intimate activity. That's not to say that she wouldn't please him throughout that time–because she always did. But today when he had her pressed against the wall, he wanted nothing more than to make love to her thoroughly. And the incredible thing about it was–he didn't even know why. Granted, he drank that scotch a little too quickly and he was beginning to feel the effects by the time he started for the diner–but just when his boggled brain went through the transition from the point of wanting to distance himself from her to the point of needing her so badly that he would lose his mind if he didn't have her–he couldn't distinguish. Was it the sight of her interacting with the other guys; her comfort with them; their comfort with her? Was it the fact that he was prepared to go home alone, while she went out with friends and was clearly having a good time? Or was it simply that he loved the girl and couldn't face being without her for another day? That thought frightened him. Maybe they were moving too quickly. After all, they went from being two separate beings to practically living with one another in a matter of weeks. After all these months, he thought he was fine with it–until Heather pointed out that he was a solitary soul, and definitely not someone who was used to having someone enter his life and control it.

He lifted his fingers to touch her hair, messed from not having had the opportunity to do anything with it after her shower, and he thought she looked absolutely irresistible. His slight touch seemed to have stirred her as she turned her head, then in her semi-wakefulness pulled the blanket more snugly around her stomach before falling back under sleep's clutches. He watched how she moved her hands up, under her cheek in a pose that was almost child-like. He stroked her cheek then let his forefinger travel down to the tip of her nose before sliding the backs of his fingers along her jaw line again. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. Damn, but he could get lost in the depths of those eyes. He really couldn't say that he ever saw a brown that was quite as bright and consuming as the color of her eyes.

He could see everything in those eyes; and he knew that she was feuding with her own emotions as well as his. He continued to stroke her skin as he silently urged her to respond, but she only watched him in return.

"Come to bed," he whispered.

"I'm fine out here," she whispered back.

"I'm not. Come to bed," he repeated.

She looked away from him for a moment, then back again. "Have you gotten any sleep at all?"

"I can't sleep, knowing you're stuck out here on this slab of concrete. And before you say "you're fine" again–don't bother. Just come to bed and get some "real" sleep. We both work tonight and right now, we're both in dire need of some rest." He almost thought she was going to cry as her lip trembled and she looked up at the ceiling. In that moment he could see the pain and indecision rolling through her and he stood up. "Alright. I'll leave. Just go to bed and get some rest."

He went to her bedroom and was lifting his pants from the end of the bed when he heard her coming up behind him. The speed of her gait was what struck him as odd and made him turn quickly, just in time to see her throw his shirt at him. He caught it in one hand and watched as she glared at him.

"What are you waiting for?" She asked through anger and despair. "You want to leave–leave!"

"You don't want me to "stay," but you're pissed when I try to leave?"

"Just go!" She stomped past him to her side of the bed, threw back the sheet and got onto the mattress where she turned away from him. "Who the hell cares what "I" want. You'll do what you want to anyway."

He stared at her, thoroughly confused now. "What am I supposed to do, Sara? If you want me to leave–I'll leave! If you want me to stay–I'll stay! But don't just lie there and say nothing! I'm not a damned mind reader!"

"I don't "know" what I want!"

"You "don't know" what you want," he said much more quietly. "Well, join the damned club."

"Right! "I" don't know what "I" want! "You" don't know what "you" want! We're a perfect goddamned couple, aren't we? Or is that putting more merit to our relationship than you want to admit–actually putting us in the "couple" category!"

"Yeah–perfect," he muttered as he moved to his side of the bed and lay down, yanking the sheet back over himself.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she turned to face him, but he kept his back to her.

"Simple–since we don't know "what" the hell's going on–we'll just go into the unconscious mode and not worry about it until we wake up."

"That's not solving anything! You're just avoiding confrontation–like you always do!"

"Let it go, Sara. Go to sleep."

"I "was" sleeping!"

"Sara," he warned. "I said, go to sleep."

"Bullshit!" She hissed and he could feel her turn and start to get up.

He flipped over so quickly that she didn't have time to react as he grabbed onto her arms and wrapped his legs around hers, effectively pinning her against the mattress. She stared up at him through startled eyes.

"Now what?" He asked gently, watching how still she remained beneath him. "Do I have to resort to actually lying "on top" of you to make sure you'll stay in the bed and go to sleep?"

She swallowed with difficulty, then looked away from him. "Get off of me, please."

"Are you going to get up and try to run away again?"

"No." She still wouldn't look at him and he had the most intense desire to lace that beautiful jaw line with his kisses, but he didn't think she'd be very receptive at the moment.

"Are you going to stop fighting?" She gave two quick nods of her head in response to his question. "And you'll go to sleep?"

Another two nods and he released her then slid down to the mattress next to her. He watched her as she slowly turned onto her side away from him and he pulled the sheet up again, until it covered her from the waist down. He remained on his side, facing her, but keeping a few inches of space between them and soon exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a fitful slumber.

He woke to the sound of the alarm clock and since it was on the night stand on her side of the bed, he had to reach to turn it off. The fact that she wasn't there sent a sense of frustration through him as he rubbed his hand down over his day-old stubble. Damn, he wasn't sure if he had anything here to even shave with. He got out of bed and pulled his pants and shirt on, then started toward the bathroom. After relieving himself, he came back out to the living room and that was when he heard the voices in the kitchen. He grabbed his shoes and socks and put them on quickly, having already recognized the voices as Sara's, Brass's and Sophia's. He approached the kitchen's doorway and found Sara leaning against the counter, holding a cup of coffee, while Sophia and Brass sat at the table with their own coffees in front of them.

"Well-well," Brass looked at him as he hesitated in the doorway. "Look what the cat dragged in."

His comment turned Sophia around until she was looking at him, also. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Looks like the wicked witch and her henchman must've been talking too loud and woke you up."

Sara got another mug from her cabinet and poured him a cup of coffee. "The alarm probably went off." She handed him the mug and returned to where she was standing with her own drink. "I'm sure you and Jim didn't wake him."

He moved to stand next to Sara, noting the stiffening of her posture as she changed positions, before looking back to the two detectives. "What brings the two of you here?"

His intense anxiety over their purpose for being at Sara's apartment must have been showing to all three of them.

"Why?" Sara asked. "You afraid they've got some evidence against ya?"

He looked over at her and shrugged his shoulders as he took a sip of his coffee, swearing under his breath when he burned his lips. "Dammit!"

"Oh, yeah," Sara said, obviously without concern as she watched him put some cool water in it. "The coffee's hot. Be careful."

"Anyway. . ." Sophia turned back toward Sara again. "As far as I know, the event will have all the leading heads of business in the area. It ought to be quite a sight–Vegas' elite dressed up as something for the holiday."

"They'll be dressing as–what?" Sara chuckled. "Pilgrims?"

"They could always go the other way–you know–Indians." She looked back at Grissom. "What do you think? You and Sara want to come to the charity costume ball next week?"

"I don't think I'd make a very appealing pilgrim." He tried the coffee again, this time of adequate temperature.

"Oh, I don't know." Sara looked over at him with a smirk. "We could dress you up as a Native American. Give you a little loin cloth and a bow and arrow."

"Right, America's first blue-eyed, curly-haired Native American. I don't think so."

"Who says it has to be one or the other?" Brass asked with a twinkle glowing from his eyes. "I say we feather him and he can go as the turkey."

"Oh!" Sara beamed at Jim. "If he gets to be the turkey! I get to dress up as an ear of corn!"

"I'll go as pumpkin pie," Jim chuckled.

"I guess that makes me the cranberry sauce," Sophia told them, making Sara laugh at her.

"Yeah, because we all know how they just adored their cranberry sauce at the first Thanksgiving dinner."

"Sure, they did," Sophia looked at her seriously. "They got it from the Ocean Spray Factory down the street."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But not until they watched the Macy's Parade and a game or two of football on their fifty-two inch flat screen."

"So, just who do you "really" expect to show up at this thing?" Sara asked Jim.

"Ecklie's going. And I heard a few from day shift are going. There might be one or two from down at our department, but not many more." Sophia finished her coffee and got to her feet. "Can you imagine? Spending the evening in ridiculous drag with the owners of Vegas's whorehouses and Seven-Elevens?"

Grissom watched as Sophia looked at him and gave him a false smile.

"Now, don't doubt for a minute that "they'll" show up as a six-pack of Budweiser Light. They're all such an intellectual group of merchants." Brass followed her lead and put their mugs in the sink, then turned back toward the doorway, without a doubt talking specifically about the first group of business owners.

"Well," Sophia sighed as she pulled on her jacket. "They may not be the brightest of the lot, but I know of a few of them that can put my salary to shame."

"That's probably true," Sara walked next to Brass through the living room. "But are you willing to stoop to their level and provide the services that they provide?"

Sophia gave Grissom another look of what could only be described as contempt. "Not on your life."

"You have something you want to say to me, Sophia?" Grissom asked quietly as she was about to follow Sara and Brass to the front door.

"Yeah," she said just as quietly as she paused to look at him again. "I can tell you that you can rest easy, because I didn't stop in to tell Sara what you were up to the other night. I don't have the proof I need to take it to that level. But, if I do find out its something she needs to know, don't think for a minute that I won't be here filling her in on the level of your fidelity."

"What's this? All of a sudden your loyalties lie with Sara? Was it so long ago that you would have done anything to please me?"

"Ya know something, Grissom. . ." She took a step toward him and her contempt turned even darker. "Sara's the one who's been loyal to you. And if you want to know why my loyalty doesn't lie with you anymore–I think I learned enough about you, just watching how you've manipulated Sara every time Heather curls her little finger. You're really not so appealing anymore. I want a man who knows what a woman is–and isn't blinded by the term "Lady."

"Sophia!" Brass called to her from the door. "Are you coming? Or having another cup of coffee with our little Butterball turkey in there?"

"I'm comin'," she gruffed as she walked toward him and Sara wearing a sheepish grin. "God, you're worse than an old woman, Brass."

"Just for that, "you're" going in for the donuts tonight while "I" wait in the car."

"Oh, man! You're buying donuts tonight? What a treat."

"I thought "you" were buying them. . ." Brass's voice trailed off as Sara closed the door behind them.

Grissom watched as Sara finally returned and walked past him to the sink. She cleaned the three dirty mugs then went to the coffee pot and emptied the grounds.

"Do you want another cup of coffee before I throw it away?" She asked without looking at him.

"Sara," he said quietly, bringing her gaze back to him. "Put the coffee down and come here."

"I need to clean up before I leave for work." She sat the pot back on the heating plate and picked up the three cleaned mugs and started drying them.

"You can do that after work tomorrow," he told her, then regretted it immediately when he saw her stop mid-movement, then continue a bit more stiffly. "I didn't mean it that way."

"What way?" She asked tersely. "It sounded plain enough to me. If that's what you want–then I'll come back here tomorrow morning. It's not a problem for me. It would give you all the extra time you needed to . . . do whatever it is that you seem to need to do after work."

"I said," he paused as he moved to stand behind her. "I didn't mean it that way. If you want to come back to my place tomorrow, then do it."

"If "I" want to?" She put the mugs into the cupboard and reached for the pot again then poured the remainder of the coffee down the drain before rinsing it and putting it in the dish rack. "What an enthusiastic invitation."

"I can't seem to talk lately without putting my foot into my mouth, can I?" He turned her around to face him. "I'm getting lost in words here. We always seem to have such trouble with words. I don't know why English seems to betray me at times."

"Would you rather use Latin?" She looked at him. "Tell me, just what is the translation for "I don't want to be with you anymore?"

"I never said that, Sara. I don't know how I could've made it any plainer to you today that I wanted, very much, to be with you. If I had my way right now, we'd be back in your bedroom and I'd be showing you how much I want to be with you–not out here telling you."

"Alright." She took his hand and walked out of the kitchen and started toward her bedroom.

Once they were stopped near the bed she turned and looked at him again, waiting for him to do something. Her coolness had a strange effect on him and he wasn't sure he liked it. He liked Sara's warmth, her eagerness to make love to him and to be made love to; he loved her heated sensuality–not this cold beauty standing before him. He knew she could see the indecision on his features and when his cell went off, he almost looked at it with relief. He looked from the phone, where it sat on the night stand back to Sara, but didn't make any move to answer it. It was she, who reached for it and opened it, handing it to him to answer, before she left him alone in her bedroom.

"Grissom."


	56. Chapter 56

A/N: My apologies for being late on this chapter. My best friend is three months out from having her baby boy and was struggling with a bout of postpartum depression last night–so her husband (blessing that he is) stayed home with the baby and sent her out to the movies with me. It helped a little. She's my bud–so I've gotta help hold her up when she's down. :)

Chapter Fifty-Six

The whole crew pulled a double that night, not finishing the case until nearly four in the afternoon. Grissom was busy in and out of the office throughout the night and by the day shift, Sara was doing the same. He watched her in the locker room as they were getting ready to leave, but there wasn't much opportunity for conversation as Catherine and the others would come and go, never leaving them alone. He heard almost all of them ask her what her plans were for the night, and she replied that she was going home to bed and didn't want to be disturbed until she could focus her eyes again. It was during Nick's interrogation that she finished what she was doing at her locker and turned to leave. She paused in the doorway and glanced back at Grissom then turned and left.

This time when he showed up at her apartment, he knocked on the door and waited to be let in. It took several minutes for her to come to the door and when he heard her feet padding across the floor, he realized that she had already undressed. To what extent; whether it be for a shower or simply for bed, he wasn't sure. There was another moment of silence after she stopped in front of the door, then finally, she pulled it open and looked at him. He let his eyes travel over her long, bare legs, the pink satin panties and the spaghetti-strapped pajama top that she had changed into.

"You're going to bed," he said blankly as his eyes traveled back down over her body.

"I certainly was planning on it." She refused to meet his gaze.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Can I stop you? You "do" have a key."

"And the last time I used it, I got a bloody nose for my efforts."

"Well, I promise not to punch you again." She stepped back and allowed him to enter then closed the door behind him. "Is there something specific that I can do for you?"

He turned and looked at her, wearing a puzzled expression. "Would you like to give me my options?"

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked back at him, then threw her hands up in frustration and started to walk past him.

"I don't know what to do with you, Grissom!"

"I think we had this discussion before–only "I" was the one who said I didn't know what to do about us. You were the one who said you knew "exactly" what to do."

"Yes–I did. And I knew I was in for a rough time if I ever had the opportunity to do anything." She stopped and looked at him again. "I told you before–I won't share you with anyone."

He dropped his gaze from her. "You're not sharing me, Sara."

"Really?" She asked doubtfully, but he looked into her deep brown eyes.

"Really."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath then released it. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do at this point, so he merely remained standing where he was, watching her. She hesitated a long moment, then slowly walked over to him and placed her hands on either side of his face. She leaned into him and met his lips with hers, tugging on them alternately until he became a bit more insistent and placed his hands on her waist to hold her to him as he applied more pressure and slid his tongue over her lips, then between them. Their kiss deepened until she slowly ended it and leaned her forehead against his.

"God," she breathed. "I hope to God that you didn't cheat."

"I didn't cheat."

Grissom pulled her back to him again, his need to touch her becoming more and more demanding as he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes and finally hugged her to him as he kissed the top of her head. He hardly realized it when she removed his jacket, until she tugged on his arms to remove it completely. Then, with his arm around her waist, he walked with her into her bedroom where she began unbuttoning his shirt. He watched her as she would occasionally glance up at him, a bit of shyness to her eyes as she worked her way to the bottom of his shirt then removed it. He started to unbuckle his pants and opened them as she moved to her knees and started untying his shoes. When he lowered his pants and sat on the edge of the bed she pulled his shoes and socks off, then his pants. The sight of her before him already had him throbbing with need, but he wanted to let her set the pace, so he quietly watched her stand up again and place his pants across her dresser, then move his shoes and socks out of his way.

"I'm going to believe you, Gil," she said quietly as she came back to him and he spread his legs as he pulled her between them. "Tell me I can believe in you."

"You can."

Her hands went to his hair, running her fingers through it as she swayed into him and he grasped onto the backs of her thighs, pausing on her exquisitely formed butt where he enjoyed the sensation of the satin, then up her back, inside of her top. She tugged on his hair until he looked up at her and she leaned over to meet his lips again. It was sweet and enticing and he pulled her in even closer to him until her legs were brushing against his hardness and upon contact he felt her sudden intake of breath as she continued kissing him.

They could only comprehend their need for one another. They had felt lost all night, the lack of simply touching one another's hands, one another's faces was tying them in knots. Suddenly their hunger overrode any misgivings they had had, and it was imperative that they console each other. He pulled her down, laying her on the bed as he pressed against her, his form side-by-side against her much more slender figure. His mouth met hers in a deep kiss again as he rolled over and pulled her on top, his hands splaying against her back. She moved her kiss to his cheeks and his ears, then on to his neck and throat.

"Oh, God, I wanted to be here with you so damn much," he moaned as she nuzzled him.

He rolled over on top of her again and plunged his tongue into her mouth, sucking and nipping on her lips and her own tongue as if he were a man starving for the taste of her. She spread her legs and wrapped them around his, pulling him against her as she rocked her hips against him.

"Gil, please. . .do something."

"But you said you have your. . .," he started as he pulled his head back and looked down at her.

Her face was flushed as she gazed back at him, her excitement showing in the way she was breathing so heavily beneath him. "I do. And "you" said it didn't matter."

He didn't wait for a second invitation as he got on his knees and removed her top. She watched as he rolled off the bed and grabbed two sheets from her closet, then removed his boxer/briefs on his way back to her. He moved to stand next to her, placing them beneath her and she spread her legs to him, allowing him to lie between them, and press his already hardened length against her. The sensation of the satin panties against his member as he rubbed was enough to send chills through him. He looked at her again seeing that she was watching him; her expressions flashing with every tremor of sensation flowed through her. She whimpered as her eyes would half-close and he knew he was applying the appropriate amount of pressure where she was getting the most enjoyment. He continued watching her as he reached down beneath the lace of her panties and found her engorged nub and upon first touch, she gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders. They continued watching one another, getting lost in each other's eyes as he strummed her until she was writhing beneath him, bucking up against his hand, while pulling him even more tightly against her with her legs. He quickly moved until he could pull her panties down, removing the protection she had at the same time, then he positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside, immediately finding her over-sensitized g-spot and bringing a loud cry from her.

"Oh my God, Gil! Now! Now!" She screamed.

The hot sensations as he slid inside her was nearly enough to send him over the edge. He cried out almost as loudly as she, but his words were indistinguishable. The knowledge that she was willing to give him this privilege made the deed all the more erotic. He reached between them, his finger circling her clit until she pushed up against him as she climaxed, so hard that she lifted his weight off the bed. Her spasms were all that was needed to bring him into an explosive climax as powerful as hers.

Gil awoke nearly an hour later, still embedded in Sara as she lay sleeping beneath him. He slowly pulled out of her and rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. He knew he hadn't lied to her about "sharing" or "cheating." At least not since he and Heather had actually . . . But that shouldn't count! He wasn't with Sara at the time, and he couldn't help it if Heather did things to him that. . . Hell, he hadn't been with a woman in a long time before Heather–he was only human, for God's sake! But deep down, he knew he had betrayed Sara physically that first time he had been with Heather, and maybe even emotionally the next two times he had spent time with her. He looked over at Sara and knew he had no intention of ever telling her where he was the other night. It would serve no purpose other than to cause her pain. And if it had changed something inside of him, made him look at his relationship with Sara logically, made him more wary regarding sharing his life with her, then he had only proven to himself just now, that his addiction to her was more overpowering than logic, in whatever form it presented itself. He heard her stir next to him, then got up and moved until he was lifting her from the mattress. She awoke and looked at him, but he merely kissed her forehead as he carried her into the bathroom, standing her inside the shower with him and adjusting the water. Gently, he washed the remnants of their lovemaking from her body, then rinsed himself off before handing her a towel and allowing her the privacy she needed to accommodate herself once more. When she came back from the bathroom, he had removed the soiled sheets and put them in the washing machine, then fixed the bed again. She seemed extremely bashful as she approached him, but he smiled and took her hand then guided her back to the bed where they both fell into a well deserved sleep.

Grissom slept for nearly six hours before his slumber was rudely interrupted when he felt gravity pull him toward Sara's side of the bed and heard Sara's, "Oops–damn!" He pressed his hand into the mattress to stop himself from the downward slide as he opened his eyes and saw Sara standing in front of him.

"What–are you doing?" He asked her first, then put his attention back on the lopsided mattress. "And what happened?"

"I tried to get up and the leg fell off again," she explained as she bent and picked up the handicapped object.

He reached for it and looked at what resembled a large screw that was bent into about a hundred and fifty degree angle.

"How long has it been like this?" He looked back up at her.

"I don't know. Since I moved to Las Vegas, I guess. I think the mover broke it." She lowered herself to the floor until she was sitting on her feet and looking at him. "I told you long ago that the leg was broken."

"Well, this was a rather rude reminder." He moved until he was sitting up on her side of the bed and she quickly moved until she was sitting between his legs.

"I didn't intend to wake you up that way. I had a much more pleasant way in mind." She rested an arm on each of his thighs as she gazed up at him. "Maybe we could just backtrack a little and pretend this didn't happen."

He chuckled as he looked at her. "It's a little hard to pretend it didn't happen when every time we lie down we roll toward this corner."

"Oh," she said with disappointment. "I could shove some books underneath it to hold it steady."

"Or, I could look at it and see what it needs to fix it correctly."

"You'd do that?" She leaned in to him and offered her lips to him, which he gladly covered with his own.

"Of course, my dear," he said through his kiss. "Anything you want."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she told him as she got to her feet and walked back toward the bathroom. "I've been wanting you to look at it for months."

"All you had to do was ask me," he called after her as he watched her leave the room.

"Tried that," she called back. "You have a habit of not hearing such things."

He listened as she turned on the water and began brushing her teeth, then he sighed as he pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed the mattress and pulled it off the bed, followed by the bedsprings until he got to the bedframe. A quick inspection showed him that the hole for the leg was stripped and they'd be better off to simply buy a whole new bedframe. Their activities earlier must have added the extra pressure that was needed to bend the weakening metal. He got dressed, then went into the bathroom when he heard her head for the kitchen. He could smell the coffee brewing as he brushed his teeth, then saw Sara return to her bedroom before he was finished.

"What did you do?" She called from the side of the disheveled bed.

"It can't be repaired," he said as he entered the room with her, wiping his face on a towel. "We should go shopping for a new bedframe tomorrow."

"Where do we get a bedframe?"

"Any department store–any furniture store. They're not expensive and actually not very large. You're biggest problem will be disposing of this one. Although it's not going to be very wide by the time we fold it, it'll be long."

"I'll just toss it in the dumpster out back."

She turned toward her dresser and removed a bra and blouse, then pulled her pajama top over her head and tossed it into the hamper. He didn't hesitate moving to stand in front of her as he leaned back against the dresser and let his eyes take in her femininity. She looked up at him with a bit of a pink tinge to her cheeks, then instead of putting her bra on immediately, she put her arms around his neck and stood only in her panties before him.

"What're you trying to do to an old man with bad knees?" He groaned as he put his hands on her hips.

"What do you mean?" She half-laughed.

"If we start anything, where shall we finish it? You're bed isn't in a very sex-friendly condition right now. Your sofa was "never" sex-friendly. So that leaves the floor and that's hard on the knees."

"Not if I'm on top," she cooed as she kissed his throat, but pulled back and smiled at him. "Too bad we have to leave for work soon."


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The night sent them back to work and before he even realized it, they were back into a routine of spending their days together. This time, though, Sara spent more time keeping her apartment running as they would alternate between the two homes. The night of the charity event came and almost as if having been a premonition, Sophia, Brass, Sara and Grissom were standing in the center of the bizarre arena. Instead of being costumed guests, they were investigating a murder of one Darren Swank and his date for the evening, Miss Felicity Hopewell. It had started out as a perfectly planned evening for Grissom. He had assigned everyone to their cases with only himself and Sara left behind to pick up the pieces, when the call came in from Brass. The evening became much more complicated as he and Sara entered the dining hall to see dozens of faux Native Americans, Pilgrims, and yes, even some "turkeys." As he looked at the couple who had both been shot in the head and were lying on the stairs that lead from one level of the open-sided party room to the next, he noticed something familiar about Miss Hopewell that nagged at him. She was an attractive blonde who was dressed in a very prim and proper Pilgram costume. Her partner, Mr. Swank, was dressed in casual clothing, clearly not being a participant in the event. It was amazing how the two could have been executed in complete view of both floors of guests and there were "no" witnesses.

Sophia and Brass were milling about, questioning people as Sara started taking pictures. Grissom was just moving up the stairs behind her when he saw how she was teetering on the edge of the landing so she could get an appropriate shot. He was about to warn her to watch her step when he saw her foot slip and she began her descent in what would have been a catastrophic fall had he not been there to grab onto her arm and pull him against himself. The thought of what could have happened had he not been there and she had actually gone down the flight of steps flew through his mind in a flash and he was overwhelmed with first terror, then relief that he had actually caught her. He didn't even realize he had pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as he turned her so he could see her face. Her wide eyes stared at him, before her brilliant wattage smile broke through. He held her tightly in his arms until she righted herself on the steps and regained her footing.

"Oh, my God!" She giggled. "That scared the crap out of me!"

"No wonder–you almost broke your neck," he half scolded as he looked at her.

"No! I meant–when I fell–my arm went out with the camera in my hand. Didn't you notice how close it came to your face? I almost gave you another bloody nose–this time with the camera! I thought for sure I hit you!"

He couldn't stop the smile as he looked at her. Evidently it wasn't quite so frightening that she nearly did a back-flip down twenty steps–it was more alarming that she almost decked him with her camera.

"Well, if you even came close, I didn't notice. I was more concerned with you doing acrobatics down the stairs."

Her hands held onto the arm he held in front of her and she gave him another tiny smile. "You can let go now. I'm not going to fall again."

This was when he realized he was still holding her in his arms and he stepped back from her, then with his hand on the small of her back, started toward the bodies again. They went on with their investigation, casting glances back and forth, until they finally gathered all of their evidence and Brass and Sophia caught up with them as they were about to leave.

"You do realize Ecklie's here, don't you?" Brass asked Grissom.

"Yes. I know. I spoke with him. But he claims to have been in the bathroom while the shootings took place. He has nothing for us." Grissom put his case in the back of the Denali as Sara and Sophia put some other pieces of evidence in the side of the vehicle.

"I guess it's a good thing he's in the habit of leaving the party, then. Otherwise he would've seen your little display of affection back there."

Grissom glanced up at Brass in confusion, having almost forgotten about Sara's near-fall. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"You're little kiss back there. Quite charming, I must say." Upon Grissom's blank stare, he added. "You "do" realize you kissed her hair when you caught her, don't you? Not that I care–mind you–like I said, it was rather chivalrous of you. A real prince."

Grissom just grunted as Brass teased him, then turned his attention to Sara. "Did you get everything?"

"No, there's two cases back with David. We'll need those. Do you want me to go get them?"

"No. I'll get them." Grissom turned back to the building and approached David as he was wrapping the wounds for transport. He noted the boxes he was to retrieve, both having been secured in David's care until they would come back for them.

"Looks like a simple murder/suicide," David noted quietly to Grissom.

"You're probably right, but we'll know for sure in a few hours."

Grissom was about to descend the stairs again when he was approached by a young woman in pilgrim attire.

"Mr. Grissom," the girl, who appeared to be no older than fifteen, said timidly until he looked down at her. "I–um–was sent to get you. My boss–I mean–Lady–would like to speak with you."

Grissom's brows knit in curious frustration. If she were referring to whom he thought, he wondered just what the hell she was doing here and then Sophia's comment from earlier last week ran through his head. _"Spending the evening in ridiculous drag with the owners of Vegas's whorehouses and Seven-Elevens. . ."_ He followed the young girl, wondering what a girl that age was doing here until he saw how she moved to sit almost subserviently near Heather's feet. Heather sat regally, adorned in the simplicity of black and white–standard Pilgrim attire, but something about the crispness of it added to the effect. It was clear that she intended to be the superior female–even dressed in costume. Grissom's eyes scanned the other two females who were also dressed as pilgrims, noting how they remained close to Heather, almost as an entourage that was protecting her. Heather slowly raised her eyes to look at him, then with a sway of her hand, the other three females dissipated.

"Grissom," she said in her usual calm voice.

She started to raise her hand for her to take it, and he guessed it was a gesture that invited him to kiss it, but she dropped it to her lap as her eyes darted off in the direction of the doors to the parking garage. Grissom turned to see Sophia standing with her arms crossed over her chest and could only describe the look she was throwing them as menacing.

"Heather," he acknowledged as he looked back to her, then nodded toward the young girl that was sent to retrieve him. "Is that girl a guest of yours?"

"Yes. She is. Quite amazing, don't you think? She looks so young–but I "do" have verification that she's legal. There are uses for girls like here in my business. Perhaps someone like our Detective Brass, who has daughter issues, could learn to control his own family a little better when dealing with Brittany. Or, more than likely, she could teach him how to deal with his inferiority to his daughter. But, then, Brittany isn't the topic I wished to discuss. I guess Felicity's "friend" wasn't fond of her employment opportunities I had given her," she informed Grissom as if it were idle gossip.

Immediately he recalled the dead woman, then associated her with the memory of the servant who had served the tea to Heather and himself the week before. The transformation from "French Maid" to "Pocahantas" was what had thrown him–either that or the fact that he didn't want to connect the dead woman with Heather.

"You know what happened?" Grissom asked.

"I can speculate." She continued to eye him closely then almost seemed to be amused by him. "I can speculate on that little performance with Miss Sidle, as well. Your kiss after you caught her mid-air was very gallant and romantic. I take it you aren't taking my advice too seriously."

"If you've got something to say, Madam Heather," Sophia's voice sounded from behind Grissom. "I'd be more than happy to take you downtown for your statement."

"It's "Lady" Heather," Heather replied without emotion.

"Not in my business," Sophia's faux smile was poisonous.

"Then you're in the wrong business, aren't you? But, it won't be necessary to take me anywhere, Officer Curtis. I'm merely having a friendly discussion with an old "friend." She kept a firm gaze on the blonde woman. "As far as I know, "that" still is legal in Nevada, isn't it?"

"Legal?" Sophia asked. "Yeah. Moral? Not always. And it's "Detective" Curtis, not "Officer."

"Well, "Detective," I'll leave the "morality" end of this case up to you. I'm sure your upstanding reputation makes you quite the expert on that–even when you "are" chasing after your ex-boss, and friend's lover."

This comment brought a laugh from Sophia as she looked down at the other woman. "You think I want "your" leftovers? No thank you. Anything you've tainted with your touch isn't worth having anymore. I just hope for Gil's sake that Sara's touch will turn him back into a man, and not some whimpering fool who. . ."

"O-kay," Brass broke in as he put his hands on Sophia's upper arms as if restraining her. "I think that subject of conversation is about over."

Grissom stared wide-eyed at Sophia who was still throwing visual daggers at the brunette seated before her, then as if realizing something, turned and looked behind Brass.

"Where's Sara?" Sophia asked, clearly frightened that Sara might walk in on the scene and find Grissom with Heather.

"She's coming," Brass assured her calmly, then looked at Grissom. "You might want to end this tete-a-tete and intercept her before she gets close enough to actually see anything."

"Yes," Grissom agreed somewhat numbly. "I've got to go."

"Yes," Heather spoke up as he was walking away. "There are certain people who need sheltered from the reality of life and remain in their own little world."

"Boy! You should talk, ya little. . ." Sophia said angrily as Grissom walked away from them.

"Okay," Brass stopped her. "Heather–I've already questioned you and you provided your alibi with your three "lovely ladies." So, unless you've got something to add, I think we're about finished here."

"Oh, I think we're quite finished, Jim."

"Jim?" Sophia hissed from behind Grissom as the three of them made their way through the crowd toward Sara. "Jim? Don't tell me "you're" on a first-name basis with her!"

"Don't worry about what she says. She's got a knack of knowing how to get under people's skin." Brass continued to usher Sophia toward the garage. "Anyway–brunettes aren't my thing. Especially brunettes who need to have their pulse taken every hour or so just to make sure there's still a living person inside."

This bought a chuckle from Sophia and her tone changed to that of taunting. "Yeah, I know you're not into brunettes. You like the red-heads!"

"Hey," Sara greeted Grissom just inside the door. "I locked everything in the Denali, but I was wondering if I missed something else. It was took so long for you to get back."

"No–no," he said as he ushered her toward the garage then on to the vehicle. "I got everything."

"Gris," Brass called from behind him as he was about to get into the driver's seat. "Uh–maybe I should talk to you a minute."

"There's no need, Jim." He tried to close the door, but Brass grabbed onto it.

"Yeah, I think I need to talk to you."

"Sara! Did you see the bottle of ketchup?" Sophia called from near the door back to the ballroom.

"What?" Sara was nearly to the front of the Denali but stopped and looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "What ketchup?"

"Come here," Sophia chuckled as she held the door open. "You've gotta see this."

Sara opened the door and looked at Grissom and Brass. Brass gave her a friendly smile, indicating that she should go see what Sophia was talking about.

"Well, you two synchronized that quite well," Grissom said to Brass after Sara had gone back to meet Sophia. "You're becoming quite the team."

"Listen, Gil–cut the crap. You have to tell Sara about the victim's connection to Heather before she finds out about it on her own. She's going to wonder why you didn't tell her."

"I only just found out about it, myself. If I tell her that I was talking to her. . .it would be better if you or Sophia filled her in. You both knew about it before I did." Grissom told him quietly, then heard Sara's infectious laugh along with Sophia's. "As far as I'm concerned–I don't know a thing yet."

"Alright," Brass agreed. "I'll meet you back at the lab. I'll fill "you both" in when I get there."

"You should've seen it," Sara laughed as she got into the front of the Denali next to Grissom and Sophia came to stand next to Brass, still wearing her smile. "There was a hooker and her pimp back there who came dressed as ketchup and mustard bottles."

"All very legitimate, though–right?" Brass smiled at her and made Sara laugh again.

"Of course–just like all the other hookers in there. All legitimate and legal."


	58. Chapter 58

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Sara spent the afternoon alone at home, trying to get some extra work done that she had been putting off for months; a little "spring" cleaning in December, so to speak, while Grissom was called to work early. She was just sitting down to have a snack of zucchini cakes when she glanced down at the stack of papers on her coffee table. The first pamphlet that caught her eye was the advertisement for the Thanksgiving Gala they had investigated the previous week. She sighed deeply as she picked it up and looked at it, photos inside of previous years, and after looking at it for several seconds, she quickly discovered the regal pilgrim surrounded by four younger pilgrims. All but one of them were gazing at the woman with an array of devotion. The youngest one, though, seemed a bit ill at ease, almost to the point of fright as her body language held her somewhat distant from the others. Heather, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice any of the girls, clearly finding them not worth the time or effort to acknowledge their existence.

Sara thought back to the night she was informed that the murder victim was an employee of Heather's, and the reasoning behind the murder/suicide being the fact that Felicity Hopewell's life-partner, Darren Swank, didn't appreciate his girlfriend "treating" a multitude of other men under Heather's supervision. Once again, Lady Heather's "business" had ruined another life–two, in this case. But, from what she heard, Heather took no accountability for any of it; this was a case of an insecure man who couldn't to deal with his girlfriend's independent nature; although there were no signs of such "independent behavior" prior to her association with Heather Kessler.

To say Sara was suspicious when she was informed about Heather's presence at the party, was putting it mildly. Sara wasn't stupid. She remembered how Grissom went back for the evidence that was left with David and didn't return until much later. She also happened to see him coming from a completely different direction than where the gunshot victims were located. It was only the fact that Brass and Sophia filled them in on the Kessler connection after they returned to the lab, that saved Grissom from questioning by Sara. She didn't "think" Grissom would try to hide any association with Heather from her. Not when he swore to her that he'd never see her again.

So, they worked the case rather quickly that night, gunshot residue proving that Mr. Swank had indeed pulled the trigger that killed both Ms. Hopewill and himself. Any other questioning that needed to be done was left to Brass and Sophia. By early morning, Sara was closing the case as Grissom suggested she could handle this by herself, and he could help Catherine on her case.

The fact that Grissom failed to return to her apartment that morning alerted her that he must be working a double with Catherine, so when she still hadn't heard from him by early afternoon, she decided to go to bed until her shift began. When she woke up and took quick note that Grissom "still" hadn't come to her, she returned to the lab where she found him in his office, preparing the crew's assignments for the night. She was about to go to him when Catherine entered the hallway and called her to the break room with her.

"How did your case work out?" Catherine asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Last night?" She received an affirmative nod. "I wrapped it up before the end of shift."

Catherine leaned against the counter. "So, then it "was" a murder/suicide?"

"Yeah, it was pretty clear-cut. How about your case? When did you wrap it up?"

"Not much later than you, I suspect. I'd say I was finishing the paperwork by nine o'clock this morning."

"Oh," Sara said, really confused as to why Grissom never returned to her apartment. "Didn't Grissom help?"

"Yeah, he came out in the field with me and helped wrap things up. He was probably finished by seven. I came back and took another two or so hours until I was done."

"Really." Sara dropped her eyes from Catherine's. "I thought he would've come back to the lab."

"No–I think he left my scene and went to join Warrick at his. Now, that one wasn't finished until late this afternoon, from what I heard. They both grabbed some sleep here before shift."

"That's tough," Sara told her. "Doubles are hard enough to pull, but when you have to grab a few hours sleep here–it makes it all the harder."

"At least it wasn't a triple," Catherine told her and watched as Warrick moved into the room with them, grabbing a cup of coffee for himself.

"Ehh," Warrick moaned. "Don't talk such blasphemy! Tina's about ready to string me up as it is because I didn't go home today."

But, that had been a over a week ago, and soon their routines returned to normal. She was just finishing her snack when her cell went off and she noted it was Grissom. A few short statements and he informed her that he had found another miniature model; this one of the scene he and Greg had been called to that evening. He asked her to come in early and meet him in the layout room when she got there.

She ran into Greg on her way through the lab, so he filled her in on the scene of the murder at Mannleigh Chickens, and by the time she made it to the layout room she saw Grissom forging ahead with the investigation. Their night was long, but before the end of shift, Sara joined Catherine and Grissom in his office.

"Hey! Guess what."

"Mankind has reached a new evolutionary plateau and starting tomorrow no one will rape, murder or maim again,' Grissom responded with a bit of a bite in his tone.

"Uh." Sara looked from him to Catherine, wondering what it was that made him snap at her. "No."

"Too bad." Grissom looked away from her.

"But we did catch a break on that disposable cell phone number."

"Ramondo Swarezz called it, as well," Grissom said dryly.

"No, he didn't," Sara told him then turned her smile to Catherine before looking back at Grissom. "But according to the carrier, additional minutes were purchased with a credit card belonging to Ernie Dell. Brass is already on it. They're picking him up. We've got the miniature killer."

Grissom merely looked at Sara, his expression bland as he watched Catherine sitting before him. Sara felt as if she were an intruder in their conversation, so she placed her file on his desk. She looked at him once more then turned and left his office and returned to the layout room where she began putting the evidence together. She waited until there was no one else left on the crew, then she approached him in his office again. He was staring at his laptop screen and she could hear him listening to something.

"Look into the mouth of a person and you'll find lies wiggling there like maggots waiting to grow wings. The world has gone mad. A man could kill from sunup to sunset and still, his work would never be done," came Ernie Dell's voice from the computer.

The explosion that sounded throughout the room could only be one thing and Sara jerked with the surprise of it, staring in shock as Grissom did the same. She didn't know what to do as she watched him with her hand covering her mouth, then slowly, hesitantly, she entered the office unnoticed until she looked down at the screen and saw Ernie Dell's blood-covered scalp. They continued watching the gruesome scene as the police searched the body and finally turned off Dell's cam. Grissom continued staring at the blank screen, unmoving, until Sara reached around him and clicked out of the email folder then shut down the computer itself. Sara put her hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention, then finally after a long moment, he turned his tortured eyes up to meet hers.

"Lets go home," she said gently as she stroked his cheek with as much tenderness as she could find in her heart. "We'll leave all of "this" here–and we'll just go home."

She walked with him to the garage but when they approached his vehicle, he paused and moved to the passenger's side with a muffled, "You drive." It wasn't like him to want to leave in the same vehicle, but she wasn't going to argue the point. If they had to come back later that day for her to get her car, then they would do it. He remained quiet the whole way back to her apartment and didn't say a word as he moved inside until he was lying on her bed. She moved to the lower end of the bed and untied his shoes and pulled them from his feet, then removed her own shoes on her way to lie next to him. He let her snuggle against his side as he continued to stare ahead, and she stroked his shirt-covered chest, allowing him the silence that he needed.

Sara fell asleep before Grissom and when she woke she found him sitting on the edge of her bed with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. She glanced at the clock and saw that she had only been sleeping for an hour, then moved until she was on her knees behind him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and lay her head on his shoulder as she hugged him. Eventually he moved his hands from his face and placed them on her arms and the words came with difficulty.

"He blew his fuckin' brains out–just so I could see. He wanted me to watch. How was I supposed to know what the crazy fool was going to do? He pulled the gun out of nowhere–and he held it to his chin. I watched the bullet rip through his skull and explode out of the top of his head. I keep seeing it, only now it's in slow motion, over and over."

Sara moved off of the bed until she was kneeling in front of him, between his knees. She looked up, seeing the way he was biting at his lips with anxiety.

"He was insane, Gil. As insane as Adam Trent was when he held that blade to my throat, then cut his own."

"And what made that image stop haunting you?"

She smiled gently at him as she put her palm to his cheek. "You. You took away the ghosts. You chased them away every time you held my hand, every time you kissed me, every time we made love. Only you."

He turned his face into her palm and kissed it then pulled her up as he got to his feet and hugged her to him. She felt the unevenness of his breathing and knew this was ravaging him, eating away at his stability and he was growing so weary of it. Her hands went to the back of his head and she swayed with him, as if gently rocking him, then felt him begin to shake. She stepped back and looked at him and he looked just as puzzled as she.

"I'm suddenly very cold," he told her.

She only hesitated a moment before taking him by the hand and moving to the bathroom where she began to fill the tub. She started stripping his clothes off and guided him until he was sitting inside. She watched as his shivering slowly subsided as the water got deeper and he leaned back against the tub, resting his head against its rim and closing his eyes. She thought perhaps a warm cup of coffee or tea would help warm him from the inside but when she moved to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

"No–stay."

"I was only going to make you a cup of coffee."

"I don't want it. I want you to stay with me."

"Alright." She sat on the tub's edge as she held his hand. "I'm here."

"No. I want you in here with me."

She looked at his eyes, imploring her to do as he asked, then she started to remove her clothes. He held her hand and spread his legs as she stepped in with him, then helped lower her until she was leaning back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, but other than that, he remained still. After half an hour she didn't know if he had fallen asleep or not.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"The water's starting to cool. How about if we get you back in bed now?"

He seemed to be doing a bit better as they got out of the tub. He dried himself then wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back to her bedroom. She followed, carrying their clothes and watched him get a pair of boxer/briefs from the drawer she had given him, and put them on. He grabbed a tee shirt and sweat pants and pulled them on as well. She got a pair of short pajama bottoms and a tee shirt of her own, then got back in bed next to him. This time, she waited as she lay with her head on his chest and listened to his breathing becoming more even before she allowed herself to relax enough to fall asleep again. She would be awakened intermittently when he would change positions, but no matter what position he would get in, he would always reach for her and pull her against his body.

She woke before him that evening and got up to make them a meal, knowing that even if he didn't feel like eating, he needed his strength. She was just putting the stuffed portabelo mushrooms in the oven when he entered the kitchen behind her. She glanced back at him and saw that he had more color to his face than he had before. She stirred the vegetable stew on the stove, then turned when he moved behind her and put his arms around her waist. She gave him a small smile as he looked intently at her and she wondered what he saw.

"I hope you're hungry."

He nodded his head. "I am."

"I can give you some stew now, but the mushrooms wont be finished for another fifteen minutes."

"That's fine."

She turned again and dished out two bowls of the soup and placed them on the table, across from one another, then returned to the cupboard to get two spoons. When she returned she saw that he had moved her bowl so that she would be sitting next to him instead of across from him. He looked at her as if to get her approval so after a tiny smile she took her seat and they began eating.


	59. Chapter 59

Chapter Fifty-Nine

The following week was hectic, for not only did they run into their usual holiday-time depressions that made suicides and murders rise significantly through the city, but they were all to prepare for two parties. This week was the annual holiday season party and the following week was the more formal New Year's party. Seeing as they only had to make an appearance, it made it a little easier on Sara and Grissom, but since they decided to make their appearances at separate, but interlapping times, it complicated things a bit.

Sara was dressed semi-formal in a pair of black slacks, black jacket with a white top and heels. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed in Grissom's apartment, turning and lifting the jacket as she looked at herself from every angle she could manage. She caught Grissom's reflection as he walked into the room behind her, wearing a blue suit. She saw how he was watching her with his brows knit in confusion, then as she lifted her jacket again, he let out a chuckle.

"Don't laugh!" She scolded him, turning this way and that again.

"What" are you doing?" He smiled at her.

"Look at these! Do they make my ass look big?"

"Oh, boy," he groaned. "You know I'll only answer that with a resounding "no."

"Then they "do" make it look big!"

"Do you "want" it to look big?" He asked a bit apprehensively.

"No. But I don't want it to look like I don't have an ass at all, either."

He moved closer and lifted her jacket, then slid his hand over the cloth and the firm backside beneath it. "I'd say it's perfect."

"Oh! What do you know? You see it all the time. You wouldn't know if it got bigger or smaller."

He threw his hands up in surrender and went to his closet to pick out a tie. "Have it your way–but I think your butt looks amazing. And with those heels, it makes it look "perky."

She watched him as he moved back to the mirror and started putting on his tie.

"Do you "really" think it looks perky?" She asked, a bit concerned.

"Makes "me" want to bite it," he said nonchalantly as he kept his eyes on the reflection of his tie.

She started giggling as she watched him struggle with it, then took it out of his hands and tied it for him. "You "always" want to bite it. Tell me something new."

"Okay," he said in a low voice as he put his hands on her waist and allowed her to help dress him. "If you're a good girl tonight, Santa might have a little extra something for you under the tree."

"We don't have a tree."

"Okay, then to put it bluntly, Santa will have something waiting for you on this bed."

"But I get that every night," she whined, then smiled at him. "Is it going to have a big red bow?"

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, then gave her a quirky smile. "If you want it to have a bow–it'll have a bow."

"I don't know, Gil," she gave another throaty chuckle. "The thought of you lying here naked, with a huge red bow tied around your–gift–just might kill the mood."

"Really?" He asked as he pulled her closer and started nuzzling on her neck, going for the area he knew was most ticklish. "You wouldn't find that sexy? I could put jingle bells on it, too."

She laughed and squirmed in his arms. "Only if I can take a picture and you send it out as Christmas cards next year."

"I don't send Christmas cards," he told her in a serious tone as he continued to nibble.

"Fine, we'll make a calender out of it."

He pulled her head back and looked at her. "Darling, if you want a picture of me like that, just bring home a camera. Then you can hang it in your bedroom."

"But I have "you" in my bedroom," she smiled at him, noting the way he shifted his eyes.

"You better get ready," he suggested. "You're to arrive fifteen minutes ahead of me, remember?"

"Fine–send me away. See where that gets ya tonight." She gave him a quick peck then started toward the bedroom doorway.

"Dear?" Grissom called after her and when she turned, she watched him lift the back of his jacket as he looked in the mirror at her reflection. "Do these pants make my ass look big?"

"You're beautiful, Sweetie," she laughed.

"Ah–but is it "perky?"

"Beautiful and perky."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Sara sat at a table with Nick to her side and Greg opposite her as she waited for Grissom to arrive at the small club. Once he came through the door, the sight of him in his suit that matched his eyes, gave her butterflies in her stomach. She watched as he made his way into the room, looked around until he saw her, then allowed himself to be distracted by Warrick and his wife. Catherine and Brass joined him next and as soon as Hodges saw he was there, he was at his side as well. Sara had to chuckle at the look of despair that crossed Grissom's face until he spotted Wendy entering the room. He called her over to them and soon Hodges' attention was completely taken with the lovely brunette and Grissom was free to join Sara.

He took the seat opposite Nick and Sara suddenly felt herself becoming warm as he loosened his tie and talked with the dark-haired man. Somehow she managed to respond to Greg with the appropriate answers as she watched Grissom's hands. God, how she loved his hands. Those fingers, thick and yet refined. She felt a shiver run down her spine when she recalled what he could do with those fingers. She quickly looked up at his face, seeing how he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking about as he continued talking to Nick, but wore the touches of a satisfied smile. She suddenly felt warm and pulled her jacket open farther and when that didn't alleviate the heat, she opened her third button. She had to stifle a chuckle as she watched his gaze move from Nick and the area of her breasts that were now exposed and back again. The next time she caught him looking, she inconspicuously brought her forefinger up to her mouth and flicked her tongue out to touch it, then ran it down along the opening of her blouse. This time, his eyes lingered a bit longer before darting back to Nick again.

Everyone took their seats and were served their meals, the talking continuing now with Catherine on the other side of Grissom and Brass across the table from her. Sara took her time eating and watched as Grissom did the same until they were the only two remaining at the table as the others got up to mill about.

"You really should close at least two more of your buttons," Grissom said as he lifted his cup of coffee to his lips.

"Why? Aren't you enjoying the show?" She teased quietly.

"Immensely, as I always do. But I think poor Greg almost choked on his dinner because he was watching your chest more than he was watching what he was putting into his mouth." He looked over at her with a dry smile. "But if he's like me at all, he was thinking about just how well "they" would fit in his mouth."

She started chuckling at him, then got to her feet and walked over to where Nick was talking to Warrick. She soon became involved in their conversation about their latest case, and didn't really notice how Warrick would take a step closer to her when he wanted to emphasize a point, then Nick would do the same. It wasn't that she didn't feel comfortable with these two guys, but you can only take someone getting into your personal space so far before you subconsciously begin to retreat. Within five minutes she was successfully backed up at least ten feet from where they had begun their debate. This was when she noticed how Nick and Warrick were acting a little out of sorts. She knew them well enough to know when they were up to something and she immediately began searching the area to see who their victim was.

"That ought to about do it," Warrick said as he looked at Sara, then up to the ceiling.

"Yeah, I'd say she's right on target," Nick agreed, wearing a shitty grin.

Sara immediately looked to where Warrick had a moment ago and saw that they had successfully planted her directly beneath a hanging mistletoe.

"You know what that means," Warrick said in all seriousness, then looked around at the crowd of people intermingled behind them. "Hey, guys–Sara, here, has just been our first volunteer for the mistletoe. Who's in?"

Sara was amazed at how fast the men whom she worked with came forward, and the very first one in line made her laugh in spite of herself.

"I'll take some of that action," Doc Robbins moved forward on his crutch and before Sara even had time to stop laughing, he leaned forward and kissed her soundly on the lips, then quietly, he added, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Doc," she smiled at him. "Merry Christmas to you too, and you too, Mrs. Robbins."

Mrs. Robbins, good-naturedly, waved and smiled in return.

"I'm next," Jim said as he stepped up to her and kissed her forehead. "I hope you get everything you hope for this Christmas."

"Come on, Jim!" Nick called to him. "Mistletoe isn't for "fatherly" kisses. Give her a real one–knock her socks off!"

"Not for "my girl," Jim smiled at them as he walked away from her.

"Who's next?" Warrick called.

"Ya know, guys, I could simply just walk away," Sara said as she took a step, but Nick quickly stepped in front of her and nudged her under the mistletoe again.

"Not in our game," Nick told her.

Sara sighed and decided to put up with their "holiday merriment." After all, it wasn't as if she didn't know these men. She worked with them everyday and she'd trust any one of them with her life. So, she tolerated Hodges over-enthusiastic embrace, Archie's very nice, slightly more than friendly kiss, David Phillips' peck on the cheek and even Ecklie's a little ambitious attempt. Warrick moved in next with a smile that turned into a fit of the chuckles when he kissed her.

"What's the matter with you?" Nick laughed at them.

"It's like kissing my sister, for Christ's sake!" Warrick said, then kissed Sara's forehead as he released her.

"Well, I aint got no sisters!" Nick said with an enthusiastic drawl as he moved in next and scooped her up into his arms. He bent her over his arm as he pressed his lips to hers. The chanting began almost immediately with a few howls here and there and he continued kissing her, but what appeared to be an open-mouthed kiss was anything but. He remained much the gentleman as he kept any of his body parts from invading hers, although the onlookers would've never suspected as much. When he finally stood her back up, he gave a loud, heady sigh and wiped his brow for the show, then so quietly for only Sara to hear he turned to her and added. "But if I would have a kid sis–you'd be her."

She smiled with her heart on her sleeve as she looked at her dark-haired hero, then turned to another waiting gentleman. If she considered Nick as her "big" brother, then surely Greg was her "little" brother. He approached her slowly and put his hands on her waist.

"You look lovely tonight, as usual."

"Why, thank you, Greg. You look pretty amazing yourself."

"Ah, you say that, but you don't mean it."

"I seem to remember hearing that line somewhere before. . .I know. . .the sloth says it in Ice Age. Well, Greg, I thought the sloth was just adorable–and so are you."

He smiled with a bit of embarrassment and she wondered if she'd ever see the crazy-youth that radiated from him up until a few months ago, but she sensed those days were long gone. With his beating, he had seen new sides to life; sides that he chose to ignore before. He was a stronger man for having survived what he went through. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, then retreated back to the crowd.

Sara was about to leave the area again, having felt she played along with their game long enough, but Hodges spoke up before she could take two steps.

"Oh, no. Not yet. Not everyone's had their turn."

"Shut up, Hodges," Nick taunted. "You're only getting one shot at it. If you blew it the first time, that's too bad."

"No," Archie agreed with Hodges. "Grissom hasn't had her yet."

His terminology made Sara practically choke, then chuckle at the ironic nature.

"Come on, Gil!" Doc Robbins called to him. "Belly up to the bar!"

"Sorry, guys," Grissom said from where he sat at the table, watching the whole show. "But I don't play your reindeer games."

"Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som," Nick began to change and was soon joined by most of the other men who had already kissed Sara.

"How about," Sara spoke up as she took a step toward Catherine and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her beneath the mistletoe as she stepped away from it. "If you start on this little elf, instead."

It only took a second for the chant to change to "Will-ows, Will-ows, Will-ows!"

"Okay, boys–come and get it," Catherine took it like a good sport. "But I'm warning you now–any tongue and it's getting bitten off!"

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara entered Grissom's apartment, having waited a half hour after he left the party before she made her excuses and left, much at the same time as Nick and Mandy. The only light in Grissom's apartment was coming from the lower floor, from the bedroom, where she could hear music playing. She hesitantly walked through the doorway but stopped when she saw him with his suit jacket removed, his tie off with the top buttons of his shirt opened and his sleeves folded midway up his forearms. That sight in itself made her breath catch in her throat, but when she saw the glasses of champagne he was holding and the silver tray with chocolate covered strawberries on the center of the bed, she couldn't stop the "Ahhh," from escaping her lips. She watched as he walked to her and placed the glasses on his dresser, then put his hands on her waist, pulling her close. He nodded toward the ceiling and she looked up to see newly-hung mistletoe dangling from above.

"Now, its my turn."

"Save the best for last, is my philosophy," she murmured as his lips came down on hers.


	60. Chapter 60

Chapter Sixty

Sara didn't recall how she lost her jacket, or her blouse for that matter. But she did remember when he walked her backwards, unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks then pushed them over her hips. He gently guided her back until she was sitting on the end of the mattress and he kneeled before her, taking first one foot in his hand and removing her black heel and then the other. He glanced up at her and she saw a bit mischief flicker through his eye and thought for sure he was about to grab both feet and topple her over onto her back, but it quickly faded. She imagined the thought of her landing in the tray of chocolate strawberries may have deterred that idea. Instead, he slowly pulled her slacks form her long legs and tossed them to a nearby chair. She waited for him to rise and join her to share the sweet fruit but just when she thought he was going to push himself to his feet, he hesitated a moment, then went from kneeling, to his knees and pulled her face to his. He seemed to study each feature, almost to the point of making her uncomfortable, then he dropped his eyes to her lips and met them with his own. His hunger nearly took her breath away as he put one arm around her and lowered her to the bed, while pushing the tray to the side with the other. He moved his kiss over her face and she moved her hips closer to the bed's edge as she spread her legs around him.

"Shhh," he murmured against her lips. "Not yet."

His hands slid down her arms, fingers entwining with fingers as he moved them up toward her head and continued thrusting his tongue between her lips, letting her suck on it and return the gesture with her own investigation of his mouth. When he moved his kiss down to her throat, she tilted her head back, absorbing all the pleasures he was lavishing on her. He released her hands so he could lightly stroke her sides as his mouth moved lower, taking his time about advancing on to the breasts that had been taunting him all through dinner. She lifted her head to look at him and the contrast between his five o'clock shadow and the brilliant white lace of her sheer bra sent a jolt straight through her. His lips and tongue found their way down her right mass as his hand stroked and massaged her left, tightening both nipples to throbbing beads through the lace as he sucked and squeezed them. After lavishing more than enough attention on her breasts, he moved lower and let his fingertips trace imaginary scenes across her trembling tummy and when they moved lower, to repeat the procedure on her thighs and eventually her inner thighs, his lips pressed kisses to her stomach and his teeth lightly nipped at it.

"Gil," she breathed as she started to lift her hips, expecting him to remove the white lace thong, but he merely pressed her hips back to the mattress.

He continued on, lifting her legs and spreading them farther apart as he kissed the tender skin of her inner thighs until they were trembling. When she thought she was about to go mad from the phenomenon he was creating within her, she felt his mouth on her very center, moving over the cloth that covered it, and when that wasn't good enough to appease his desire, he held it to the side and feasted upon her flesh. Her moans were competing with the music that played around them and soon she felt wave after wave of the most exquisite bliss she had ever felt. She wasn't one hundred percent sure, but she thought she may have actually screamed. Her hands held onto his head tightly, her spasms refusing to allow her to release him as he slowly ran his tongue over her until she was calm enough to let go.

She felt the coolness of his absence and moaned her disappointment, but when she looked up, she saw him standing between her legs, gazing down at her with the look that always sent her wild with desire. She knew what he wanted every time he would look at her like that, but this time, even though she could see the rock-hard evidence inside of his slacks, he stood very still as he watched her. Her fingers clutched at the comforter beneath her as she stared at him, unable to remove her eyes from his magnificence. The only effort he made to ease the discomfort he was feeling was to unbuckle his belt and pull it from its loops, then unzip his pants, leaving the button closed. He nodded his head toward the top of the bed, silently telling her to scooch up farther and when she complied, he toed off his shoes and put his knee on the mattress before lowering himself partially on top of her and partially next to her. She smiled nervously, still in awe of him.

"How does that compare with a big red bow?" He asked as he looked down at her, bringing an even wider smile to her as she put her arms around his neck, then reached up and kissed him.

"Happy Holidays, baby," she cooed against his lips and felt him smile.

This time it was she who was moving her kiss lower on him. Feeling the whiskers of his shadow was an added bonus as she moved down his neck and spread his shirt farther open. Her hand went inside, tugging it from his slacks, then pushing him onto his back as her lips moved on to his shoulder. She toyed with the hair on his chest and took pleasure in the formation of his muscles, then followed the hair down his stomach, but he stopped her before she opened the button on his pants. When she looked up, he smiled and turned with her until she was on her back again, then he reached for the tray and pulled it up closer to them.

"Hungry?" He asked as he picked up a plump strawberry and held it to her lips.

Yes, actually, she thought–I was hungry for you! But she couldn't bring the words forth when the scent of the chocolate assaulted her senses and the sweetness started to melt against her lips. She opened her mouth to take a bite, but he pulled it back out of her reach, then relented and allowed her to bite into its lusciousness.

She groaned with the intensity of the flavor. "Ohhh, Gil! You've got to let me up and share this with me–it's pure ambrosia!"

He smiled at her again, then moved to the side and allowed her to swiftly get up on her hands and knees where she grabbed the tray and turned to look at him. She waited for him to adjust the pillows behind himself then move until he was sitting up against the headboard. She rapidly straddled his lap with the strawberries in mind, but in her haste was reminded that he was still in an aroused state when she landed and he grunted.

"Sorry," she whispered, then brought one of the berries up to his mouth, allowing him to bite into it, and when some of its juice ran down over his chin, she didn't hesitate to lean forward and lick the offending liquid from him.

After leaning the tray against his chest and stomach, she rose up on her knees again and reached for the two glasses of champagne he had left on his dresser and handed one to him. He drank from it and leaned his head back to watch her do the same before resuming their nectarous treat.

"No more," he told her after his fifth berry.

She attempted to get up from his lap to take them to the refrigerator but he grabbed onto her wrist and stopped her. He took the tray from her and leaned over, placing it on top of his dresser. She grabbed one more berry and popped it into her mouth then took another drink of her champagne to finish the glass.

"I need to get your gift," she said as she leaned forward and spread her chocolate covered lips over his.

"You already gave me my gift," he said then licked the chocolate off. "Do you know how many times I've imagined you like this?"

He slid his finger inside the strap of her bra and then her thong.

"Um," she started to chuckle. "Since you went into Victoria's Secret with me last week and bought them for me?"

He let his hands slide over her waist and hips. "How about almost nine years ago when you entered my lecture?"

"Oh, that's sweet," she said as she leaned forward and gave him a little kiss, then leaned back and looked at him again. "But, I don't believe you."

"Okay–maybe I wasn't fantasizing about a white lace thong and bra back then–but I can clearly remember waking up about three years ago after dreaming of you like this–of "us" like this."

She stared at him. She didn't know what to say as she looked at the virile picture he presented in his opened dress shirt and slacks.

"Why?" She looked completely baffled. She had no idea when this could have happened, then she recalled a case they had worked on, and the dead girl he had tried so valiantly to keep her shielded from. "It was that girl who looked like me–wasn't it? Debbie–something."

He looked at her and she knew she was right. It had frightened him and he couldn't deal with his feelings about her at that time–so his brain processed it the only way it was capable–while he slept. He looked away and reached to the drawer in his night stand and pulled out a blue package with white snowflakes and a white ribbon on top, then a smaller, green package with red ribbon and a bow. He handed her the smaller gift first and watched as she held it. She hated opening gifts. She was never very good at it. During her time in foster care, Christmases and birthdays were always either forgotten or there was a token gift that always held no interest to her and were generally of less interest to the people who provided them. And now, although she was sure he put a lot of thought into his gifts, she felt uncomfortable just the same; another souvenir from her childhood, she guessed. Now, "giving" them–that was a different story. She loved getting things for people and watching "them" as they would open the prize.

The box was only about the size of a checkbook and almost as thin. She flipped it over and looked at it, deciding which would be the least destructive way of opening it. She slid the ribbon and bow off, then untaped the foil paper. As she opened the box she found tickets inside and upon closer inspection she found they were two concert tickets for Bryan Adams performing in Reno on January fifth. She looked up at him.

"I couldn't get Sting–we just missed his US tour. But I know you like Bryan Adams almost as much," he explained.

She looked back at him with shock. No one had ever taken the time or effort to get something like this; something she would thoroughly enjoy because it was something she would have wanted but never spent the money to actually buy for herself. She leaned forward and kissed him, then looked back at the tickets she still held in her hand, then noticed the day of the concert was on a Friday.

"Thank you, very much–but this is on a Friday. We never have a Friday off together."

"I–uh–I'm going to assign you a four-day weekend for that week. So you'll have all day Thursday to get ready, and then enjoy the concert without being rushed to get there. You'll have the weekend to recuperate afterward."

"O-kay," she said, still not quite understanding, but deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth she brightened and smiled widely at him. "Well thank you! I love Bryan Adams! There's only one other person I'd go to see in concert–other than Sting, of course."

"Yeah, I know. But Rod Stewart won't be playing Reno until March."

"Or. . .," she began as another possibility came to mind.

"And Bon Jovi will be here in May."

His knowledge that it was Rod Stewart "and" Bon Jovi made her smile at him again. He took the tickets and placed them on his night stand then handed her the larger, blue and white package. Taking the same care as the first package, she opened to find a Victoria's Secret box and inside was the matching white lace kimono wrap that went with the bra and thong she was wearing. She lifted it from the box and found another pair panties, same style as the fabric, but with a bit more covering than the thong. She pulled the sheer wrap on over her arms and got to her feet, turning for his inspection.

"What do you think?" She half-smiled at him.

"I think we need to clear off the bed pretty soon so I can "show" you what I think." He picked up the extra panties and put them in the box. "These are for you to use if you want to wear them to work."

"You don't like the idea of me wearing a thong at work?" She teased as she took the box from him and placed it on his night stand with the tickets.

"I don't like the idea of you working with anyone "else" while wearing "that." He gestured toward her thong which was sufficiently hidden beneath the wrap.

"Don't forget–"that" was part of your fantasy." She looked at the strawberries that were still on his dresser then picked up the tray. "These need to be put in the frig, they're starting to melt."

"I don't care if they decompose," he sighed. "I'd rather you come back to bed right now."

"I'll be right back–I swear." She started toward the door. "But I want to get "your" gift now."

"I told you–you've already given me my gift," he called after her, making her giggle.

Sara was excited to get the shadowbox containing an exotic butterfly and moth collection she had gotten for him. She had searched many secondhand and antique shops throughout the past few months, never quite coming up with just the right thing. Finally, she went on the internet and found this treasure. It was rather large, about two feet high and three feet wide, and it had about thirty different species of the insects mounted behind glass windows.

She had smuggled it into his apartment the day before when he was closing a case with Warrick, but she no sooner got it into the living room and she heard him coming to the door. She quickly scanned the area and found only a cabinet that she could hide it behind. So she slid it down against the wall, nearly knocking over the fax machine when it got caught on the cord, in the process. She just managed to fix the machine and walk away when he came through the door and hung up his jacket.

Tonight, she was a bit nervous, wondering if he would like it or not as she moved to the cabinet and carefully reached behind it. She slowly slid it up the wall and out from behind its hiding place. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that she had cleared the fax machine and didn't get caught on the cord this time. But when she attempted to turn back toward the bedroom, the corner of the frame got caught on the tray sitting next to the machine and toppled it to the floor. She put the shadowbox on the sofa and went back to pick up the papers that had scattered across the carpet, not really paying any attention until she found a small folder from the airport. Puzzled, she looked more closely at it and saw that it contained a ticket inside, scheduled for takeoff on January fifth. She flipped through the papers behind the ticket and found a contract signed by Grissom for a teaching position at Williams College in Massachusetts. She didn't recall sitting on the chair next to the cabinet as she skimmed over the contract, noting that Grissom had signed it over a month ago.


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter Sixty-One

Slowly, Sara got to her feet, grasping the airline ticket and contract in one hand while holding her wrap closed with the other. She had been sitting there, trying to rationalize just what she was supposed to do with this information. Nothing was coming to her. Her mind was a complete blank. She stopped in the bedroom's doorway, wanting an explanation for what she had found, but saw that Grissom was gone. She vaguely heard him in the bathroom and she suddenly felt claustrophobic. She needed to get out of there. She needed some fresh air. She needed to breathe.

She dropped the papers on the end of the bed, then opened the drawer he had given her to put her clothes in and pulled out a pair of jeans, socks and a sweatshirt. The wrap came off just outside of the bedroom and was replaced with the sweatshirt. She picked up her keys as she passed the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. The jeans were pulled on close to the bottom of the stairs that lead to the landing and the door. Socks were carried with her as she went to the closet and grabbed her sneakers. She pulled a sock on every other step as she made her way down the hall that spanned the distance between his front door and the door to the building and she paused as she stepped outside to pull on her sneakers.

The cool night air felt good as it rushed into her lungs. She breathed deeply, inhaling as much of the refreshing gas as she could. At least she didn't feel as drugged and stupefied as she had while inside. She could feel her eyes stinging and reached up to rub them, then upon finding them extremely wet, wiped them on her sweatshirt sleeve. She took another breath of air and started for her car. Perhaps a drive would help clear her mind. She can only imagine that she had too much champagne tonight. She paused a second when she recalled the last time she had been pulled over for a DUI, then started walking down the street. The cool night air would do her good–and they really couldn't arrest her for walking under the influence, could they?

But deep down, she knew she wasn't drunk. She just knew she had to breathe and the air inside the apartment was suffocating her. She walked for blocks with her mind a blur. Bits and pieces of thoughts slipping in and out of her mind. Thoughts like, "he's known for weeks and never even hinted. . ." and "the gift that meant so much to me, was only a way to get me out of his way. . ."and "he's leaving me. . ."

She took a shaky breath and paused to gather her bearings, noticing that she had walked a good distance when she recognized the Wal-Mart she had come upon. Well, what the hell. She had nothing better to do. She went inside and walked down the aisles, noticing the Hannah Montana shirts for little girls in this department, and Paula Deen cookware in the next. She went past the DVDs, seeing "Young Guns II" in the bargain bin–wasn't "Blaze of Glory" featured in that movie? "He" said Bon Jovi would be performing here in May. She'd rather not think about that right now so she moved on, then stopped to look at some scented candles. She walked farther until she saw Twister and paused a second to look at the box–damn, she always hated that game. She could never understand the logic behind it. Ah, yes–Clue–much more to her liking. She came upon the bicycles and wondered how beneficial it would be to take up cycling through the desert, but then thought better of it. She moved toward the front of the store again, stopping as she passed the pet section to look at a little dress that said "Princess of the Block" written across it. A dress for a dog. She wouldn't mind having a dog. They're supposed to be loyal–right? Oh, well. Cosmetics, Health Aids, and back to the cashiers who were looking at her as if they expected her to stuff a rack full of clothes beneath her shirt and walk out with it.

Back out into the night air. Breathe in–breathe out. "Okay, now that you've slowed your breathing, let's try to slow your thinking." She went from racing thoughts as she made her way back to Grissom's apartment, to simply not thinking at all. She was tired. Yes, that was the answer. She needed to sleep. If she slept, she wouldn't have to deal with the fact that he held her in such a low regard. If she slept, she wouldn't have to think about how he only gave her something that would benefit him. And if she slept, she wouldn't have to watch him leave. She would just go home and go to sleep.

Another thirty minutes and she was trudging up the block where she had parked her car next to Grissom's, but she noticed his vehicle was gone. She started to go to her car, but the fact was that she didn't trust herself to drive. She was so drowsy that she knew she'd probably fall asleep at the wheel. So she went into Grissom's place and straight for the sofa. Hadn't she put something on it before she left? Oh, yeah, his gift. Not there now. Just as well. God, she was tired. Within seconds she was out.

At one point through she felt extremely cold and she turned onto her side and curled herself as tightly as she could manage on the sofa but she fell back asleep almost immediately. She remembered the room being extremely dark, just as she had left it when she came back from her walk, and everything was silent. Her dreams were sporadic and alarming. In one she would see fellow foster children whom she had lived with at one time or another, each being taken from the home before any real attachment could take place. In another she would see her old boyfriend, Hank, turning away from her at the scene of a devastating crash and going to the arms of another woman. She saw her father, lying in a pool of blood before she was removed from the home, never to see him again. And there was her mother, warning her that "they" all betray you in one way or another.

When she woke next, she first noticed the blanket that was spread across her, then she noticed the dim light coming from the window blinds where the dawn was beginning to seep through. She listened to the sounds around her; the ticking of a clock; the rhythmic drip of water from a faucet that evidently hadn't been turned completely off; and the breathing–deep breathing indicating someone was sleeping close by. She moved her head a little, looking at the chair to the left, catty-corner to the sofa, and saw Grissom sitting with his legs stretched in front of him. He had stuffed a pillow behind his head and had his arms crossed over his chest, but he was definitely sleeping. She continued to watch him, noticing that he had changed out of his suit, wearing clothes very similar to hers; jeans, sweatshirt, sneakers. Her memory of waking up chilly indicated that he had arrived back at the apartment much later than she. She slowly sat up, being careful not to make a sound and as she put her feet on the floor she noticed her sneakers were gone. She glanced around on the floor but they were nowhere to be seen. She got to her feet, but as she stood, her keys fell from the edge of the cushion and opened Grissom's eyes immediately.

"Where are you going?" He asked quickly.

"I have to pee," she told him quietly as she picked up her keys, then walked past him.

When she came back she saw her shoes sitting on the ledge to the upper floor so she grabbed them and continued over to the stairs. He sat more erect in the chair as he watched her sit and begin putting them on.

"Sara," he said slowly. "I can explain. Let me explain."

She attempted to smile at him as she tied the first shoe. "You really ought to go back to bed, Gris. You need the sleep."

"So do you. The last time I left the apartment it was nearly three o'clock. So you couldn't have had even four hours of sleep."

"Well, you weren't here when I got back." She pulled on the other shoe and began tying it. "So, you evidently got even less than I did. Go back to bed. You look tired."

"Where were you last night? Where did you go?"

"I went window-shopping at Wal-Mart," she said dryly.

"You're not going to tell me?"

She looked at him as she stood up, the fact that he didn't believe her was almost humorous. Then she recalled very vividly what he had put her through when he had disappeared that night over a month before.

"How does it feel? But don't worry. "I was faithful." "I didn't cheat." She stared at him and saw the combination of pain and anger in his expression, then she dropped her gaze. "Like I said, go back to bed. I'll be at the lab picking up any loose ends that were left over from yesterday."

"You can't go back to the lab. You're off today. And you're maxed out on overtime."

"I'm not maxed out," she said, quickly looking back up. "I've got at least ten more hours this month before I'm maxed out."

She watched as he slowly walked toward her and reached for the keys she held in her hand, but she pulled them away and put them behind her back.

"If "I" say you're maxed out on overtime," he said very calmly as he simply reached around her and took them from her hand anyway. "Then you're "maxed out" on overtime."

"Fine–then I'll go do some work back at my place," she insisted.

"No," he spoke to her as if speaking to a naughty child. "You'll come to bed with me and not leave until we've both rested and can sort this all out."

"Why?!" She finally allowed a hint of her anger free. "Why do you want me to stay here? Is it sex? Fine! We'll have sex!"

She brushed past him and stormed through the living room, pulling her sneakers off and dropping them on the way, followed by her socks. The sweatshirt was pulled off and tossed on the kitchen counter and she hopped from one foot to the other as she was yanking her jeans off her feet while she was entering his bedroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in his mirror and saw the lace bra and thong she still wore and took them off as well. She certainly was in no mood to play his little "fantasy" with him. She went to her side of the bed and stood waiting with her arms crossed over her chest, fully expecting him to be behind her, but he wasn't there. She heard him walking out there, then she heard the sound of her keys dropping and something closing. Dammit! He hid her keys! When he finally walked into the bedroom he had her sneakers, socks, sweatshirt and jeans in his hands. He calmly put the sneakers on the floor and then picked up her bra and thong and put the clothing in his hamper. She continued to watch him as he went to her drawer and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top. He nearly closed the drawer again, but stopped and grabbed a pair of white cotton panties. He didn't even look at her as he tossed them onto the bed in front of her.

"Put them on."

He then went to his hamper and pulled off his sweatshirt, leaving the tee-shirt on beneath it. He removed his jeans and came back for a pair of sweat pants that he put on before going to the bed and lying down. She watched as he turned onto his side, facing the other direction, and she grabbed her clothes, one piece at a time and started putting them on. Silently, she got on her side of the bed and stared at the wall. She felt like she stared at it for hours, but it was really only a matter of fifteen or so minutes until she fell back to sleep.

When Sara woke up it was nearly noon. She turned on the bed and noticed that Grissom wasn't there, but the noise from the front of the apartment let her know that he had his music playing and she could hear him moving about. She pushed herself out of bed and went to the bathroom. This time when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. The rarity of wearing makeup the night before for the party made it logical that she completely forgot to clean it off–and considering the night and morning hours she had, she didn't even have time to "look" at her face, let alone wipe the smudges and smears clean.

She turned on the shower and got her essentials, then stepped into the steaming water, letting it help soothe her until she felt calm enough to get out and join Grissom. She wore only her underclothing and a robe as she entered the kitchen where he stood in jeans and another sweatshirt as he poured the remainder of their champagne down the drain.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked solemnly as he continued to watch the liquid go down the drain. When she didn't answer immediately, he turned his head to look at her sitting at the table, and holding her arms around herself. She gave him a nervous smile and nodded her head affirmatively. "Are you hungry? Do you want coffee?"

"I could probably use a beer," she said under her breath then watched as he poured two cups of coffee, sitting one in front of her and keeping the other for himself as he leaned back against the counter and looked at her.

"You'll have a coffee, instead."

She toyed with her cup as he drank from his, neither knowing what to say to the other about the stormy night that had just passed. She would glance up from time to time at him, but his gaze never seemed to waver from her, as if waiting for her to begin.

"How long have you known?" She finally asked quietly but when she looked up this time he wasn't quite so sure of his answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. "You've known for at least a month. I saw the date on your contract. Did you know longer than that?"

"No. It's been about a month," he finally said to which she acknowledged his statement with another nod.

"And you were just planning to send me off to a Bryan Adams concert and leave without letting me know. I guess I should feel honored that you, at least, considered me enough to want to get me out of the way."

"I didn't do it to "get you out of the way." He shifted on his feet uneasily. "I merely thought it would be easier that way."

"Of course." She finally lifted her cup and drank some of the blackness. "I guess I'm the fool for believing that I "should" have been considered, here."

"You "were" considered. I thought about how to tell you everyday. I just never found the way."

"So, your solution was to simply fly off to Massachusetts while I'm at a rock concert."

"I thought it would be easier on "you" if you weren't here to watch me go." He sighed. "I "wanted" to tell you. I was "going" to tell you. I was "planning" to tell you today while we were off work together."

"That's kind of you," she said a bit sarcastically. "What I don't understand is, why did you go through all that last night?"

"Because I wanted to," he said simply as if the answer was quite obvious, then he put his cup down on the counter and moved to stand in front of her. "Look, I know I should've told you. I know I was wrong–I was cowardly–I was an idiot. You can call me any name you like. But the fact remains that we've got less than two weeks together before I leave. Do you want to spend them "with" me–or "away" from me?"

She looked up at him. "And what happens after you leave?"

"I teach for four weeks–then I come back."

"Why, Gil?" Her eyes started to tear and he took her hand and pulled her to her feet, putting his arms around her waist as he watched her. "Why did you feel you needed to do this without even discussing it with me?"

"Because I'm tired. I'm exhausted. It feels like if I "don't" get away from this constant slice and dice atmosphere I'm going to implode and no one will ever hear from me again. It's getting to be like we're living in a horror film that never has an end. It just keeps rolling, reel after reel. I need a break."

"You're leaving because of work?" She asked with a catch in her voice. "You? The man who can go knee-deep into human stew and come out smelling like roses?"

"It's getting harder and harder to get out of that stew. I need to step back and regroup; touch ground with "real, live, people" again. I need to make sense out of life instead of only looking at death. I've become so enveloped in the insanity of this city these past few months that I feel lost–unable to find anyone outside of myself. I certainly can't be doing you any favors, only going through the motions of life."

"And what happens if while you're gone, you decide you'd rather stay there and teach?"

"Let's not put the carriage before the horse. No one has even suggested the possibility of a permanent position. I haven't even "thought" along those lines. This is a time for me to reorganize my thoughts, figure out what's important and what isn't. I'm hoping to come back with a lot of decisions made about life that I simply haven't had the strength of mind or body to make for a long time."

"Okay," she said as she dropped her gaze from his. "Then let me put it this way. What happens if after four weeks, you decide you find that "I'm" not important?"

"You'll always be an important part of my life, Sara."

"Gil–don't patronize me. You know what I mean. What if you don't want to be with me after four weeks of solitude?" She turned from him and walked several steps away.

"Then we'll know for sure–and we won't be tiptoeing on the fence anymore."

"So–you don't know. Right now–you just don't know."

"I don't know about a lot of things in my life right now. Can't we at least take solace in the fact that we're going to spend the next two weeks together?"

"I guess I don't have much choice–do I?"


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty-Two

She turned and looked at him, then started walking back toward the bedroom again. He could hear her getting re-dressed and drew in a deep breath as he went to the drawer containing her keys. He put them on the counter so they would be available when she came back out. He finished his coffee then shoved his hands in his pockets in frustration as he stood close to the keys, but the noises from his bedroom eventually stopped and after a few minutes he went back to see what she was doing. When he stood in the doorway he found her sitting on his side of the bed with the small green box he had given her the night before. He knew she wasn't aware of him standing there, wasn't aware of him watching as the tears slipped down her cheeks and the way she hastily wiped them away, wasn't aware of how the sight of her crying because of him tore at him.

He must have made a sound; some kind of a noise that alerted her of his presence because she quickly looked up and go to her feet.

"You okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine!" She said with what was attempted to be a smile and she approached him then put the box in his hand. "I won't be using these, though. You should really try to find someone to buy them from you. What are they worth? Thirty pieces of silver?"

"Sara! It wasn't like that!" He placed the concert tickets on the counter where she picked up her keys as he followed her back to the living room. "Don't leave, not feeling like this."

She gave a quiet faux chuckle. "Then how "should" I leave?"

"I don't want you to leave at all. I told you that." He walked up to her and put his arms around her again. "Please, can't you understand why I have to go?"

"I understand why you "think" you have to go. In the meantime, I'm left behind in this sewer of a city while you go listen to nature back east."

"Fine!" He threw his hands up in defeat. "I won't go! I'll cancel everything!"

"Don't you dare turn this around on me! Go to your damned session in . . .in. . .where the hell is it?"

"Massachusetts," he said quietly.

"Massachusetts. Massachusetts in January. I hope you freeze your goddamned balls off!" She stood before him with her hands on her hips and fire flying from her eyes.

"Alright."

"Alright–what?" She asked with irritation.

"Alright, I'll freeze my balls off, if that's what you want."

He watched as a touch of a smile curved her lips slightly before she dropped her eyes to look at the keys in her hands. "Hmph. What good would you be to me then?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something," he said with a slight twist to his own lips. "I'm told I can be quite inventive when I want to be."

"You're changing the subject!"

She almost stomped her foot and he thought she had never looked more adorable. He just wanted to hold her in his arms and let her get angry with him–let her work it out of her system. But, he simply stood there and watched her.

"Okay. I'll get back on the subject. I don't want you to leave. I want to spend the rest of the day with you until we have to go to work tonight."

"Why? You said yourself–you're not sure what you want from me."

"Sara! I'm "not" sure of what I want from "anyone!" I'm not just singling "you" out. I'm not sure what I even want from "myself." I know you think I'm being extremely selfish by leaving like this. . ."

"You "are" being extremely selfish," she interrupted. "Selfish, close-minded, self-centered, pig-headed, egocentric, parsimonious, self-indulgent, narcissistic–and–and. . .well, just plain rotten mean!"

"Mean? How am I being mean? I tried to make the transition easier for you with the concert tickets. If I were being mean, I wouldn't care how you felt when I left. But I do care." He took a step toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. "God, I care. I can't help it my head's so messed up right now that I can't think straight. That's why I'm leaving, Sara. I need a break! Can't you see that I'm doing this for "us" just as much as I'm doing it for myself? You don't deserve someone who's zoning out on everyone."

"But, still–you can't tell me that you'll come back to me."

"Well, I certainly am not telling you that I "won't!"

"That's not good enough." She turned from him and walked up the steps, then paused without looking back. "I'll see you at work. I'm not going to argue with you about this. But, right now, I need "my" space."

He said nothing as she walked out. He just stared at the closed door, shocked that he couldn't convince her to stay with him.

That night was Christmas Eve and it brought the whole crew in to cover the murder of three brothers; aged eleven, twelve and fifteen by their father who then turned the gun on himself. After they nearly finished processing the entire house, they found the body of his wife and the boys's mother in the garage. She had evidently been the man's first victim before he entered the house and shot the youngest boy in his bed. It appeared that the middle sibling was awakened by the sound of the gunshot and tried to escape from the room but only made it as far as the bottom of his bed. The man then went to the other end of the hall where his oldest boy slept and shot him in his bed before shooting himself.

Grissom knew it was going to be a double, if not a triple shift and watched as each of his crew members diligently worked side-by-side to get things finished. He decided after the first shift that he didn't care how long it would take, he wasn't going to make Catherine or Warrick work during Christmas Day. They both had families waiting for them.

Sara helped ease the holiday stress by catering a buffet-type setting for the rest of the crew as they would stop in the break room throughout the day. She had various desserts, several different kinds of vegetables, and a small turkey that was stuffed with gravy on the side, even though she adamantly refused to eat any of the meat. Everything was kept in the refrigerator with instructions to return it there after they would get what they wanted to be microwaved. By the time the case was finished and they had been working for over twenty hours, Grissom entered the break room to find her tossing a turkey carcass and numerous empty containers in a large garbage bag. He looked at the two pies that were on the counter; a single slice of apple pie and another of pumpkin pie was all that was there.

"This is it?" He asked with disappointment, bringing her attention to him.

"You look heartbroken," she told him.

"I am! I didn't get anything."

"Sit down." She picked up a plate and put the two slices of pie on them. "Now you have something."

He poured himself a cup of coffee and moved to where she put the pie then took the fork she handed him. He was just about to take a bite when she pulled out a can of whipped cream and covered both pieces of his pie with the white fluffiness. He slowly raised his eyes to look at her, seeing how she tilted her head as she looked back, just waiting for him to make a remark.

"Why, in God's name, would you do that? You "know" I don't like whipped cream!"

"You ate it on a banana split."

"That's on ice cream! I've already told you that I can only tolerate it on ice cream. Other than that–I don't like it!"

"Oh," she said as she turned and put the can back in the refrigerator. "I must have confused you with Hank–another boyfriend who left me."

He didn't have the opportunity to reply when he saw Conrad Ecklie coming down the hall.

"Ah, don't tell me I missed another piece of pie," Conrad said with authentic disappointment.

"No," Sara assured him. "Look in the refrigerator, down on the bottom shelf. There's a whole blueberry pie and Doc has a strawberry rhubarb that his wife made. I think there might even be another apple in there, too."

"Great!" Conrad entered the break room with renewed vigor and went straight for the stash that had been hidden from Grissom's view. He turned looked at Sara, then at Grissom, then back to Sara. "Is there any more turkey and stuffing? I could use another serving of that."

"Yes. I put it in a blue container on the middle shelf. The stuffing is in a green container and the gravy's in a yellow one. I think there are still candied yams in there too, but I forget what color they're in."

"Oh–fantastic! I'm still starving!"

Both Sara and Grissom remained quiet as Ecklie filled a plate then put it in the microwave. He would glance at them with curiosity as he waited for his food to heat, but seemed more interested in his meal. Finally, he took his food and went back toward his office.

"There's more food! You didn't tell "me" there was more food!" Grissom whispered.

"You didn't ask."

"I insinuated."

"Not the same." She paused and looked at him. "Sortta like when you "insinuated" that you were going away for four weeks, huh?"

"This is all because I'm going away!"

"No, Gilbert. It's because you didn't see fit to let me know you're going away. It's because you can't give me a straight answer about whether or not we'll even be "talking" to one another when you get home."

"We're not doing such a great job of "talking" right now. Why should I think four weeks would make a difference?" She suddenly looked at him and he knew he had done it again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She looked away, seeming defeated as she started out of the room. "The food's in the refrigerator. I'm sure Ecklie has most of it out now anyway. Enjoy it."

"Sara, wait," he sighed as he watched her change direction and start for the locker room.

"Hey, little girl," Warrick said as he stopped her not far from the break room. "What's wrong? You look like you've lost your last friend."

"Just tired, I guess," she answered. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be home with your wife."

"Eh, the atmosphere in here is a little less volatile than at home."

"I'm sorry. Did you eat?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. We sort of got into it before the food was done."

"In there," she instructed as she nodded toward the room she had just come from. "Go get your fill before Ecklie and Grissom eat the rest of it."

Grissom managed to capture several hours rest before he started work on the next shift. By morning he was so exhausted that he fell asleep practically as soon as his head hit his pillow and he slept for nearly twelve hours. He wasn't surprised that Sara didn't come to his apartment that day, but he did feel that they needed to settle this before he left. He approached her at work that night but was interrupted every time he tried, finally giving up completely and hoping to have a chance at it the following day. He waited until he got home and tried to call her, but she didn't answer her cell. After about two hours, he decided to go see her in person, but as he pulled into her parking lot, he saw her getting out of Catherine's car with what looked to be some new clothing on hangers. He stayed in his car and watched as Catherine waved goodbye to her and drove off, then he met Sara at her door.

Initially she seemed surprised to see him, but it only lasted a moment.

"May I give you a hand?" Grissom asked as she fumbled to get her key out of her pocket, then after a moment's hesitation, she nodded her head.

He used his own key and opened the door, then took what he now recognized as a dress and carried it inside for her. She closed the door behind them and put the two bags down that she still carried, then took the dress from him and lay it over the back of the sofa. She didn't go any farther than the living room as she turned to look at him.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here," she said quietly.

"But, still, you let me in."

"Should I have kept you standing out in the hallway?"

"Not at all. May I sit down?"

She glanced at the sofa, then nodded her head yes, and she went to the chair across from him. She sat down, silently looking at her hands. "Catherine and I went shopping for something to wear Sunday night. She's going to look lovely in a white sequin dress."

"I'm sure she will," Grissom agreed. "So, you're still going to the New Year's party?"

"Yes." She looked up at him. "Shouldn't I? Would it be better if I didn't go? I mean, if you've made other plans. . ."

"Made other plans?" He didn't understand.

"If you've asked someone to go with you."

"No, Sara. I haven't asked anyone to go with me." The thought was utterly ridiculous, until it occurred to him that she may have done jut that. "Have you agreed to go with someone else?"

"Just the gang. Catherine and I are riding together. Sophia said she was going to meet us there."

"Sara," he began, then leaned forward and took her hand. "You're talking as if we're breaking up. We're "not" breaking up. I can understand your anger now, but don't turn this into something that we can't recover from–because I know we can."

She looked up at him. "Now you know? Every time I asked before, you weren't sure."

"I'm not a psychic. I can't tell the future–can you?"

"No. But if you would've asked me last week if I'd still be in love with you in a month–I would've laughed at how you could've doubted it. If you would've asked me if I'd still "want" to be with you, I would've said absolutely. Some things you just "know" and you don't have to be a psychic."

"And this week, Sara? What would you say if I'd ask you those questions today?"

"Today, I don't have the answers. They were taken from me on Christmas Eve."

"They weren't taken from you, Sara. They're still there."

She shrugged her shoulders then looked at him again. "Maybe. But they're hiding and don't want to come out yet."

He watched her a moment, then released her hand and got to his feet. "You'll let me know when they're ready to come out of hiding–won't you?"

"You'll be the first to know," she said. "And, Grissom. If you haven't changed my days yet–I'd like to keep Thursday and Friday off."

"Are you reconsidering the concert?"

"No. If you can't find anyone to give the tickets to, I'm certain I can. But I'll never use them." She walked him to the door and opened it for him.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-Three

The rest of the week was a blur of cases coming and going, some taken care of in hours, some that took days. But, there was never any lull in the amount of work that needed to be covered. During the weekend, Grissom started preparing things to take along on his trip the following Friday and by Sunday evening, he very nearly forgot that the department was meeting for a New Year's Eve celebration. It was a formal affair–another charity event at five hundred dollars a plate, so a tux was mandated.

Grissom was actually the first to arrive for a reason. He was shown to his seat and quickly looked over the place cards, seeing on the side of the table nearest to the wall, it was to be himself, Sophia, Greg, Nick and Mandy. Across the table, Catherine was to be seated across from him, then Brass, Sara, Warrick, and his wife, Tina. It was simply a matter of switching two cards as he moved Sophia's card between Brass's and Warrick's, and put Sara's between himself and Greg. When the waiter came to ask if he'd like a drink, he informed him of the changes, stating a conflict of personalities made the original seating arrangement uncomfortable for those involved. The waiter acknowledged the changes and fixed his paperwork to match the seating.

Grissom stuck to coffee, wanting all his senses on full alert tonight. He was on a mission and he hoped it would work. Although he appeared to be waiting patiently as he sat, leaning his arms on the table, his eyes were constantly darting toward the entrance. He barely noticed the other people gathering in the large room, until one body moved to stand directly across the table from him, blocking his view of the doorway. Grissom moved his eyes up the body dressed in black, recognition taking place as he saw the smile that curved this person's lips and Grissom felt a chill of complete irritation run down his spine.

"Hodges! You're in my way! Move!"

"Oh, sorry, boss. Are you looking for someone? Maybe I saw them–who is it?" Hodges asked as he continued to block his view.

"Uh–Catherine. I was waiting for Catherine."

"Ya know, boss, I think she's an excellent choice." Hodges squinted his eyes and nodded his head as he looked at Grissom.

"Hodges–what are you talking about?"

"She's the perfect mate for you. Almost the same age, absolutely gorgeous, just the right size for you–slightly shorter, and just enough sass in her to make her exciting!"

"Where are you sitting, Hodges?"

"Next table down. For some reason, they stuck me with the other peons. If you want, I could always move . . .," he paused to read the card next to Grissom. "Sara. . . down to my table and I'll sit here so we can talk."

"Hodges," Grissom gave him a sarcastic smile. "Sit down!"

"Sure!" The man started for Sara's seat, but stopped upon Grissom's next comment.

"Down at your own table."

The lab tech was no sooner out of Grissom's sight than he was forgotten as he looked up to see three beautiful women entering the room with three men looking rather satisfied with accompanying them. Brass walked next to Catherine with his hand just barely touching her back, and Grissom noticed that Catherine was wearing just what Sara had mentioned last week. Catherine was a complete knock-out in her white sequin gown with long sleeves, high collar, but bare back. Her red hair was piled on top of her head in a complete picture of elegance. Nick walked behind Brass, gently guiding Sophia by the elbow. Sophia was in a low-cut silver gown that complimented her very nicely. And then came Greg, walking with his arm around Sara's waist. Her gown was chocolate brown that matched her eyes, and was as silky as her hair that was swept up and back in something he could only describe as a combination of a french braid and some sort of chignon with wisps of the darkness framing her face. His mother would have been proud of the gentleman in him that appeared to make him stand as they approached. But the fact was that it was a reflex response to Sara's absolutely glowing beauty. He made a point of looking at Catherine and Sophia as they came to their seats, but his eyes were magnetically drawn back to Sara.

"Oh, good," Greg said when he looked at the place cards. "We get to sit together."

Sara smiled graciously at him, then glanced at Grissom, but showed no other outward signs that the arrangement bothered her.

"Well, I couldn't ask for a seat much better than this," Brass said as he held the chair for Catherine, then turned to see Nick doing the same for Sophia before the younger man moved to the other side of the table. "Surrounded by three beautiful women–I think I'm gonna enjoy this evening."

"Jim, you'd enjoy a steak meal if you were surrounded by three thugs you just pulled off the street," Catherine said as she pulled her seat in closer, then looked over at Grissom. "You're here awful early–for you, anyway. You in a hurry for some meat, too?"

"In a manner of speaking." Grissom took his chair after seeing that Greg had seated Sara. "But I'm doing the stuffed lobster."

"So, what does your "protect the animals-vegetarian diet" think of lobster?" Greg asked Sara.

"Lobsters are animals, aren't they?"

"Lobsters are crustaceans," Grissom told them. "Actually, distant cousins to the cockroach. So if you have no problem squashing a cockroach beneath your shoe, you should have no problems with the death of a lobster."

"I don't squash cockroaches," Sara smiled politely at the other occupants of the table.

"You do so. I've seen you. You get rather vicious when you see one." Grissom said, then looked up at Catherine quickly when he realized what he had said. "She–um–we were working a case together and the place had roaches."

"Yes," Sara agreed as she glanced over at him. "But I don't "eat" the cockroach, now do I?"

"Do you guys "have" to talk about cockroaches before we eat dinner?" Nick asked from where he sat on the other side of Greg.

"I can certainly think of better topics of conversation," Catherine agreed. "So, Grissom–what's been up your butt lately? You've been crabbier than the lobster you're going to eat. What's the matter? Not getting any lately?"

Brass chuckled next to her and Greg and Sophia both looked down at that end of the table, expectantly wanting to know how Grissom was going to react to such a question.

"Oh, yeah," Nick spoke up. "That's something I wanna know about! Especially before eating. Please, don't implant "that" picture into my brain. Sorry, boss–but I don't want to know about your libido."

"Thank you, Nick," Grissom said as looked at Catherine, unaffected by the question, but still not wanting it to be the topic of discussion. "If I've been a little testy with you all, I apologize. I'll do my best to lighten up."

"You're going to lighten up?" Warrick asked as he approached with his wife, and seated her, then took the seat between her and Sophia. "I didn't know you were necessarily in a "dark" kinda mood."

"That's because you haven't been at the brunt end of it," Catherine told him. "You should of seen him right after Christmas. I swear, someone tried to stick a cattle prod up his butt–he was meaner than an electrified bull."

"Always the lady, aren't you Catherine," Grissom teased.

"She does have a way with words," Brass agreed.

"Now, come on–really! Are you guys going to sit there and tell me you didn't notice how bitchy he was?" Catherine looked around the table, but only got chuckles from unwilling victims of his wrath. "Sara! You two have been at it again–surely you've noticed he's been out of sorts."

"No," Sara said with a questioning expression. "I haven't really noticed."

"Hi," Mandy approached the table and looked at the empty seat next to Nick. "They tell me I'm to sit here."

"Oh, no!" Nick teased as he got up and pulled the chair out for her. "You can sit here–just don't make me sing for my next piece of evidence."

"She makes you sing?" Warrick asked.

"Of course," Mandy said, as if she thought everyone knew. "Haven't you heard him? The other techs think he's got a wonderful voice."

"Mandy," Nick warned. "We don't need to talk this."

"No," Greg said as he leaned forward and looked at Mandy. "What does he sing?"

"Mandy, of course," she answered with a grin.

"You sing Barry Manilow?" Warrick asked with distaste.

"Hey–I was named after that song!" Mandy objected.

"Oh, that's so sweet!" Catherine chided him. "Come on, Nick. Give us a few bars."

"No," he said with embarrassment.

"Go ahead," Catherine kept it up. "You sing Mandy, and Grissom can sing Sara."

"Yeah–like that's gonna happen," Greg laughed.

"Which Sara?" Grissom asked as he relaxed in his chair, leaning back with his hands in his lap and his fingers intertwined. "There's been several. Starting back with Bob Dylan–then Hall and Oates, Fleetwood Mac and then Starship in the eighties."

His comment turned everyone's eyes on him, but he merely gave a crooked smile.

"How. . ." Catherine started.

"I was in my teen years in the late sixties and seventies. I listened to the radio a lot."

"Oh," Catherine seemed satisfied with his answer then turned her attention to Sara. "Which one is your favorite?"

"I'm really not familiar with Dylan's song. But I like the other three. I guess if I had to choose a favorite, it would be Hall and Oates–although the correct title of the song is "Sarah Smile."

"Oh, I like that one," Catherine agreed. "That was a good make-out song when I was about seventeen."

Grissom allowed the conversation to flow around him, but his focus was on the beautiful creature sitting next to him. She sat a bit stiffly at first, but as she discussed a variety of topics with the other occupants of the table, she became more relaxed. He eventually turned in his chair on the pretense of listening to the people at the other end of the table, but in reality he was watching the vision of loveliness that was so close to him; all he had to do was turn a little more in his chair and his thigh would be against hers. The thought struck him that he was beginning to regret their decision to keep their relationship a secret; his desire to simply sit there and hold her hand was overpowering. But then, if they knew he and Sara were together, they would also know when they were apart, such as now, and the thought didn't seem quite so attractive to him anymore.

Conversation continued through dinner and before he knew it, the dishes were taken away and the room was being prepared to celebrate the coming of the year of two thousand seven. Grissom remained seated and watched as everyone at their table started milling about, except Sara, Warrick, and his wife. Warrick tried to maintain a conversation with Sara, but every time he tried to include his wife, it was evident that there was as much, if not more, friction between the two of them than there was between himself and Sara. As the music began, Nick approached Sara and before Grissom even had a chance to speak to her, she was taken out to the dance floor and cradled closely in the other man's arms. Grissom could only sit by and watch. The closer it came to midnight, the more couples were on the floor, dancing. Grissom danced a few times, Catherine, of course, had him up several times, and Wendy had asked him twice. He caught Sara looking at him as he danced with the others, but she would avert her gaze when she realized he saw her.

The crowd was beginning to get denser after eleven o'clock, and by eleven thirty, with the lights dimmed and the space between the couples only being enough to allow them to move adequately, Grissom knew he had waited long enough. Thankfully, Sara was dancing with Brass, so he doubted there would be any trouble stealing her away.

"May I?" Grissom stepped in as Brass relinquished Sara to his care. He wasn't sure how she was going to react and after the first few seconds he thought that perhaps she was going to leave, but at last she took a deep breath and put her hand in his as she looked at him.

"I was wondering when you were going to work up the courage."

"It wasn't courage I had to battle," he told her as Phil Collins began singing "I Wish it Would Rain Down," and they started moving together as he put his hand on her waist and she put her hand on his shoulder. "It was your usual amount of admirers."

"I believe the correct term is "friends," Gil. Anyway, you know how to dance. I saw you with Catherine and Wendy. There was no one here who said you couldn't ask me to dance."

"I asked you now. "Now" is when I wanted to dance with you. I wanted to make sure no one else had you monopolized when the clock strikes twelve."

"Why? Were you afraid I was going to change back into a pumpkin and all that would be left would be a glass slipper?"

"Not in the least," he said as he started to dance her farther away from the center of the room. "Cinderella is always a princess at heart."

"But I'm no Cinderella."

"No?" He asked, feigning shock, then tilted his head closer to hers. "You "look" like a princess tonight."

"Does that make you my Prince Charming?" She asked with a bit of sarcasm, but he wasn't going to let this evening be turned into an argument.

"If you'll allow me to be."

As the music became a bit more intense, he turned her toward the opposite side of the large room, in direct opposition from where their department had been sitting. She held onto him a bit tighter in response, not meeting his gaze anymore.

"You hurt me, ya know." She looked somewhere over his shoulder, biting her lip in a nervous gesture.

"I know." He kept a firm hold on her as the music changed to John Waite's "Missing You." "What would you say if I promised to try to never hurt you again?"

She looked at him, searching his expression. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But if you'll let me try–I promise I'll try to find a way."

She didn't answer him as they danced through the song. This time as it ended, she didn't attempt to be released as "Don't Cry Your Heart Out" began. They danced silently and as he pulled her a little tighter with each song, she moved closer until her hands were resting on his shoulders and both his hands were around her waist. Finally, she looked up at him again.

"Do you promise?"

"Promise?" He wasn't quite sure of what she was asking, since they had last spoke about ten minutes earlier.

"To try."

"Cross my heart. It's my first priority."

She looked away again, then lay her head against his shoulder as she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. "I don't want you to go."

He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin until she was looking at him again. "Let's go home. We can talk there."

The words were no sooner out than the music changed and a countdown began. Sara closed her eyes as if the interruption was physically painful, then looked back at him and nodded her head affirmatively.

"Three. . .two. . .one. . .Happy New Year, Everybody!" The speaker said enthusiastically as balloons and confetti were being dropped in a continuous downpour.

Grissom was looking into her amazing brown eyes, seeing the misty quality to them as he lowered his head and gently kissed her lips. "Happy new year, darling."

"Happy new year, baby,"

Sara's fingers traced along his jaw before pulling him back into a much deeper, albeit brief kiss. He was just pulling his head back and looking into eyes that were still misty when he heard Nick approaching.

"There she is! Hey–I've been looking for you!" Nick moved in, dragging Mandy by one hand and Sophia by the other as Grissom and Sara separated. Nick grabbed onto Sara's waist to spin her around in his arms. "Happy new year, sweetness!"

Grissom watched as Nick kissed Sara a little too long for his taste. He had to stop himself from actually stepping up to him and pulling him back. He could understand the mistletoe event the week before, but the sentimental token had been taken far enough. Finally Nick released Sara and turned to look at Grissom, then grabbed Mandy again and kissed her.

"Better watch it, Grissom," Sophia chuckled as she watched Nick practically bending Mandy over his arm. "Nick's lips are flying all over the place. You just might be next in line!"

But when Nick turned to look at Grissom he was all smiles. "Now's your chance, Gris! Congratulatory kisses are in order! Sophia's available."

"No, that's alright," Sophia said as she dropped her eyes to the floor in embarrassment.

"He gives out kisses, too, Sophia," Nick explained. "Didn't you see him kissin' Sara? If those two can put aside their swords long enough for a New Year's kiss, I'm sure there's some for both of you!"

"What?" Mandy seemed to blanch at the idea of kissing her boss.

"Al-right," Sophia said with obvious distaste, then moved up to Grissom and looked at him.

He looked back in a similar fashion and they both quickly gave one another a peck on the lips before stepping back as if they had just been bitten by a snake. When he looked at Mandy, she giggled in obvious nervousness and he became amused. He reached out and Nick put her hand in his, so he brought it up to kiss her fingers.

"Happy New Year, Mandy."

"Yes," Mandy looked at him through huge eyes. "Yes."

Nick looked at Mandy, then at Grissom in complete confusion over why Mandy would become so flustered. But he quickly looked back at Sara and grabbed her around the shoulders with one arm and Sophia with the other, then turned and started walking away from Grissom.

"C'mon, Mandy," he called to the dark-haired, bespeckled woman, then addressed the other two. "Ladies, there are a lot more men waiting for you all, over on this side of the room."

Grissom watched as Sara was dragged along with an overly enthusiastic Nick and she turned to stared at him over her shoulder. Grissom gave her a gentle smile, then held up his hand with five fingers opened, then pointed toward the exit. She nodded and he turned and started for his car, hoping she would, indeed, be able to slip out of the party in five minutes.


	64. Chapter 64

Chapter Sixty-Four

Sara walked up to Grissom's door and paused. She had remained distant and firm for over a week, but all she could concentrate on now was the fact that he was going to be leaving. She could have used her key to get inside, but chose instead to simply knock. She waited a moment longer, then stared at him as he opened the door in his tuxedo pants and the white shirt he had been wearing with it. His tie was gone and the shirt's top three buttons were opened.

He stared at her for what seemed to be an eternity, then reached out and took her hand and drew her inside. She allowed him to close the door, then she put her arms around him, allowing all her insecurities to flow through her as she clung to him and pressed her face to his shoulder. He pressed his arms around her and stroked her back, soothing her as he kissed her hair.

"Shhh," he whispered against her. "It's going to be alright."

"But, I want–I want–I. . ." She couldn't seem to get her thoughts out, and she didn't know what good it would do anyway. All she wanted was for him to stay.

"Come on," he said as he turned her and walked with his arm around her waist. "Let's sit down for a minute."

They went to the sofa as he kept her in his arms and she moved up against him. He remained quiet, allowing her speak at her own pace. But, she couldn't find the words and he seemed fine with that. The minute turned into nearly half an hour of silence until she finally gazed up at him, but the way he looked tonight was too overpowering and she felt her eyes begin to sting and looked away again. She knew she was confusing him, but she couldn't seem to help it. He pulled her onto his lap and she snuggled back against his chest. As his left hand moved to her thigh, holding her on his lap, she absently fingered the brilliant whiteness of the shirt covering his forearm. He gently stroked his thumb over the silky gown that was covering her legs.

"I want you to stay," she managed dully as she continued to stare into space.

He said, equally as bland, "I know."

She turned her face more fully into his neck and moved her grasp onto his shoulder, seeking strength and warmth from him. His response was immediate as he stroked her back, and her hair.

"I'll stay until you go to work Wednesday evening," she told him.

"I'm glad. I wanted you to be here."

"After Wednesday evening, I'm going home–and I don't want to see you until you get back. I don't want to have to watch you preparing to leave."

"I'm already packed," he told her. "There isn't anything else to get ready."

"Hide your bags. I don't want to see them. And, there are always last-minute preparations that you'll be tending to. It's going to be hard enough just watching you mentally prepare for this over the next three days."

"I don't understand." He pulled her back so he could look at her.

"I can see the excitement starting to stir in your eyes already. I can sense the eagerness to leave. I know you well enough to feel your relief at not having to be here in a few days. But, I'll do my best to try to ignore that. You certainly don't need me moping around the whole three days I'm here." She couldn't believe the calm, if not joyful, tone she was managing to talk in when she felt like she was being torn apart inside.

"I wouldn't mind," he said gently.

"But, I would. Please, these are my conditions, otherwise, I won't be able to stay."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Whatever you want, is fine."

"And," she began as her hand moved to the collar of his shirt and she began picking at it. "I don't want to be assigned with you on any cases. I'd rather work with someone else. Nick and I work well together."

"Nick," he said with an irritation that she didn't understand. "I'll have Nick work with me. What about Warrick?"

"Warrick's fine. We work well together, too."

"You work well with everyone, Sara."

She felt a rush of emotion as she looked up at him, then couldn't stop herself when she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, just as she couldn't stop the words from seeping from her lips. "I work well with you! I'm at my best when I'm with you!"

"Shh," he murmured against her cheek. "I'm right here."

She allowed him to stroke her; to calm and soothe her as he kissed her cheek in small, gentle kisses. She pulled her legs up onto the sofa and he slid his hand down over her calves until he removed her pumps then returned to stroking her calves. She could feel his tenderness but at that moment she wanted to feel more. She needed to feel alive and wanted; she needed to forget that they had been estranged for the past week; she needed to forget that he was leaving.

"Make love to me, Gil," she whispered as she turned her face toward his and with her hand on his cheek, met his lips with her own.

"Are you sure?" He asked between her kisses that were growing more intense.

"Show me that you want me."

She felt his groan as his touch moved farther up her legs, onto her thighs as he tried to maneuver her off of him. "You've got to get up if you want to go to bed."

"No," she whispered as she got to her feet in front of him, then tugged her dress up and moved onto her knees. "Right here. I want to feel you lose yourself in me–right here."

She reached for him, letting her hands drift up his thighs as he met her mouth with his, but when she found his zipper and opened it, he put his hand over hers.

"I thought you wanted "me" to make love to "you?"

He guided her back until he was kneeling next to her and lowered her to the floor. She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt while keeping his eyes on her and within moments he discarded it onto the end of the sofa. He unbuckled his belt, then opened his pants but instead of pushing them down, he lowered himself until he was lying next to her. He seemed intent on taking his time; making her feel every touch, every caress, every kiss. He stopped often, just to look at her and smile until he had her gentle smiles in return. He was succeeding in making her forget everything else but him and his magnificent beauty, and the fact that he was completely focused on her. He made her feel that he was where he wanted to be and never wanted to leave. Little kisses and gestures lit the embers inside of her until there was a warm glow and the coldness she had felt this past week was beginning to disappear. Sex wasn't the objective anymore as his fingers danced over her, showing her that he was getting satisfaction out of simply being with her; simply touching her. Soon her touches were responding to his and what could have been over in a short time, was spread out as the appreciation of the other was expressed. The anticipation was there as the fire slowly heated them to the point where touching wasn't enough. By the time his body entered hers, she had never felt safer, and she knew until her dying day, she would be in love with Gilbert Grissom.

Sara lay in bed, watching him sleep, and although he made thorough love to her only hours before, she couldn't stop the tears from misting her eyes once more. She lifted her head and kissed his arm near his shoulder; the arm that hours before held her to him so tightly when he came that she thought he might break her. He stirred in his sleep as he reached out and placed his hand on her waist and pulled her closer, then nudged her legs until his thigh was between hers. In spite of her grief, she had to smile as she knew what was coming next. It was a common sleeping position that he had grown accustomed to over the past year and a half, and she really didn't think he was aware of doing it. He always seemed to be deep in sleep when he would pull her to him like this, and as she suspected, his next move was to grab her beneath her knee and pull it up over his hip. She couldn't count the number of times he would wake her to do this while he went right on sleeping.

The ticking of the clock turned her attention to the glowing red numbers that showed her he had been sleeping for nearly an hour, not having come back to the bedroom until four-thirty. She moved her hand to the back of his neck, stroking the short hair that grew there, and still, she couldn't seem to stop watching him long enough to fall asleep.

She waited until six o'clock and decided that perhaps a warm soak in the tub would help to relax her, so she slid out of Grissom's grasp and closed the bathroom door behind her. She filled the tub with warm water and put some bath oil in, its fragrance making her anxiety lessen significantly. But still, as she leaned against the back of the tub and rested her head on its rim, she silently allowed a few tears to fall from her closed eyes.

"You're going to turn into a prune," Grissom's voice woke her and the coolness of the water gave her a shiver. "You're water's almost cold. How long have you been in here?"

She opened her eyes to see him kneeling next to the tub, wearing a pair of jeans with nothing else. She looked about the room and shrugged her shoulders.

"What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Oh! I've been in here for almost three hours!" She scrambled to get to her feet and he rose to meet her with her towel. She took it and wrapped it around herself as she stepped out of the tub. "Did you get called in to work? Is that what got you up?"

He shrugged his shoulders as he looked at her. "No, I didn't get called in. I don't know what woke me."

"I had trouble falling asleep, so I thought a bath might relax me."

"Evidently it worked." He followed her into the bedroom and watched as she rubbed herself dry then pulled a pair of lounge pants out of her drawer, a pair of panties and a tee-shirt, all of which she pulled on in an attempt to get warmed again. He watched her, wearing half a smile, until he approached her and started rubbing her arms vigorously to get some heat back into them. "Come on–back to bed."

She didn't argue, as she was still extremely drowsy, and when he lay down and held the blankets up for her, she climbed in and snuggled against him. He then turned and wrapped his arms and leg over her in a comforting attempt to give her some of his body heat. Within minutes, she was asleep again. When she woke at three o'clock, she was in no hurry to jump up and start her daily activities. She merely got out of bed and went to the living room where she found him now wearing a sweatshirt as well as his jeans. He looked up at her from where he had been watching the news and when she got within two feet from him, he reached for her hand and pulled her down until she was sitting next to him with her legs across his lap. Together they silently watched television, although Sara's mind wasn't quite tuned in as much as Grissom's. Instead, her mind was focused on the shape of his fingers as she held onto his hand; on the way he smelled of a combination of shaving cream, soap and pure Grissom; on the way she seemed to fit against his side perfectly, almost as if they were molded that way.

By four, he got up and made a pot of coffee for them, while she started a dinner of a zucchini boat with a side of pasta. They worked together, not talking much, but looking at one another often. They ate with little conversation, then cleaned up afterward, giving them three more hours before they had to get dressed for work.

"Do you want me to go home and change for work?" Sara asked as she looked in the room where he was sitting on the sofa again. "It'll give you some private time to do what you want."

He looked at her and shook his head no. "I want to spend my time, right here. Pick out a movie and come sit with me."

"Alright." She gave him a small smile as she went to his limited library of DVDs and picked out "To Kill a Mockingbird." She inserted it, then moved back to the sofa, sitting next to him and allowing him to pull her flush against him again. Together they watched the classic, discussing the innocense portrayed by the children; an innocense that was shattered as they watched the injustices of the world at that time. They discussed the beauty in the opening narration, words that flowed from the woman's tongue like poetry. They discussed the fact that no one else could quite play Atticus Finch other than Gregory Peck, and William Duvall's Boo Radley was a simplicity that spoke volumes.

At the end of the movie they changed clothes and Sara took her formal clothing from the night before to her car. Grissom kissed her in what was a tender, but long kiss, then they drove separately to the lab where he assigned her to work with Greg and Catherine, while he worked with Nick and Warrick.

In the morning, Sara arrived at Grissom's apartment before him and went into the bathroom to shower. The silence of his home was deafening and before she knew it, she was crying, already feeling the loss of him. She tried to stop her tears and toughen up–God, she didn't understand what was getting into her. She was crying at the drop of a hat and there didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop it. After letting her crying session work its way through, she finally turned off the shower and dried off. She pulled on a pair of sweats and a tee shirt and made her way back to the bedroom where she stopped short upon the sight of Grissom leaning against the dresser.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she put her other clothes into the hamper.

"Waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"You. I was just waiting for you. Do you want to go out for breakfast? Or stay inside and indulge yourself in Grissom's House of Pancakes?"

She smiled at him then walked over and into his waiting arms as she lay her head against his chest. "I'm not very hungry right now. But if you are. . ."

"Actually. . ."

"You didn't eat all night, last night–did you?"

"If you consider five cups of coffee–eating–then, I guess I ate."

"Come on, let's get some food in you."

She went to the kitchen and helped him get the ingredients for the pancakes, then sat at the table and watched as he griddled them. He made two for her, even though she swore she wasn't hungry, then took their plates to the table where he sat next to her. She noticed how he would take a bite of his food, then look up at her with a small smile tugging at his lips. She would take a bite here and there, but for the most part, played with her food. When he finished eating, they cleaned up and went back to the sofa to watch the news, then headed in to bed for some sleep.

In her dream, she watched him getting on the airplane and watched as it took off, leaving her feeling cold and alone. She waited for him to return, but in her dream he never came back and she could feel her heart breaking.

"Sara!" Grissom's voice broke through to her and she woke with a sob. "Are you alright?"

She turned panicked eyes on him as he leaned over her, and in her sleep-induced irrational state, she knew she had to convince him to come home. She had to show him what he would be missing if he chose to stay in Massachusetts.

"Gil!" She breathed and reached for him, pulling him down to her kiss. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and pushed him onto his back as she leaned over him. Her hand slid up inside his tee shirt and pushed it up to his chest as she ran her fingers over the hair that grew there. She moved until she was lying half on top of him, letting her leg ride over his and between them. As her mouth moved lower on his neck and throat, she moved her hips against him, trying to assuage the intense desire that was coiling inside of her. She roughly pushed his shirt up, giving her the room she sought to place her mouth on his nipple and nip and suck at it.

"Sara, God!" His hands moved to her hair, pulling it back from her face as she continued her desirous assault on his chest and stomach.

She could see him growing beneath his sweats as her tongue circled his navel and played with it, then moved lower and felt his abdomen tighten as her kisses got closer to the part of him that was now standing at full attention. She had only one thing on her mind as she pressed his sweats lower and freed him, and that was to make this as memorable as possible. She grasped onto him and pumped him several times then moved until she had her lips over its throbbing head. She listened to his sudden intake of breath as she licked him then sucked him into her mouth. She moved on him, taking as much of him as she was physically able, then pulling it out with a pop that would make him moan. When she felt his hands move to the back of her head, she took him into her mouth again and moved on him in earnest, not teasing anymore as she performed her expertise, working him to the point of bucking against her. She did everything she knew to take his mind off of everything except obtaining the perfect climax. She listened to him making sounds she hadn't heard him make before and she could feel the tension in him, knowing he wanted to do something–anything–to see that she received some of what she was giving. But she wasn't interested in that right now. She wanted only to please "him."

When he came, his whole body stiffened and trembled before going completely limp as she licked the remnants of his pleasure. But before she completed her task, he was using weakened hands to pull her up where he turned against her and started kissing her. His energy was spent, but he kissed her over and over again until his breathing finally came under control.

"You know, that wasn't necessary," he breathed as he held her face and he looked into her eyes. "I didn't wake you so you'd go down on me. You were having a nightmare."

"I know why you woke me," she said. "But "I wanted" to do it."

He shook his head negatively as he looked at her, then pulled her against him again and rested his head on the top of hers as she leaned it on his shoulder and put her arm around his chest again.


	65. Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-Five

Sara and Grissom walked out of the lab together after she had worked the night with Greg and Warrick. She was glad to have been kept busy these past two nights, but she knew that come tonight, when she'd be off of work, it would be the most difficult. They drove separately to Grissom's apartment and went inside to eat some breakfast he had picked up on the way. She tried to smile at the things he would say; after all, he was trying so hard to keep her spirits up and she didn't want to disappoint him, but when he wouldn't be focused on her, she would let the faux smiles fade away. After breakfast, they decided to grab a few hours' sleep, then get dressed and take in dinner and a movie. They had reservations at a restaurant in a small town about thirty miles outside of Vegas. They enjoyed the quiet ambiance as they ate their meal, then walked the main street, looking in storefronts along the way. They made it to an early show of a movie that Sara knew wasn't of Grissom's taste, but he sat with her and held onto her hand in the darkness of the theater, just the same. She even thought he may have dozed off on a few occasions, but she didn't mind. They went back to Grissom's apartment, where she picked up her car, then went back to her place. He followed about a half hour later, after changing clothes for work that night.

Sara was already in her pajama bottoms and tank top when he arrived and had a cup of coffee waiting for him. He sat at the table as he drank it and she stood at the sink, watching him.

"I–um–know this is kind of useless right now–but what are the chances of me talking you out of leaving Friday?" She blurted out of nowhere.

He looked up at her, blankly, clearly not knowing how to respond. "I–I don't think. . ."

"No–stop," she whispered as she put her finger on his lips to quiet him. "Just don't say anything. If you don't say anything–then you won't say it's impossible."

"Sara," he started, looking at her with compassionate eyes. "We can't do this."

She looked away from him and nodded her head in agreement. "I know."

She blinked rapidly as she looked at him, then sat her coffee on the counter and moved out of the kitchen. She went into the bathroom and put cool water on her face, hoping to disguise the tears that threatened to spill again. Finally, she opened the door and went into her bedroom, feeling more tired than she had in months. She found Grissom sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for her and she walked to him. She stood between his legs as she cradled his head against her stomach, letting her fingers memorize the texture of his hair. His hands traveled up the backs of her thighs and on to her buttocks where he gently squeezed them and turned his head to look up at her.

"Lets get some more sleep," he urged her then moved until he was lying with her by his side.

Neither of them actually slept as they held onto one another. They caressed each other as if not willing to forget what the other felt like. The closer the time came for him to leave, the quieter Sara became. He gave her a final squeeze and a brief kiss as he got to his feet, but hesitated at the side of the bed. She looked up at him, and knew he was waiting for her, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to get up with him.

"I'm not going to walk you to the door–okay?"

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"I'm fine," she lied with a forced smile and she knew she wasn't fooling anyone. She watched the stress on his face a moment before he leaned over and kissed her again, longer this time. He stood up and looked down at her and started to say goodbye but she stopped him. "Shh. Don't say it."

He nodded his head in understanding and turned and walked out of her bedroom without looking back. She lay very still as she listened to his footsteps leading through her apartment, then the sound of the door closing. She closed her eyes and wiped them again, then remained on her bed for the next ten hours.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Hey, what's up?" Greg's voice greeted her as she opened her door the next morning.

"Greg–what's are you doing here?" She stood to the side and allowed him to enter and had to smile at the Burger King bag he was carrying with him.

"I was in the neighborhood–knew you had today and tomorrow off–and saw your car was still here. I figured you could use a good breakfast–not something you'd make for yourself. So, here I am," he explained as he handed her the cup carrier containing two steaming cups of coffee, then went into the kitchen where he started spreading food out for them.

At her seat, he placed a box of Cini-minis, a container of has browns, and another container of french bread sticks. For himself, he pulled out a Double Croissan'wich with ham and bacon, a ham-omelette sandwich and Cheesy Tots.

"What? No OJ?" She asked with a smile.

"Nah," he smiled back at her. "I thought I'd watch my calories."

She giggled as she took her seat and started nibbling on her hash browns. "Did you have a rough night, last night?"

"No more than usual. I guess I just needed to see a friendly face. So, I thought of you." He took his seat and opened his sandwiches. "Although, I must admit, you're face, although friendly, hasn't been a very "happy" face lately. What's up?"

"Nothing–I'm fine."

"Which, in Sara Sidle language means, I feel like shit. You wanna try again?"

She shrugged as she avoided his gaze and popped another hash brown into her mouth. He watched her silently as he took a bite, then washed it down with a bit of coffee, burning his mouth and spilling it in the process. She jumped to her feet and pulled him to the sink where she ran cool water over his hand.

"God, Greg! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he mimicked her. "Good, old, Sara–always there to patch everyone up. Who's going to patch you up, I wonder?"

She handed him a dish towel then turned off the water, seeing that it wasn't terribly bad. "Are you so sure I need patched up?"

"You need something. What did he do to you this time?"

She looked at him as she leaned back against the counter and he dried his hand, then moved back to his breakfast.

"Does it always have to be about him?"

"Yeah–pretty much. He did something to break your heart again, didn't he?"

"Oh, Greg," she snorted as she came back to her seat and toyed with her own coffee. "Don't be melodramatic. Maybe I'm just having an off-day."

"Oh," he said, clearly not believing her as he took another bite of his food. "You've been having an off-week, then, huh?"

She glanced at him again, then got up and retrieved two ice cubes, inserting one in each of their drinks to cool them. "So, then I've been having an off-week. I guess I'm entitled every once in awhile."

"Grissom's been having an off-week, too. Except when he came to work the last few nights–he's been a bit more tolerable."

"I imagine last night, he was practically in heaven," she mumbled before she could stop herself, then looked at him again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Actually, I wasn't around him very much last night. So, I don't know. I do know that you haven't had a real smile in a long time–at least not when he's around."

"Sometimes. . .," she began slowly. "things don't always go as planned. Things come up out of the blue that you never expect, and. . ."

"And, we're back to–what did he do to you this time?"

Sara sighed, knowing he wasn't going to let it go. "He's leaving tomorrow night. He's going to Massachusetts on sabbatical."

"And?" He looked at her, expecting more. "He's coming back–isn't he?"

"Yeah–in four weeks."

"So, you'll have a vacation from him. Good for you! You could use it," he joked, but when he saw that she was still upset, he added, "So, what's the problem?"

"He didn't tell me until last week. Actually, he didn't even tell me at all. I found his plane ticket. And, he's known for almost six weeks."

"Whew," Greg raised his brows as he looked down at the table, then back at her. "Well, that certainly was big of him."

"No one else knows about it, either. So, I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone."

"I won't. Believe it or not, Grissom isn't an interesting topic of conversation with me, unless he's done something to upset you." He took a sip of his, now-much cooler coffee then looked back at her. "So, when did you find out? You seemed alright at the Christmas party, last week."

"That night–after we got home. We were exchanging gifts when I found the ticket." She stopped eating and played with the Cini-Minis, pulling them apart and setting them back into the box. "We had a rough night, that night."

"I take it, it wasn't just the fact that he was keeping his little vacation from you."

"It's really not worth discussing. It's nothing–really."

"Okay," he said slowly, and she thought that perhaps he had given up on his quest to be her knight in shining armor, as he continued to eat.

"So, who did you work with last night, since you weren't with Gris? I know Nick and Catherine were off so they could prepare for court today–was it only you and Warrick?"

"Gris and Warrick went out on a homicide. I got the suicide. Not much need for help. I actually finished up kinda early and did lab work the rest of the morning."

"A light shift. Sometimes they're nice. Sometimes, they're just boring."

"We can consider that one boring. I'm in the mood for a little action."

"Oh, you are?" She smiled at him. "And what kind of "action" are you in the mood for, Greggo?"

"Actually, I'm glad you asked." He smiled back. "There's a Marx Brothers triple feature playing downtown. I wanted to go see them. Wanna go along? It'll help get your mind off your problems–I promise."

"Marx Brothers?" She chuckled. "You think they'll do the trick, huh? Make me feel better?"

"Guaranteed to give you at least one good laugh per picture."

"When are these "pictures" playing?"

"All day. We can go as soon as you get ready. You just go in and sit through three movies."

"Do you happen to know what they are?"

"Sure! Horsefeathers, Day at the Races and Night at the Opera! Does that mean you'll go along?"

She looked at the excitement in his eyes and couldn't refuse him. He had been through so much these past months. He deserved a day of nonsensical laughs.

"Of course!" She said as if any other answer would be absurd. "How can I pass up an offer to spend a few hours with you–and Harpo Marx!"

Sara was glad to have Greg escort her to the theater. It actually got her mind off of Grissom for a little while. She felt very easy with Greg, almost too easy as he wormed answers out of her that she hadn't planned on telling him. By the end of the third movie, he knew the whole story about Grissom's Christmas gift of concert tickets, and he wasn't happy about it. They left the theater, pausing to see what they had planned for the following week, and upon finding that they were having a Clint Eastwood double-feature, specifically The Beguiled and Two Mules for Sister Sara, they decided they would make a point of catching those shows as well.

When she went home that afternoon, it took everything in her to keep herself from calling Grissom, knowing he would most likely be at home until it was time to go in to work that night. Hell, knowing Grissom, he might have even slept at the lab today and decided not to bother to go home at all. She knew she needed something to occupy her through the following hours, so went to the local library where she looked for some classics. Having looked at her usual standby whenever having man-trouble, she decided to go with Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. She had never actually read it, so thought she'd give it a try.

She was, indeed, surprised when, once she started the book. It not only held her attention, but drew her so far into the land of the Civil War that she could hardly believe it when the sun came in through her windows to announce that she had read for over nine hours. She unceremoniously dragged herself to bed and fell asleep until nearly three in the afternoon. Dinner consisted of a veggie sub, small bag of chips and a chocolate milk while reading at the kitchen table. As she was cleaning up from her meal, she took a deep breath and congratulated herself for not thinking "too" much about Grissom today. The fact that she heard his voice in almost every line that Rhett Butler said was beside the point. She had to picture someone as the character, didn't she? And she couldn't help it if she found Gilbert Grissom much more appealing than Clark Gable.

She was about to go into her bathroom for a shower when her cell went off and she was half tempted to just walk past it, fearing it might be Grissom calling to say goodbye. But when she did pick it up, she saw it was Conrad Ecklie.

"Sidle," she responded.

"Sara, I know this is a four-day weekend for you, but Catherine and Nick are still out on a case, Greg and Warrick are both on separate cases, and Grissom. . .well, I don't know if you're aware of it, but Grissom is taking a leave of absence, starting tonight. I need you in here to help with two more cases that came in today. When do you think you can make it?"

Sara tried to recall when Grissom said he was going to the airport. Was it eight? Or was it nine? She couldn't think straight on that subject, probably because she phased out when he had mentioned it.

"Uh–would nine-thirty be okay?" She glanced at her clock, noting that it was already eight. "I'm about to jump in the shower."

"That would be great."

She listened as he hung up the phone without a "thank you" or a "goodbye." She sighed as she went to the shower and turned it on. She was certain he said eight or nine, so she should be safe. If she doesn't see him, she'll successfully block out the image of him leaving and her not seeing him again for about a month.

Sara made it to the lab by nine-fifteen and went straight to the locker room. She wasn't up to walking past Grissom's empty office yet. Maybe tomorrow she could handle seeing it without him; maybe the next day. She knew work would be good for her. Gone with the Wind could wait for another time when she needed to occupy her time.

She removed her coat and was about to hang it in her locker when she sensed him even before he spoke.

"Hey!" Grissom stood in the doorway, looking at her. "My cab's here."

She forced a little smile, wondering how she could have gotten his departure time wrong; perhaps it was a subconscious attempt to see him one last time. "So, you're going."

He nodded slightly and half-smiled back at her. "Yeah."

"I'll see you when you get back."

She tried to remain so calm, so light-hearted for him, but she had to turn back to the locker as she could already feel her face reddening with the threat of more tears. She proceeded to get ready for work, knowing that he hadn't left yet. All she could think was, _please don't make me cry here, please don't make me cry here_. But instead of leaving, he took a step inside the room and looked nervously at her. Finally, she turned to acknowledge him and saw the tenderness in his eyes.

"I'll miss you," he said very quietly, but with every syllable she could feel a stab of pain as her heart broke a little more.

She couldn't respond, she froze as she watched him. If she would have said anything, she would have burst into tears, and she knew she wouldn't allow herself the luxury of releasing her feelings at this moment. Instead, she watched as he looked at her for a moment longer, then opened his mouth as if to say something, but changed his mind and walked away. Exactly what she had been trying to avoid–she watched him walk away. Once out of sight, the pain was so intense that she had to fight to hold her grief inside. She wouldn't think about the possibility of him becoming so enamored with Williams College that he would seek a position there. She wouldn't think about the possibility of him being so fed up with the filth of this profession that he would instantly jump at the chance for a "cleaner" life. And she wouldn't think of the possibility of him coming home anyway, and simply not wanting her anymore.


	66. Chapter 66

Chapter Sixty-Six

During those last few days, all Grissom knew was that he needed to be with Sara for as long as possible. He didn't know when, exactly, all that changed. Perhaps it was the night Ernie Dell committed suicide and she held his hand throughout the next two days, until he could work his way out of the fog that he was buried under. Or perhaps it was Christmas Eve, when he realized she had found the evidence of his trip to Massachusetts and he searched for her through the early morning hours. He wasn't sure, but he knew that now that the time was at hand, when he was going on the leave of absence that he needed so desperately, the thought of not being with her left him feeling empty.

He knew every instance she would take herself from his presence because her emotions would overcome her. He had lost count of how many times he could hear her crying in a neighboring room, although she tried very gallantly to remain silent. Each time, he would stand outside the door, leaning against it as his heart broke with each muffled whimper. He knew better than to let her know that he had discovered her in the midst of her heartache. She didn't want him to know. But, he not only knew, he "felt" it right along with her.

Then, when she declared that she wasn't going to be with him the last two days before his departure, he was left with a disappointment that he couldn't fathom. But he wanted to protect her any more harm than what he was already causing her, and if she wanted to be spared the final goodbye before he stepped on the plane, he would do his best to comply. It was a chore that he nearly failed, when during that first day after her night off, he called her three times, only to get no answer twice, then hanging up before it even rang the third.

If she had only known how he felt that final day he had been with her; how hard it was to leave for work, knowing he wouldn't see her for over four weeks. But, again, he remained stoic and kept it inside. It would have done her no good to see his bruised sense of control–a control over his emotions that he wasn't quite so certain of. So, instead, he simply walked out her door and didn't look back.

Friday night at the lab, Grissom had received the call alerting him that his cab was waiting for him. He was about to leave when he overheard Ecklie telling Judy to send Sara to him ASAP so he could give her information on her assignment. Grissom hesitated only a moment before putting his case down and rushing through the halls in search of her. Whether she wanted to avoid him or not, he couldn't leave without seeing her one last time. He very nearly walked past the locker room when he caught sight of her about to hang up her coat.

"Hey!" Grissom stood in the doorway, looking at her. "My cab's here."

She smiled at him and if it wasn't one of her authentic mega-watt Sidle smiles, he'd settle for what he could get. "So, you're going."

He nodded slightly and half-smiled back at her. "Yeah."

"I'll see you when you get back."

He watched her and thought she never looked lovelier. When her face showed a glow of pink as she tried to remain brave, he felt the need to say more–just what, he wasn't sure. He glanced down the hall; a nervous habit of making sure they were alone, then stepped farther inside the room. The words were hard to come. There were so many thoughts racing through him; reasons he couldn't stay; reasons she couldn't come along; why it would be best for them to regroup and get a fresh start. But the only thing he could get out, was the foremost thought in his mind.

"I'll miss you," he managed to get out.

She turned and looked at him, not saying anything, only nodding her head in acknowledgment and this time he was the one having a hard time holding onto his emotions. He wanted to say something, like "I'm sorry for causing you all this pain," or "I don't know how I'm going to deal with being so far away." But he turned away before he would lose his composure completely.

OoOoOoOo

Grissom left Las Vegas at eleven-fifteen Friday night and arrived seven hours later at shortly after nine Saturday morning. The three-hour time difference took a little getting used to, but he had managed. The rest of Saturday was spent settling into his rooms, and Sunday he was preparing for the classes the following day. But Sunday evening, as he sat alone in a dim restaurant, he heard a very distinct laugh. The words, "I don't even have to turn around–Sara Sidle," were on the tip of his tongue, to which he would hear her response, "That's me!" But he held his tongue, and when he turned to glance at the woman a few tables away, his heart fell a little upon finding that it wasn't whom he had hoped. He got up from the table and shook his head in disbelief as he made his way out of the restaurant. He must be more tired than he thought.

He slept soundly the second night in Massachusetts, more out of exhaustion than anything else, and by the time he started his class the next day, his anticipation had overridden anything else he may have had on his mind. He went through the day without incident, except for the fleeting thoughts that the students here didn't seem as bright as students he had had nearly ten years before–well, not as bright as one particular student. That night he prepared everything he needed for the following day and when he went to bed, he tried to ignore the fact that it took almost an hour of tossing and turning without finding a comfortable spot until he finally fell asleep.

Soon his days were becoming routine; get up, take a shower, shave, brush his teeth, then order his breakfast from a drive-thru on his way to class. More than once he almost ordered extra for Sara before stopping himself. Soon, the desire to shave left him, and he didn't have to hurry quite so much on his way to class. He tried to convince himself that this was merely to save time and even provide an extra bit of warmth from the northeastern winter and not the fact that every time he put a razor to his cheek, he would think of the reasons he had begun shaving again in the first place. For Sara, only for Sara. On the evenings he didn't have a heavy workload, he took to taking walks in the near darkness; walks that had him wanting to rush back to his rooms to fill Sara in on what he had seen–but then he would quickly remember that she wasn't there. It was on one of these walks that he came across the most beautiful specimen he could have imagined. The cocoon was rather large, as far as cocoons go, and it was intact. He clipped the branch that it rested on with the thought of taking it home to share with Sara. It wasn't until he actually had it in his hand and started to enthusiastically return to his rooms that he remembered, again, that she was over two thousand miles away, probably at home, either reading a novel or watching something on television. He wondered what she might be watching, and if she thought it would be something he'd be interested in. Would it occur to her to record it for him so they could watch it together when he got back. The next day he got a box and packaged his treasure as safely as possible, in such a hurry to get it to her that he actually forgot to enclose the brief note he had written. He found it on his desk later that day after returning home from mailing the box and crumbled it up and tossed it away.

By his second week, he noticed that his mornings were getting more and more difficult to begin. He was excessively tired, and he finally accepted that it was his nights that were filled with awakenings as he would reach for Sara so he could pull her leg up over his hip, or reach across the bed to spoon against her back, pressing his face into her hair and taking in the fragrance that always soothed him.

Female students were becoming a blur to him, because if they didn't have dark hair, chocolate eyes, a brilliant smile with a sweet little gap between their front teeth–they were essentially invisible. As the days passed and he was midway through his sabbatical, other professors mentioned that he was looking a bit lost and hollow. And on the rare occasions that he overheard them, his first thought was that the only time he didn't feel lost was when he was thinking of what Sara would think of this student's comment or that student's insight; and the only time he didn't feel hollow was when the memory of Sara's gentle face would fill his heart.

He had considered calling her, many times, in fact. But each time he'd attempt it, she'd never be home. He wondered at just how busy they could be at the lab, but sometimes his thoughts would delve into the darker side and he would ponder on the possibility of her having given up on him and moved on to see someone else. But he would quickly extinguish such thoughts. She was his beautiful Sara, beautiful in mind, heart and body, and she wouldn't be shallow enough to give up on him. Even in their darkest moments together, he had found that she never truly gave up on him.

Sometimes, when he called and she wasn't home, he'd simply let her answering machine pick up and speak. He would never leave a message, because on his loneliest of evenings and nights, it was only her voice that he needed to hear. Twice, within the first two weeks, sleep evaded him to such a point that he dialed her number as he lay in bed. He listened to "Hey, this is Sara! I can't come to the phone right now. . ." and he would then doze into a semi-fitful sleep.

During his first snowfall on campus, he watched the flakes begin to gently fall and cover the frozen earth and he had images of walking down the tree-lined sidewalk as he would hold her gloved hand and watch the fluffy ice particles landing on her pretty nose. He knew it would make her smile at the beauty of it. Then later that day, as the snow turned heavy and more demanding he could see her bundled in hat, scarf and down jacket, stepping through the many inches of accumulation and even sliding and perhaps falling onto her pert bottom. He would help her to her feet and watch how her face would turn pink from the cold, and still, the smile would be there as she'd absorb the magnificence of the storm. He'd see the whole experience through her eyes and it would be as if seeing such an event for the very first time.

That was the night he went back to his rooms and sat behind his desk to express his thoughts and feelings. His need to express himself was so overwhelming that he thought he certainly would go a bit insane if he didn't let it escape; if not by spoken word, then by opening up on paper. This night he longed for the sound of her voice, the gaiety of her laugh, the aura that radiated from her when she smiled; whether it be a million-watt expression of pure exuberance or a gentle countenance of simply being alive; the second being the version he would catch when she would be looking at him and all seemed right with the world. This night, he longed for the feel of her body against his as he would hold her on the sofa and together they could be a private audience to the storm, watching the whiteness drive down beneath the streetlights. He could feel her in his arms as they would cuddle beneath a warm blanket and eventually the storm would be forgotten as they would become more intrigued by one another than nature's exhibition outside.

He could feel all of these inside, turning and spinning until he thought he would burst with the need to transfer them to Sara, and he sat behind his desk and put pen to paper. He needed to make her know, make her understand how utterly alone he felt without her, but after a few lines, words, once again, escaped him and he turned to an old friend for assistance in his endeavor. Borrowing the words of another, he allowed his sentiment to be transferred into the letter he needed to write. He felt anxious as he finished the work, and after a quick once-over, put it in an envelope and started to address it, hoping she could understand how inadequate he seemed to have become on his own.

It was midway through her address when the old fear returned full-force and he stopped. His vulnerability of laying his soul at her feet frightened him more than anything he had ever faced in his life, and he had second thoughts about conveying such intimacies to her. The "what-ifs" didn't even come into it–it was out and out fear of opening his heart so completely to her that forced him to put the unfinished envelope away and not send it. But, at least, he eased the tension of having it build up inside of himself. And, he was beginning to accept the inevitability of their relationship. He was nothing without her. And with her, he was everything he ever wanted to be.

He looked at the envelope one more time before putting it inside a book and setting it aside to be packed for his trip home the following week. Well, he thought, as he looked at the calender, he should be back in just over a week; one more week of teaching, then another day of packing, another day of preparing his things for the flight home, and then by the following morning, he would be back in Las Vegas. Then, he hoped he'd be able to find it in himself to show her, if not tell her, all the things he craved her to know.

That weekend was hard on Grissom. He no longer had the option of going for the walks he had become accustomed to; walks that were his escape from the fact that he was alone and gave him the opportunity to collect memories and information to be shared with Sara once he returned home. The snow had slowed all activities to a near standstill, and he had to resort to passing his time with textbooks and intermittent breaks with the news or classic television. By Monday, he felt so trapped that he took it upon himself to speed up the scheduled class work, increasing his pace until he would get nearly two days' worth of work accomplished in one, and on his evenings at his rooms, he spent his time packing his things that he would no longer need during his stay. Extra clothes were packed, text and files that he was finished teaching, mementoes he had picked up with thoughts of sharing his experience with Sara were all stored securely in the corner, awaiting his departure the following Sunday evening. But by Tuesday he realized his actual teaching would be completed by the following afternoon. He notified the appropriate people that he would be available via email and could make the final closing of his class over the internet. Considering that "he had pressing issues that needed to be taken care of" back in Nevada, they agreed to let him leave early. By Thursday, he was completely packed and by that evening he was sitting on an airplane, breathing more easily than he had in months. He was going home.


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Grissom walked through the halls of the lab; Judy on the left, acknowledged; Hodges dead ahead, acknowledged and not gotten rid of quite so easily; and now a pile of mail so high that he doubts he'll get through it within a week. He went directly to his phone and called a familiar number.

"Hey, this is Sara! I can't come to the phone right now. . ."

Not home, that more than likely means she's working. He put a few things away, then was going to look at last night's assignments, hoping to find where Sara might be. Within a few minutes, he caught sight of the "new" guy, Michael Keppler, and went to introduce himself. A few more minutes of conversation and he watched the young man walk away. If he had been a bit more interested in anything other than finding Sara at the moment, he might have looked a little closer at his impression of something not being quite right with the man. But, he had other things on his mind. Once he discovered that Sara was in the field and wasn't expected back for at least several hours, he decided to head out for a little fieldwork of his own and went to assist Warrick.

Grissom was back soon enough, trying to make some order out of the chaotic pile of mail. He had been sorting through it for nearly half an hour when he felt a tingling charge of electricity creep over him. He didn't need any other warning–she was here. He looked up in time to see the loveliest creature alive walking past his office, carrying her equipment case. Her face was smudged with God only knew what, her coveralls were dirty and she even had "something" smeared over her chest, and she looked delectable. The fact that she seemed forlorn made him want to erase the sadness from her eyes and make her smile again. He was around his desk and out of his office in an instant.

"Sara!"

He took off his glasses as he walked toward her. Their presence in the center of the lab-full of people meant nothing to him at that point. He wasn't even aware of it as he approached her. The sound of his voice stopped her immediately as she turned to look at him with wonder filling her eyes.

"Hey! You're back!"

"Yeah."

Almost immediately he saw her start to back away from him, self-consciousness oozing from her as she practically warded him off with the evidence she was carrying, but he wasn't giving in as he continued to follow.

"Uh–I've–I've been out at a. . .I've been at a. . ."

"A garbage dump?" He found her extremely enchanting at that moment as he moved down the hall after her.

"It's so obvious–isn't it?" She laughed with embarrassment and flashed him the smile he had been yearning to see for weeks, then she sobered as she looked at him, building his desire for her with each step backwards that she took. "Nice, um. . .You look. . .good."

He gave acknowledged her compliment with an embarrassed laugh of his own as he watched her as if he were going to devour her. "Did you–uh–put the cocoon in my office?"

"Cool–dry–not a lot of light. It seemed like the right place for it."

"I think you're gonna be surprised when it hatches."

"I have no doubt," she agreed, complete confidence in her eyes and the gentle smile that he loved. "I'm gonna go clean up now."

"I'll see ya later," he called hopefully as she turned away and left him only to stop at the end of the hall and gaze back at him.

"Yeah, ya will," she told him and he could feel the certainty of her comment before continuing on to make herself presentable.

He watched her go, not caring if she reeked like a week-old corpse. He wanted to touch her so badly that it took everything in him not to continue following her as she handed in the evidence she carried. But he returned to his office instead with every intention to head down to the shower room in about ten minutes. He didn't care if he had to help scrub decayed food out of her hair, or any other odorous matter she may have trudged through. He was going to have her in his arms within a quarter of an hour.

He gave her enough time to sign in her evidence, return to the locker room and retrieve some fresh clothing, then go into the shower room. As nonchalantly as possible, he made his way through the hallways again, nodding his hellos to people as they welcomed him back, stopping to chat for a few seconds with those who weren't satisfied with a simple nod, then, finally, he walked into the locker room. Upon finding the room empty, he moved back to the shower room and entered, hearing the water just being turned on. But it was the irritated chatter that caught his interest as he moved closer to the stall and watched through a crack in the curtain as Sara stood beneath the hot spray.

"I'll see ya later," she mimicked him as she let the water beat down upon her, then went on ranting to herself in her own, irritated, yet flustered voice, quite obviously unaware of his presence behind her. "Oh, boy–are you kidding me? Are you "ever" gonna see me later. Just try to stop me–Dr. Grissom! Jesus, God, he looked so appetizing that I could've started chewing on him right there in the damned hallway–"if" I didn't reek of old sausage and eggs! Why?! It couldn't have been yesterday when I was working with the male escort service and looked–well–not half bad and smelled even better. No! He has to come back and see me for the first time in four weeks with dog vomit on my clothes and–I swear to God–someone's tuna salad from a month ago! I bet none of his other "friends" greeted him smelling so bad that he wanted to gag!"

He couldn't stop the smile that was spread across his face, finding her embarrassment utterly adorable. With another quick look back toward the locker room, he slid his hand in through the curtain and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back a step toward him. She released a yelp of surprise, then swivelled around to face him. Her eyes were huge as she grabbed the closest thing she could find to cover herself. His eyes dropped to where she held the twelve-inch square washcloth over her breast and he couldn't stop his smile from growing even wider.

"It isn't working," he told her as he chuckled at her then watched as she dropped the cloth and grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it around her. "There–that's a little better."

"What are you doing here?" She rushed in a whisper as her eyes darted back and forth from him to the entrance to the shower room.

"Just what it looks like I'm doing. I came in to see you."

"But I said I wanted to clean up. . .," she stopped her sentence, evidently recalling what she had been saying prior to his revealing himself. "How long were you here?"

"Long enough," he chuckled again. "And I have no intentions of trying to stop you from whatever you have planned when I see you later. And, darling, as far as chewing on me–I'm here, anytime you want to start nuzzling, feel free to do so."

She lifted her head and looked at him haughtily, then released the shower curtain and backed under the spray of water again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" He watched as she rinsed her hair, then grabbed some soap and started looking for her washcloth again until he picked it up and handed it to her. "That wasn't you saying how appetizing I look? Must be another CSI that I'm confusing you with."

She raised a brow as she started washing her body. "So, what if I did say that? What do you plan to do about it?"

"Well," he reached out and took the soapy cloth from her and turned her around to face the back wall. "I could start by washing your back for you."

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Is that "all" you're going to wash?"

"Of course," he said as he looked at her through innocent eyes, then after cleaning her from shoulders to waist, he made several quick circular moves over her two pert cheeks.

"You can wait–over there," she scolded him as she took the washcloth back again.

He continued to smile at her as he watched her finish her shower, then handed her a towel when she turned off the water. He leaned against the wall, not bothering to hide his amusement as she dried herself, then pulled her clothes on in front of him. He remained quiet as she frequently looked over at him with a little bit of apprehension, a little bit of humor, and a lot of blatant desire. She bent over as she blow-dried her hair and it was the final straw. He couldn't hold back any longer when he saw how she taunted him with her perfectly rounded buttocks directly in front of him. He took two steps away from the wall and placed his hands on her hips as he pressed himself up behind her. She stood up so quickly that he had to snap his head back before she would have clunked it with her own, but he kept a firm hold on her hips as she turned and looked at him over her shoulder.

"You teased me enough," he whispered into her ear.

"Who says I was "teasing?" She turned off the blow dryer and turned to face him.

"Are you saying it's there for the taking?" His eyes sparkled with amusement.

"It depends on who's taking it."

He chuckled again and pulled her into a hug that after a moment was returned in earnest. He held her against him and felt his heart beginning to become whole again. When he heard a sniff, he pulled back slightly and looked at her misty eyes.

"Hey," he said soothingly to her. "What are the tears for?"

"I missed you," she said with a combination of a laugh and a sob as she stroked her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

"Ah, Sara, you can't even imagine how much I've missed you." He looked around the room, then pulled her with him into the bathroom stall where he sat down and pulled her down until she was straddling his lap. He placed both hands on either side of her face and drew her to him, meeting her lips with his in a kiss that began gently, but rapidly worked its way to one of hunger. "You don't know how long I've waited to do this."

She began chuckling as she looked down at him, bringing another smile to his lips. "But, sweetie, on the toilet?"

"Don't think of it as a toilet. Think of it as. . ."

"A throne–yeah, I know," she giggled and he was completely under her spell as he gazed at her.

"I missed your laugh," he said as he started kissing her again. "I missed your smile. I missed your voice."

"And what are you going to do about it?" She asked between kisses.

"I'm never leaving without you again."

She pulled back and looked at him very closely, as if trying to decide if he were serious or not, then being adequately assured, she put her arms around his neck again and leaned her forehead against his.

"Is that a promise?"

"Yeah," he answered as he held her tightly. "It's a promise."

He could actually feel her melt in his arms as she sighed and returned her mouth to his. This time their kiss turned deeper as she flicked her tongue against him and he reacted immediately as he parted his lips and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Instantly he turned from the semi-rigidity that he had been ever since seeing her in the hallway–and the very pleasant throbbing erection he obtained as he watched her in the shower–to a pounding hardness that brought a deep groan from him. She slowly retreated from him, although it took several attempts to finally break free of the kiss as they leaned against one another and tried to pull in the reins of their flare-up of passion.

"Are you going home soon?" She breathed against his bearded cheek.

"As soon as we can get out of here–which in the condition I'm in right now, may take at least a half hour until I'm able to stand up and move around without injuring myself." His fingers caressed her waist.

"Ohh," she said with pity as she pulled back and looked at him. "I could always. . ."

"No." He closed his eyes briefly, agonizing over the explosion that his body was ordering him to achieve, but his mind was refusing to allow. "Not here. Not our first time since I got back. I want something better than toilet sex."

"I thought you said it was a throne," she smiled gently.

"I want to make love to you as you "deserve." And you're going to get so much more than a quicky at work."

"Well," she said as she got to her feet and backed out of the stall. "If you insist."

"Sara?" Nick's voice came from the entrance to the room, earning him a jump and frightened yelp from her before she turned angry eyes on him.

"Nick! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I wasn't sneaking up on anyone–I was looking for Grissom." He moved closer to her and saw the feet beneath the wall of the stall, then looked past the door that she was holding open with her body. "Is somebody in there with you? Grissom?"

Grissom's erection was quite effectively deflated upon first hearing Nick's voice and he groaned in reaction to the younger man as he looked at him with raised brows.

"He–was showing me something!" Sara quickly inserted, then groaned herself at the possibilities of that statement, but it seemed to go right past Nick's head as he looked at her, then back to Grissom who was still seated on the toilet.

"Yeah? Showing you what?"

Grissom looked at Sara, relaying his opinion of her response with his eyes before looking back at Nick. "She said the toilet seat was broken. I fixed it. See? All fixed."

Grissom got up and walked past them both as Nick looked at the seat as if inspecting his work. "Hmm, who would've ever thought you could be the handyman type."

"What did you want, Nick?" Grissom asked irritably as he started through the locker room with the other man following him.

"We've got a bit of a problem. Catherine and Warrick are waiting for you in your office."

"You "are" aware that I'm not officially back to work, aren't you?" Grissom asked as he looked in the room where Sara was putting her things back in her locker. She shrugged her shoulders, as if to tell him she understood that he would be delayed.

"It's kinda important, boss."

"Fine," Grissom sighed, then stopped and turned toward Sara again. "Go back to my office. I'll be right there. I forgot something in the shower room."

Nick headed off in the other direction, leaving Sara and Grissom alone again as he walked up to where she stood at her opened locker.

"Never off-duty, I guess." She turned a timid smile on him, displaying her doubt that they would be together anytime soon.

"I'll be on my way in a few minutes. How bad can their problem be? I'm sure it wont take long."

Sara closed her locker and moved to stand closer to him. "I'll wait for you at your place."

"I'll be there shortly."

He watched her walk out of the room and start for the garage before he went in the other direction to quickly dispense of whatever problem Catherine might have come up with. But his good intentions were cut short when Warrick, Catherine and Nick informed him of just what the "little problem" was. "Son-of-a-bitch! I'm not even supposed to be back yet and already they're bombarding me with problems I don't want to deal with. And it can't be something simple–no–it has to be a bad cop tampering with evidence–and who else could it be but Keppler. Goddammit! I had more important things to do than pick up Catherine's trash–I have a life for Christ's sake!" But–he also had the lab, and after the first rush of anger and frustration washed over him, he sat down and helped them. He even had Catherine call Sara back out for assistance.

He waited for feedback as the crew went out, beginning to sort his mail again when he came across a box addressed to him. He was just about to open it when his cell went off. Catherine's name flashed across the ID and he already knew it wasn't going to be good news–it was clear that she was too closely involved with this Keppler guy to be unbiased and he didn't hesitate letting her know. Her response was shaky at best and he knew there was trouble–he just hoped that Sara wasn't going to be in the center of it.


	68. Chapter 68

A/N: My apologies if I didn't quite get the "Keppler" thing right. I found those shows that he was on very boring and could only sit through them once. I'm only going on the impression that I got from what I saw. If I misinterpreted it, I'm sorry–but in the scheme of my story, it really isn't too relevant. (Much the way I felt the Keppler storyline had been.)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

"Goddamned Keppler. Goddamned Keppler," almost chanted through Sara's brain as she entered Grissom's office and saw that he had gone out to meet Catherine at the Blue Siren Motel.

She decided to stay at the lab until she heard something from Grissom and hopefully, they could clean up this mess that followed Keppler to Vegas. She had moved to the aquarium housing her cocoon and wondered when it would release its treasure when her cell went off.

"Sidle."

"Sara, where are you?" Grissom's voice came over the line.

"I'm in your office, waiting for you."

"I won't be coming back. Keppler's been shot. He didn't make it."

The numbness that washed over Sara made her regret her previous condemnation of the man. She didn't know him very well, and never really tried to connect with him(not that she could of anyway–she had the distinct impression that he was a stone wall) but she never would have wanted something like this to happen to him.

"And Catherine? Is she okay?"

"She's pretty emotional right now. I–I was hoping you could meet me at my place and try to talk to her. You can handle something like this much better than I can."

"Why your place? Wouldn't it be better if I met you at her house?"

"She doesn't want to go there–doesn't want to upset Lindsey. She said she'd rather be somewhere to be alone. I offered to take her back to my place."

"How are you going to explain to her that I'm there?"

"I'll tell her I called you. She knows I'm not good dealing with this kind of thing. Anyway, I–I'm having a little trouble with the fact that she got herself in so deep with this guy."

"Yeah," Sara sighed. "Well, it happens, ya know."

"After only four weeks?"

"Hmm. Some people can fall head over heals after only one day. I can't criticize her for being upset over this."

"That's why you're going to handle this much better than I ever could."

"Where is she now?"

"In my car, waiting for me. I'm standing outside. She can't hear me."

"Alright. I'll meet you at your apartment." She was about to hang up when she heard him again.

"Sara!"

"Yes, Gil?"

"I'm really sorry things aren't going as planned. You don't know how much I wish this wasn't happening."

She remained silent for a moment, a little shocked by his confession. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Sara arrived at Grissom's place about ten minutes after they did. When she went inside she found him pouring a cup of tea in a mug for Catherine who was sitting at the table, staring into space. Sara took off her jacket and put a small bag of groceries on the counter then looked at Catherine. She moved to the chair adjacent to the older woman's and sat in it.

"Catherine?"

"Grissom shouldn't have bothered you, Sara." Catherine looked over at her. "He knew you'd do anything he asks."

"Well," Sara said slowly, not sure how to answer that. "I wouldn't say I'd do "anything."

Catherine merely smiled weakly, and looked up at Grissom. "You "do" take advantage of Sara. You realize that, don't you?"

"Do I?" Grissom put a cup of tea in front of Sara and went about pouring one for himself. "How's that?"

"Any crap jobs that no one else wants–you give them to Sara because you know she won't do anything to upset you."

"I don't know," Grissom leaned back against the counter as he looked at the two women. "I think throwing a water bottle at my head a few months back was a rather obvious way of trying to upset me."

Catherine smiled again and nodded her head in agreement. "I guess she has her limits even where "you" are concerned."

"And I don't give her any more than I give Nick, Greg or Warrick. I tend to try to distribute the "crap jobs" pretty evenly."

"Can I get you something to go with that tea, Catherine?" Sara asked as she looked back at the bag she had deposited on Grissom's counter.

"Yeah," Catherine sighed with a sob at the end. "You can get me five more minutes. Five minutes that would put me at the motel before Mike got shot."

"I wish I could," Sara said gently as she reached over and took Catherine's hand and squeezed it.

"Did you know he was in love with someone, but he had lost her? That's why he was so distant. He was still in love with her." Catherine looked at Sara. "It's a damned nightmare when you're falling for someone who's still in love with someone else."

"I can't imagine it being easy for either party involved."

"It's not as if he gave me any indication that he felt anything for me," Catherine laughed sadly. "But there was "something."

"I'm sure there was something, Catherine." Sara glanced back at Grissom. "You're the only person he seemed to connect with. I'm sure he trusted you completely."

Catherine seemed to have noticed how Sara glanced at Grissom, and took it as the younger woman's discomfort.

"Grissom," Catherine moved her tea across the table. "Do you have anything you can add to this? A little kick to help smooth over the rough edges?"

Grissom went to his cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, then poured a shot into her tea, but when he tried to put the bottle away, Catherine put her hand on it and stopped him.

"You can leave it here," Sara told him. "She seems to need more than one."

"Grissom, why don't you go watch "Invasion of the Ant Farm," or something? We need to have some girl-talk out here."

"Alright," he said slowly, looking at Sara for any signs that she needed him to stay but when she nodded slightly, he went into his bedroom.

"I let him die, Sara. If I had been there sixty seconds sooner, he wouldn't have gotten shot."

"But there was the possibility that "you" would have." Sara told her as she watched Catherine grab another glass and pour the bourbon into it, then drink it down straight.

"And there was the possibility that I wouldn't have been. We could've both walked out of there alive. Instead, I got to try to hold his blood inside his body as he was dying."

"Did he know you were there?"

"Yes. He knew." She poured another shot and drank it, then put her hand to her mouth in an attempt to hold her grief inside. "God! I don't know why I'm reacting like this!"

"You cared, Catherine." Sara took a sip of her "unlaced" tea. "You had a close working relationship with him for over four weeks. It's only natural for you to be upset."

"It's a bitch when you start falling for a guy who isn't interested in you, isn't it?" Catherine asked as she poured another shot. "I guess you've got enough experience at that."

"Experience?" Sara asked quietly, bringing Catherine's gaze back to her almost apologetically.

"I don't mean "a lot" of experience. Just with Grissom. You know how it feels to want someone who's involved with someone else–whether it be physically or emotionally."

"Grissom's involved with someone?" Sara asked as she dropped her gaze to how her finger was sliding around her mug's rim.

"Of course. Haven't you noticed the change in him? I wouldn't doubt for a minute that he met up with whomever she is when he went back east. Didn't you notice how "changed" he seemed since he came back today?"

"I don't think one day's worth of behavior is enough to say someone's changed. Maybe he was just in a good mood."

"You're right," Catherine said. "I shouldn't be discussing Grissom with you. It's just that I know you know how it feels."

"I–know how it feels to be attracted to someone who doesn't know you exist outside a working relationship. It isn't something I'd wish on anyone." Sara watched as Catherine poured another shot, then when she put the bottle back on the table, Sara pulled it over to her side and out of Catherine's reach.

"God, Sara–how could he be dead? He was so young and had so much to offer!"

Sara listened to Catherine go on about Mike. The longer she talked, the more slurred her words became until she was sitting at the table with her head in her hands. The alcohol caught up to her as she became quite close to nodding off to sleep out of pure emotional exhaustion.

"Catherine, why don't you go in and lie down on Grissom's bed? If you take a nap, I'm sure you'll feel better when you wake up," Sara said gently, bringing Catherine's eyes up to meet hers.

"I "am" really tired all of a sudden."

"Of course you are. You've been through a lot this year. Come on, you need some rest." Sara helped Catherine to her feet and started back toward Grissom's bedroom where she found him leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched toward the bottom of the bed.

"Hey, stud," Catherine slurred, clearly having exceeded her limit of drink. "Sara says I can sleep here tonight."

"Oh, she did," Grissom looked up at Sara who shrugged her shoulders as she walked with the other woman. "Then I guess you've got the bed tonight."

"Unless you don't want me here," Catherine said quickly, picking up on Grissom's sarcasm.

"Of course he wants you here," Sara comforted her as she watched Grissom get to his feet and she guided Catherine to the mattress before pulling the blankets back for her. "He would never want you to go home to Lindsey like this."

"Oh, God! Lindsey!" Catherine exclaimed as she sat on the sheet. "I forgot about letting them know where I am!"

"I'll call them and tell your mother what's going on. I'm sure she'll understand and can explain to Lindsey," Grissom told her as Sara knelt down and pulled Catherine's shoes off, then lifted her legs until she had her lying flat.

"Sara?" Catherine watched as the brunette pulled the blankets back over her.

"Yes, Catherine?"

"Are you staying here too? I'd hate for you to think Gil and I. . ." She stopped suddenly and flashed a guilty look at Grissom, then back at Sara. "Well, I'd never. . .and I want you to know that. . .even if he doesn't. . .ya know."

"Thank you, Catherine. That's very considerate of you. But I trust you."

"Can you stay anyway? In case I need to talk again?"

"Sure," Sara gave her a little smile as she turned on the lamp, then went to switch off the ceiling light. "I'll be in the living room watching television."

Sara and Grissom moved back to the kitchen and he called Catherine's mother as Sara silently began putting things away they had gotten out for Catherine. As Sara was putting the mugs back in the cabinet, Grissom turned her around to face him and pushed her against the counter. He held onto her waist as he looked at her with a raised brow.

"You gave her my bed," he said dully.

"I'm letting her "use" your bed. There is a difference."

"That's so generous of you. I'll remember how generous you are the "next" time a woman wants to sleep in my bed."

"Don't push it, Grissom," she growled as she grabbed his shirt front in a threatening manner. "This is the "last" woman I'll ever allow in your bed."

"So what are we supposed to do for the rest of the night? I "had" planned on spending it in amorous bliss."

"I say we start by going in the room and watching television like two friendly coworkers would do."

He gestured for her to move ahead of him, so she went to the sofa and turned on the television. She started flipping through the guide in search of something they both would be interested in when she looked up to see him carrying some pillows and blankets into the room and placing them on the sofa.

"What are you doing?" She asked as he started spreading the blankets on the floor in front of her, followed by the pillows.

"Making a bed. What are you watching?" He looked at the television which showed a rather disheveled Johnny Depp.

"The Secret Window. Did you ever see it?"

"No. And we're not watching it tonight." He dimmed the lights.

"Why not? It's good. You'll like it."

"You've got a thing for Johnny Depp–don't you?" He lowered himself onto the floor, then extended his hand to her so she would join him.

"No–I've got "a thing" for you," she laughed as she got on the blanket next to him, but upon seeing his suspicious stare, she added, "okay, so maybe I've got a "little" thing for Johnny Depp."

He took the remote control from her and went back to the guide channel, then flipped it onto Tim Robbins speaking to Morgan Freeman. "This one looks better. You don't have a little thing for either of these guys–do you?"

"Gil!" She complained. "I've seen the Shawshank Redemption a dozen times."

"You don't like it?"

"I think it's a great movie–but I don't want to watch it again."

"I wasn't planning on watching it." He put the remote control out of her reach and lay down with his head on one of the pillows. "Just using it to cover up any noises we might make."

"I don't think any noises "we" could make would wake Catherine." She slid down on the floor until her head was next to Grissom's. "She's out for the night."

"Still–this isn't how I planned to spend my first night back." He placed his hand on her bare arm and rubbed it up to her shoulder and back again, generating chills that made her tremble.

"Did you have anything specific planned?" She asked through a dry throat as she watched how his eyes followed his hand.

"Yes. I did. I thought about it for weeks." His hand moved over her shoulder to her back, then down toward her waist as he pulled her against him. "I wanted to take it slow. And I wanted it to last all weekend. I wanted to have the opportunity to simply sit in my own living room and watch you as you get involved in another Stephen King novel. . ."

"Well," she said gently as she looked at the sexiest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen in her life. "We might not be "sitting" in your living room–but we "are" lying in it. And I might not be "reading" a Stephen King novel–but we're watching and listening to one on the television. I'd say that so far, you're getting very close to what you wanted."

He studied her face to the point of making her suddenly shy and dropping her eyes until he put his finger beneath her chin until she looked back up at him. "I wanted to be alone with you."

"We're "kinda" alone out here," she whispered as she reached up to touch his full beard. She really had never seen it quite this full and wasn't exactly sure how she liked it. It didn't matter, though, when she looked past it and saw those eyes that could melt her with a simple glance, that nose that was as near to perfection as she would ever want a man's nose to be, and those lips that she loved to taste, as well as have them move over her in ways that made her feel like a goddess.

He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm.

"I had trouble sleeping," he told her as she watched him.

"Did you?"

"Yes–a lot of trouble."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," he sulked teasingly. "It's all your fault."

"My" fault? Don't go blaming me. If it were up to me, you would've never left," she started to rant, but stopped when he leaned over and covered her lips with his, kissing her soundly until her hands moved to hold onto his collar and she flexed her fingers like a cat flexing its paws. "Okay, so how's it all my fault?"

He smiled down at her sudden change of heart from only a kiss. "Without your arm or leg over me–I'd wake up and reach for it at night."

"You mean–like this?" She lifted her leg until it was over his hip and he slid his thigh between hers, making her squirm at the contact it made with her core. "I don't think I can wait to take it too slowly."

"I want you for more than just a "quicky."

"Okay," she breathed as he moved his kiss to her throat. "How about a "bunch" of quickies?"

This made him nearly laugh against her skin then pull his head back and smile down at her. "I don't feel comfortable doing anything out here. She really could wake up at any moment and find us."

"Would that be so terrible?" Sara asked, thinking only of the possibility of their relationship becoming common knowledge.

"Yeah, especially if she walks up behind me when my ass is sticking out for her to see. I don't think I'd ever be able to face her at work again."

His uncharacteristic crassness made her giggle as she looked at him. "Ah, but it's such a cute ass. It's something to be proud of."

"I can be proud of it without letting Catherine inspect it–especially mid-flight." He lifted her hand to kiss her fingers then moved to get off the floor.

"Where are you going?" Sara asked as he picked up the pillow he had been leaning on, then reached for hers as well as the blankets.

"Same place "you're" going," he started toward his office. "Some place with a door on it."


	69. Chapter 69

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Her anticipation was so overwhelming that she was unsteady on her feet as she watched him go through the doorway to his office. She could feel herself absolutely throbbing at the slightest inkling of what he had planned. The sound of the radio being turned on and the volume adjusted as Johnny Rivers sang "Slow Dancin' Swayin' to the Music" flowed from the room and she couldn't hide the nervous smile that tugged at her lips as she moved through the doorway in time to see him look up with such intensity that she felt surely she was going to stumble and fall into his arms.

"I can't get a much more appropriate song than this," he said as he held his hand out for her.

She put her much slimmer hand into his and allowed him to pull her into his arms and start moving with the song. He danced her backwards until he reached out and pulled the door closed and locked it, then moved them back toward the center of the room. He held her securely within his grasp as her arms went around his neck and they allowed the music to take them to some exotic part of the world where there would be no threat of interruptions. She had a hard time meeting the intensity of his eyes as he watched her, so she lay her head on his shoulder, and they moved together almost as if they were absorbed into one another's being. They didn't speak, not feeling the need at this point. She could have been floating on a cloud as she held onto him, but that cloud turned to a burst of flames when his hand came up to her chin and turned her to face him again.

His kiss started softly, lingering as he took his time about seducing her, gradually building the heat as his lips caressed hers longer and eventually grew more intimate. She moved her hands to his face, holding him securely as she drank from him.

"I don't think I can wait much longer," he said as his hands roamed over her back and sides and she smiled timidly at him.

She couldn't say exactly what made it so different tonight, but she knew it was, and the intensity of it had her senses reeling. He moved her until they were standing at the two comforters and pillows he had spread across the floor. She toed off her shoes then walked to the center of the blanket where he took her hand and assisted her as she lowered herself to her knees. He moved until he was lying on the comforter as he leaned on his elbow and gestured for her to lie next to him. She watched him look at her, moving his eyes from her hair, over her face, down her body to linger on every feature, then back again. She attempted to reach for him, to show him how much she wanted him, but he captured her wrists and put them above her head where he held them gently but securely. With his free hand, he traced his finger down over her cheek, over her lips until she parted them and sucked gently on it. The reaction of him closing his eyes and inhaling deeply hit her like a steamroller and brought a groan of desire from her as she leaned her body against him. He slowly withdrew his finger and moved his grip to her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers. What began as a gentle peck soon turned into an erotic mating of their lips before he pressed his tongue inside to investigate the depths of her mouth. His touch moved down her neck, over her shoulder and on to her breast where he cupped it and massaged it as his ardor increased. Reluctantly, he lifted his head from hers and looked to where his hand was caressing her, then his fingers began plucking the buttons on her blouse until he had it parted on each side of her.

"I think we can do without this," he assured her.

She thanked the heavens when she remembered she was wearing a bra with a front closure that allowed him to open it with a flip of his fingers. She trembled as he traced the backs of his fingers down over her fleshy mound to the sensitive area between her breasts, lower across her tummy which was drawn in against the tickling sensation he was creating. He teased her with his slowness as he let his fingers glide over her jeans, even going so far as to slide between her legs and cause her to nearly convulse with the absolute euphoria he was creating, but he only lingered a second before he released her wrists and raised himself until he was kneeling next to her.

"And these."

Her breathing had turned shallow as she remained where she lay, watching his every move. When he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, she lifted her hips as he pulled them down her thighs, then off of her long legs. She watched him remove her socks and show an inordinate amount of interest in her bared feet and the tattoo she adorned. He held her leg and stroked his finger over the ink, then, almost as if he were caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he raised his eyes to hers and gave her that little boy smile that charmed her.

Wordlessly, he pulled his shirt over his head, then undid his pants before pushing them over his hips and laying back down again. She allowed him to resume his kiss as she felt him toe off his shoes, then kick his pants from his legs and soon she felt his immense size pressing against her hip. He pulled her onto her side and pushed her blouse off of one arm while he snaked his right arm beneath her and lifted her onto him as he rolled onto his back. He then removed her blouse completely and tossed it aside.

She crawled farther up his body, until they were face-to-face and she stared at the beauty of him that was hidden beneath the gray beard. Those blue eyes were making her weak and her breathing increased as she looked into them. She felt his hands moving up her back and down again, then over her thighs until he spread her legs around him.

"God, I want you," he mumbled as he moved his hands to her neck and pulled her down to meet his lips and he flipped her over onto her back again.

His restraint finally broken, he grabbed her right leg under her knee and held it up, around him, while he laced his fingers through her hair with his other. His mouth moved across her face, down her neck to her shoulders and he nipped at that sensitive spot that could make her insides clench in anticipation. She wanted to respond, to kiss his body, but as he moved lower, she could only reach the top of his head. His mouth found her nipple as his hand massaged its mate and he suckled like a starving man. Her hands held him to her, cradled him, pulled him more tightly against her as his mouth worked exquisite magic on her and when she felt his massive hardness pressing against her, rubbing against her throbbing nub as it lay between them, she started rocking her hips against him to get some relief form the tightly wound coil he created within her. He bit and laved at her breast, bringing moans from her that she didn't realize were escaping as he reached down and grasped onto her left buttock and pulled her solidly against him and met her gyrations with his own.

"Gil! My God, Gil!" She exclaimed as her climax washed over her so suddenly and powerfully that she had no control over what she was saying.

When she came down from her high, she opened her eyes to see him smiling gently at her and although his gyrations had slowed, she could still feel the heat of him pressed against her. When she gave a timid smile in return, he reached between them and took hold of himself, guiding his erection to the place she knew he needed to be. The time spent apart from him made his intrusion seem almost like the first time. She gasped at his size and the way he waited for her to stretch around him, then felt her arousal begin all over again. She reached for his hand and brought it to her mouth, this time, pulling two fingers between her lips as she gently sucked on them. The sight of him clenching his eyes closed and inhaling deeply in an effort to control himself excited her even farther, and she knew he was waiting for her to catch up to him again.

"Gil," she breathed, "more."

His growl titillated her and the passion in his eyes as he opened them and looked at her sent shivers through her entire body.

"Jesus, but you are amazing!" He said as he started moving inside of her, already past the point of anything gentle as he moved quickly like a piston driving an engine.

She ran her hands over his back, his neck and shoulders, his hair as she arched against him. She was always amazed by his stamina, and tonight was no different as he took them beyond the walls of his office, of his apartment, until they were in some state of euphoria that had her calling his name between gasps. He released his hold on her leg and moved both arms up where he leaned on his elbows and his power increased to the point of making the comforters slide with each thrust.

"Oh, Gil! I'm so close again," she breathed and when she looked up into his eyes, the intensity she saw there brought her even closer.

Without missing a beat, he spoke between heavy breaths. "Move in with me."

The message hit her and she tumbled over the edge of ecstacy, vaguely feeling his final thrusts into her that were so powerful she thought surely she would be rent in two.

"Sara!" He groaned so loudly she was sure the neighbors could hear, even if her inebriated friend could not.

She could actually feel him throbbing, pulsating as he moved several more pumps, spraying himself into her before collapsing on top of her. He placed several breathy kisses on her upper chest before moving lower until his head rested below her breasts and he would randomly press his lips against the softness of her skin. She put her hands on his hair, stroking his head as they both worked at getting their heartbeats back to normal.

"It's alright, baby," she soothed him.

He remained within her for over a half hour before moving to lie next to her. She turned on her side and took pleasure in splaying her hand over his chest and stomach until he turned toward her and drew her leg up over his hip in his familiar position.

"You didn't answer me." He said with a smile in his eyes.

"I didn't know you asked me a question," she chuckled as her hand moved to his back and stroked it, not quite ready for an answer as his change from the uncertainty they shared before his sabbatical to actually suggesting they formalize their relationship by living together was a bit startling.

"About moving in."

"That wasn't a question, Gilbert. That was an order."

"It was "not" an order," he smiled an authentic smile at her this time, a smile she could easily get used to and trust. "I was just a little too busy to put it in the correct form. So, I missed the "will you" part of it. So–uh–what's your answer?"

"It's going to be a little difficult to explain when you have guests over," she said as she closed her eyes and he started kissing her forehead.

"I won't have guests."

"Alright."

"Alright–what?" He pulled back to look at her. "Alright, you'll move in? Or alright, I won't have guests?"

"I guess it's to both. Although I'm not sure what you want me to do with my things."

"Move them in here," he said as if it was completely obvious as he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him again

"Somehow I don't think this place is big enough for two sofas or two beds."

"Oh–those things." He shrugged his shoulders. "Do whatever you want with them. Put them in storage–have a "moving" sale. I don't really care–just so you move in with me."

"When would you like to start?"

"This weekend. We can grab a Denali from the lab and load it up a few times and before you know it–the only thing left will be that back-breaker you seem to like to refer to as a sofa."

"Oh," she teased. "But that sofa has such memories."

"Not good ones."

She remained lying on him but lifted herself to smirk at him. "What do you mean–not good ones? That was what you fell off of and I took pity on you and let you make love to me for the first time."

"Pity?" He raised a brow. "It was pity-sex?"

She giggled at him as she lay back down and rested her chin on her folded hands across his chest. "It was "amazing" pity-sex."

"I don't think I want to keep something that screams the fact that you had sex with me out of charity."

"Alright," she soothed. "Maybe it wasn't "pity." You can get rid of the sofa–but it will never erase the image I have of you looking up at me from where you landed on the floor. You looked so adorable that there was no way I could refuse you anything that day."

He studied her as he lay with his head on one of the pillows and she lay on his chest. She couldn't stop the smile that curved her lips and he reached his hand to her cheek and slid his thumb over her lower lip.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" He finally managed to get out, making her drop her gaze in a bit of bashfulness. "I mean, truly beautiful. When you look at me with that smile, you make the rest of the world disappear."

"Tell me that and I'll be too self-conscious to smile again."

"Oh, I think I can find ways to make you smile," he smirked.

"Really?" She raised a brow at him. "And how can you be so sure about that?"

"I know a very simple way to make you smile."

She saw the mischief in his eyes and new exactly what he was talking about.

"No," she warned. "You can just forget it."

"But, you make the strangest noises when I touch you there." He slowly started turning with her but she anticipated it and tried to squirm out from beneath him.

"Gil! I said no!" She almost made it but he pinned her beneath him as she turned onto her stomach and he lay on her back.

"Ah, come on, honey," he crooned as his hand moved to her neck where it met her shoulder. "I want to hear you squeal."

"Al-right!" She shrieked as she squirmed and started laughing at him. "No more!"

"But, darling," he teased as his hand went lower to just below her rib cage. "Now I want to hear you snort!"

"Gil! No!" She laughed as she futilely tried to get away from him. "Don't! And anyway–I don't snort!"

"You don't snort?" He asked incredulously as his fingers moved on her tender skin and her laughter turned into a very unfeminine, unladylike noise that made her cover her mouth and laugh at him through wide eyes. "What was that?"

He finally allowed her to turn more fully onto her back as her eyes sparkled before she sobered and gave him a haughty look. "That was a. . .grunt. I don't snort like a pig."

"Really?" He asked with raised brows as he moved his hand back to her sensitive area.

"Alright! Alright!" She grabbed his hand and stopped him. "So I snort! I'm sure there are other unattractive features about me that you don't find appealing."

"Who says I don't find it appealing? I think it's enchanting. But–just to clarify this–you "do" snort."

"You just wait, Dr. Grissom," she slid her hands up his chest as he leaned over her. "I'll find something about you that I can hold over your head. You may not snort–but I'll find something that isn't perfect."

"I drool," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You do not," she giggled at him.

"No–I'm serious. I drool when I sleep."

"I've never noticed you drooling. And I've been sleeping with you for over a year and a half," she said, but he smiled widely at her and she pinched his side.

"You'll see," he moved back onto his side and pulled her against him again. "Someday you'll wake up in a pool of spittle."

"Liar," she sighed as she nestled against him and she could feel him chuckling at her. "You're perfect and you know it."

"Hardly." He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "Sara?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad to be home."


	70. Chapter 70

Chapter Seventy

His intentions were clear–make her understand how much he missed her. He had really intended to lavish his attention, both physically and emotionally, upon her, but circumstances saw to it that he had very little time and opportunity to do that. He could almost (almost) understand what Catherine was going through, but the fact that she attached herself to Michael Keppler dulled his sympathy. He had heard through the grapevine (alright it was from David Hodges–but he heard about it almost immediately) that she struck up a seemingly one-sided infatuation with the man upon meeting him. So, although he could feel sympathy toward a coworker who lost another coworker–the fascination that she had for the man was wearing extremely thin. So, in actuality, he was feeling torn between wanting to help his friend get over the loss of someone who seemed to be working both sides of the law (at this point he was clearly taking advantage of his position at the lab–as well as Catherine), and helping himself with his own relationship problems. To see Catherine torn up like this over him confused Grissom. He didn't appreciate wasting his time and that was what he felt like he was doing where Sara was concerned.

But he certainly didn't neglect Sara those hours they shared in his office. He worshiped her body and mind, idolizing her as the goddess she was, as he made love to her twice more before the morning sun began to peep through the blinds at his window. By then, his makeshift bed on the floor, which had provided them the privacy they needed, declared war on his comfort. His back complained quite persistently and explained to him in no uncertain terms that he had better find some other place to sleep, or he'd be incapacitated for days.

"Sara?" He leaned over her bare back and kissed her shoulder. "Honey, we need to get up."

She groaned with disapproval at the idea of having to move from her nest, but slowly turned over onto her back and looked at him through sleepy eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven," he said as his hand automatically moved to her waist. "If I don't get off this floor soon, I'll have to go on medical leave until I can walk again."

He watched the compassion in her eyes as she reached a hand up to his bearded cheek. She lifted herself to give him a kiss so sweet that he nearly pushed her back down with thoughts of going at it for a fourth time; but the ache in his back reminded him that for today–he was finished in the lovemaking category until he could find something more comfortable to lay on to ease the muscles along his spine. She got up and searched around the room, coming up with pieces of clothing that were scattered about, not finding her panties until she lifted the comforters they had been lying on. She looked at him with a "how in the world did they get there" expression and he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. They were both redressed inside five minutes and they each grabbed a comforter and pillow and made their way back to the living room where they turned off the television. He started to move toward a chair, but stopped upon her objection.

"No–no! You take the couch. If you try to sleep sitting up in that chair, you "will" have back spasms."

"Where are you going to sleep?" He asked.

"I'll lay on the floor. I'm not as sore as you are."

"I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor while I'm on the sofa." He grabbed the comforter from her and spread it on the floor next to the couch, then spread another one on top of it before putting one pillow on the sofa, then the other with the comforters. "Here, lie down with me. When we hear Catherine get up, then one of us can go down to the floor."

He stretched his length out first then moved onto his side and waited until she lay against him, back to front, and he put his arm around her waist. Within minutes he was back to sleep and didn't wake again until he heard the crash in front of him. He opened his eyes to see Sara was gone. Further investigation showed a stack of books that had been on his coffee table were scattered across the wooden top and some had actually landed on the floor on the other side. Apprehensively, he slowly leaned forward and looked over the edge of the sofa to see Sara looking out toward the kitchen and small hallway to the bedroom.

"What are you doing? Did you fall?" He asked in a still sleep-laden voice.

"Shh!" She warned in a whisper. "And yes–I mean, no–well, I sort of fell. I tried to get down here before she came out and got my foot caught in your legs. Now be quiet–pretend you're asleep!"

Actually, that thought was quite attractive at the moment–more sleep. So he gave her a semi-shrug and leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes. Within seconds he could hear the patter of Catherine's feet as she came from the bedroom. He could hear all of this as he remained in his "pretending-to-be-asleep" mode. He heard her stop near his feet, at the other end of the sofa.

"Oh, my God!" She whispered. "Sara! What are you doing down there?"

"Trying to sleep," Sara said with mild irritation.

"Well, Jesus! Why didn't you come in and sleep on the other half of the bed? It's big enough! You didn't have to sleep out here on the floor! You probably didn't get any sleep at all!"

Grissom listened as Sara slowly got to her feet, thinking that although Sara got more sleep than he had, she "didn't" get much and he had to force himself to contain his smile of satisfaction when he thought of her reason for staying awake.

"No–no, I didn't sleep much."

"And he made you sleep on the floor!" Catherine said with distaste. "Well, always the gentleman–why let a lady sleep on your couch when you can sleep there yourself!"

That remark did make his eyebrow rise but evidently Catherine didn't see as she didn't comment on it.

"I'm fine," Sara gave her usual reply. "I can rough it out with an hour or two on the floor. Anyway–that's where he fell asleep. He was watching TV and fell asleep. I didn't have the heart to make him move, so I spread out on the floor–I mean–I mean–I watched television from the floor and just stayed there."

"Yeah? Anything good on?"

"You know–the usual. The Secret Garden was first. . ."

"Ooooh–Johnny Depp. Damn, now I wish I'd been out here to watch it with you. He's one boy who keeps getting better with age!"

"Well, he certainly can make "my" pulse race," Sara commented, and this almost made Grissom open his eyes to glare at her, but when he sneaked a peek, he saw her giving him a quick look that suggested he close his eyes again. "He's just about my ideal man."

"Oh, honey," Catherine laughed. "I know what your ideal man looks like–and believe me–he aint no Johnny Depp!"

"A woman can dream–can't she?" Sara said in a teasing tone.

"She certainly can. We're entitled to our dreams."

"Are you hungry? Would you like to search through his refrigerator with me?"

"Yeah," Catherine sighed as she went with Sara to the kitchen. "We might as well fend for ourselves–by the looks of it, our knight in shining armor has ridden his horse off into the sunset and isn't coming back again anytime soon."

"Hmm," Sara agreed as he heard the refrigerator door open. "If it were only half as easy for women to fall asleep as it is for men."

Again, Grissom's eyes opened, recalling perfectly well that as he lay on the floor in his office with his back screaming in protest, she lay next to him lightly snoring before she turned onto her stomach and continued with her near-coma!

"That's probably why they pass out after sex, while we want to go on for a second round. They don't have the stamina we have."

"I know. One episode and they're done, while we could go on for hours and hours," Sara agreed.

"That little shit!" Grissom thought as he listened to their man-bashing. "I'm the one who was ready to go for a fourth time while she was dead to the world! There is absolutely "nothing" wrong with my "stamina!"

"Uh-oh," Catherine said with sympathy. "I hate to state the obvious–but it looks like he's had a woman here recently."

"What would make you think that?" Sara asked a bit nervously.

"Yogurt? Grissom's not into small containers of yogurt. He's more into bologna and chips."

"I do "not" eat bologna and chips!" Grissom thought indignantly. "Okay, so I'll grab some chips once in awhile–but I'm not into bologna!"

"Well, he "has" lost some weight recently. Maybe he's eating it to trim down a bit."

"That should alert you right there. A man only cares about his weight when there's a woman involved. I think our little scientist has found himself a lab rat."

"A "lab" rat?" Sara asked.

Catherine gave a short laugh. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it that way. Grissom's too protective of his position at the lab to fish off the company pier. You should know that."

"Yes–of course." Sara agreed. "He has eggs. Would you like an omelet?"

"No, but I'll take one of those English muffins with. . ."sugar-free" raspberry jam? See? Men don't buy "sugar-free" anything."

"Whatever you say, Catherine," Sara sighed and within seconds Grissom heard the lever of his toaster being pushed down and soon the aroma of toasted English muffin filled the apartment.

"So–Sara–have you seen anyone special since Hank?"

Now Grissom could smell coffee brewing.

"Me? No–no one special."

"So, there "has" been "someone?"

"No one worth mentioning. Rather insignificant. One roll in the hay and I knew it wouldn't work."

"That bad, huh?" Catherine laughed.

"Oh, well–let's imagine someone running the hundred yard dash and stumbling two yards out–but thinking he just won the blue ribbon."

This comment made Catherine laugh at her. "A speedy kind of guy, huh?"

"A regular Andretti," Sara chuckled.

"Andretti, my ass!" Grissom thought as he pushed himself up from the sofa and started toward the two women in the kitchen. One look at Sara's amused expression told him she was doing this just to provoke him. Catherine stopped laughing and looked at him.

"Jeez–Grissom–you kinda look like hell. I guess sleeping all night on the sofa while making your company sleep on the floor doesn't agree with you."

"Well–I would've let her sleep on the sofa if I could've slept in my own bed–but I didn't think you'd appreciate it if you woke up to hear me snoring next to you." He grabbed a mug and waited by the counter for the coffee to finish brewing.

"As long as that was "all" that you were doing–I wouldn't have cared." She reached for a butter knife and two plates, handing one to Sara and keeping one for herself as they waited for the muffins to finish, then added in a much more sober note. "Look, I know I'm not sounding very appreciative right now–but I am. I–wasn't in the right frame of mind to be by myself last night. I owe a lot to the two of you. You held me up when I was about to fall down."

Grissom didn't answer as he grabbed what coffee had already dripped into the pot and poured it into his mug.

"We're just glad we could be here for you, Catherine. You should know that." Sara put the muffin on Catherine's plate then put her own in the toaster.

Catherine took a seat and started spreading the jam on her breakfast, then looked up at Sara with a wry smile. "We? Better watch it there, Sara–you're starting to sound like an old married couple."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I guess I should've pointed out that "I" was glad to be here for you while Grissom was on the sofa snoring–and drooling–all night." Sara walked past Grissom and got down two more mugs for the coffee when it was ready and did very well at hiding her smile when she saw him rolling his eyes at her reference.

"Oh my God!" Catherine snickered. "Does he drool?"

"Oh, yeah," Sara said with conviction as she looked from Grissom to Catherine and back again. "Pools and pools of it. It actually started dripping off the sofa and some landed on my head while I was watching TV."

"I do not–drool," Grissom stressed grimly.

"I don't know, Gris," Catherine said with exaggeration. "You're getting to be about that age–ya know. First it's the teeth that go–and then without them, the drool begins."

"My teeth are just fine! And I wouldn't bring up age too much, Catherine. You're only five years younger than me!"

"I am not," she said with wide eyes.

"You are so! I can prove it if I want to be so trivial. You're approaching the half-century mark so fast that you're leaving skid marks trying to avoid hitting the big five-oh."

"Well–someone's rather grumpy when he spends the night on the couch," Catherine patronized.

"I wouldn't have been on the. . ." He began again, but Sara interrupted him as she poked his side, making him jump and nearly spill his coffee.

"That" was extremely rude, Grissom," Sara admonished him. "You don't bring up a woman's age."

"Why? Do you mind telling people how old "you" are?" he said to her.

"Not at all."

"That's because she's only in her thirties," Catherine told him. "What? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?"

"Yeah," Sara agreed quickly, making Grissom stare at her in awe of her blatant lie.

"Try thirty-five," he told Catherine, this time receiving another poke as she stomped her foot.

"That" was completely unnecessary! Thirty-one sounded just fine to me!"

"What's wrong with the two of you? Is there something tragic about your real ages?"

Catherine got to her feet and poured herself a cup of coffee then one for Sara and she carried them back to the seats. "I don't hear you running around telling everyone that you're fifty-eight."

"I am "not" fifty-eight," he complained.

"See," Sara told him as she got her own muffin and put it on the plate then reached for the jam. "You don't like it when someone says you're too old."

"That's because "I'm" not really that old–you two, on the other hand. . ." He stopped talking, getting completely lost in their conversation. He took another sip of his coffee then put it down. "Ya know what? You're right–"you're" thirty-one; "you're" thirty-nine, and "I'm" fifty-eight. Now, if you ladies don't mind, I'm going to my bed and getting some "more" sleep–after all, being nearly sixty–I need more sleep than the two of you. I trust you'll let yourselves out when you're ready to leave."

"But you brought me here!" Catherine called after him, stopping him in his tracks as he turned and looked at Sara in desperation. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he was going to drop where he stood and the thought of having to drive Catherine home on top of it made his mind go into overload.

"I'll take you home." Sara hid her amusement as she bit into her muffin. "I have to go home anyway. It isn't that far out of my way."

Catherine looked at Grissom. "See–you give her all the crappy jobs."

He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his room where he stripped his bed and put new sheets on the mattress and cases on the pillows. He loved Catherine like a sister, but he wasn't in the mood to smell her perfume as he tried to get the sleep he was seeking. Anyway, if things went his way, he'd be holding Sara in that bed in a matter of an hour or two, and she was the only woman he wanted to focus on.


	71. Chapter 71

Chapter Seventy-One

Grissom's sleep took him into a darkness where he heard the baby first, then the gentle cooing of its mother. He wasn't overly concerned with the noise, it seemed almost familiar as he walked down through what he presumed was a hallway toward a door with light coming from beneath it. The baby was making noises; newborn noises of comfort and contentment as it listened to its mother's joyful sounds. He could almost feel the devotion that was exploding through the woman's heart, the pride she was feeling as she held the child in her arms and looked at it. He was reaching for the door, knowing that his curiosity was overwhelming now.

The door swung open in a rush, flashing white light all around him, blinding him to what was in the room until something blocked the source of the light and came through the doorway. At first he didn't recognize the brunette carrying the child, he was too overcome with grief–a tremendous sense of loss as he listened to the original woman sobbing from inside the lighted room. He reached for the child, knowing it needed to be back with its mother, and when his hand touched the downy softness of its blondish-brown hair he felt such a combination of joy and grief that he almost doubled over with it. He reached another hand for it, but the brunette turned to look at him, swinging the child away from him.

"It's mine, now," she said in a very unemotional voice, but he could see the triumph in those eyes–familiar eyes he had seen many times before. His gaze dropped to the smile tugging at her lips and he realized he had kissed those lips as well. She stepped back from him and he couldn't reach the child anymore, but he could see all of her face and the sight of Heather Kessler confused him.

"Heather? The baby. . .its mother wants it back now." He took a step toward her and tried to touch the child again.

"She" doesn't deserve it. It's mine now. Yours and mine."

Grissom took a step toward Heather again, knowing she had lost her daughter. Perhaps this could make her feel whole again, Heather deserved another chance to be happy. But she turned and disappeared into the darkness with the baby. Grissom could still hear the heartbreaking sobs from the lighted room and he turned to see a figure sitting near the source of the light, its brightness made identifying the woman impossible. All he could see was jean-covered legs–long legs. He could see a pair of hands reaching from the light and he knew instinctively that she wasn't reaching for him, but for the baby he had just sacrificed to Heather. He needed to make her understand that Heather needed the child, but when he took a step toward her, the door slammed closed, leaving him in darkness. The bang of it, crashing through his head, splitting it open until he couldn't move.

"Gil?" Sara's voice pulled him from the depths of his bizarre dream. "Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes to see the wall of his bedroom, then turned from his side onto his back where Sara was lying next to him.

"What?" He asked in sleepy confusion.

"You were having a bad dream. At least I "think" you were having a bad dream. You were moaning and said, "she needs it more." You definitely didn't sound like you were having a "happy" dream. "Who" needs "what" more?" She asked gently.

"I–I–um–don't know," he lied. "I don't remember dreaming anything."

"Okay." She looked at him a moment, then lay back down against her pillow and turned on her side, facing away from him.

He turned against her and spooned his legs up under hers as he held his arm over her chest and kissed the back of her head, the dream already becoming a dim memory as he went back to sleep.

When he woke the next time he felt Sara's fingers stroking his neck and he opened his eyes to see her looking at him as they lay face-to-face.

"Did you do this to me?" He asked sleepily and smiled sheepishly at her as he pulled her hips more tightly against his erection.

"I hope so," she giggled. "I'd hate to think you were dreaming about someone else while I was giving you a hand-job."

"I think I remember dreaming about Hodges," he teased.

"Eww! Don't say that! He already has such a man-crush on you! I don't think it would take much encouragement."

"I don't think it's quite that bad," he kissed her forehead, then pulled back and looked at her with faux concern. "At least I "hope" it isn't that bad."

"I know someone else who has it bad for you," she told him as he proceeded to kiss her eyelids. "What do you plan to do about that person?"

"I don't know," he crooned as he kissed her lips. "Who are you talking about, now?"

"Gil!" She slapped his arm as she pulled away from him, making him chuckle as he pulled her back and resumed the kiss, leaning into her until she was on her back and he was partially lying on top of her.

"I'm going to wine and dine her tonight–if she'll go with me."

"Where are we going?" She asked as she tilted her head and allowed him to nuzzle at her neck.

"Phillippe's."

"I never heard of it."

"It's a little restaurant I found. It's formal. You'll have to go back to your apartment to get what you're wearing."

"A little restaurant that you "found?" And how did you come across this great discovery of yours?"

He looked at her a moment and tried to think of which road to take. Does he tell her the truth and say that he had taken Heather there a few years ago, and risk her becoming angry with him for days–or does he lie and hopefully have her enjoy the experience?

"I–uh–saw it while out on one of my cases a few years back." Well, it wasn't "really" a lie, it was how he became aware of its existence. It just happened to be a case involving Heather, and it was upon her suggestion that they go there, so, really–he wasn't lying.

Sara looked at him without expression and he got the feeling that she was looking for something inside of him. He looked away and rolled onto his back, then got off the bed and started to the bathroom and downed some Imitrex to ward off the migtraine that was threatening to come. He heard her moving around the bedroom and when he came out he found her putting on her blouse, having already put on her jeans.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a combination of shock and disappointment.

"I'm getting dressed," she said as she glanced at him then went about picking up her shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on.

"But–I wasn't ready to get up yet. You made sure of that!" He moved to stand in front of her, bringing her attention back to him from the shoe she was tying.

"Gil–it's after five. If it's formal, then that means "you" have to take a shower and get dressed, and "I" have to go home and do the same. Now, we're looking at half an hour driving time to get back to my place, about an hour to shower and get made up, another half hour to dress, then travel-time "back" to here to meet you so we can go to the restaurant. All-in-all, we're looking at, if we're lucky and rush, eight o'clock for dinner. Did you make reservations?"

"Yes."

"And what time were they?"

"Nine. So, see–we've got at least another hour before we have to start doing anything other than finishing what you started while I was asleep."

He took her shoe from her hand and tossed it to the floor, then reached down and pulled up her other shoe and removed it from her foot. She leaned back on her elbows and smiled at him as he stripped off her socks, then she lifted her hips as he pulled her jeans off. He stood between her legs and looked down at her in her blouse and panties and felt himself begin to tighten again, and with a suggestive smile from her, he felt himself rise even more. He watched as she slowly sat up until she was sitting before him.

"Gil?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I think it's time for me to welcome you home."

He watched as she pulled his boxer/briefs lower and allowed him to escape the confines of the cotton cloth. She moved her hands over his hips as she started kissing him on the sensitive skin she found there. He continued to watch as his hand found the back of her head, not forcing her in any direction, but merely letting the silkiness of her hair slide through his fingers. His anticipation heightened as she moved nearer and nearer to his shaft that was already standing erect and waiting. He knew what was coming and it nearly made his knees weak. He couldn't say that he had a "lot" of experience at this, but over the years he had had his share, and none could compare to Sara. She had a certain touch that could drive him nearly insane as he would approach his climax, then with a change of position of her tongue, lips and fingertips, she could reign him back in and start him on the roller coaster ride all over again. When she would finally finish, he might as well be a pool of mush at her feet.

This time was no different as she kissed her way from the bottom of his erection all the way to the tip before taking it into her mouth. Her hands were caressing his thighs and would go farther back to slide over or squeeze his buttocks, knowing when he was tensing them as he would near his end, then she would pull back and continue to tease him with feather-light kisses on his groin. Her hands would excite him as they would delicately cup him and massage him, and when she saw he was ready, she would take him into her mouth again and swirl her tongue around him.

"Jesus, Sara," he groaned as his other hand joined the first one and he couldn't help himself but to move his hips in rhythm with her strokes. "I can't hold back any longer."

He gave her the option to pull back, but she continued until he felt himself explode with an intensity that practically made him see stars. She ended it with gentleness and as she removed her mouth, she moved out of his way and half-pulled him down on the bed next to her. He lay on his back with his legs still hanging over the side of the mattress and felt her leaning over him. Their lips met as his pulse raced and she slowly enticed him with her leisurely kiss until his heartbeat was closer to normal.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom was seated across from Sara as she picked at her salad and would glance up at him often. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the way her dress showed off every positive aspect of her body, from the slimness of her waist and curves of her hips and breasts, all the way the sparkling brown eyes as she would smile at him. They had talked of a variety of things on their way to the restaurant and conversation continued throughout the ordering process. It was only now, as she absolutely glowed across from him, that words didn't seem necessary. She looked happy, and it was infectious, giving him a light feeling as he reached across the table and placed his hand on her free one. She looked at him again and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes off of her. There was something extraordinary about her tonight that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but she was breathtaking.

"When would you like to begin moving your things?" He asked suddenly.

"I–don't know. I guess I haven't given it a great amount of thought since you brought it up." She slid her thumb over his. "We don't have to do it all in one weekend–do we? I mean, I do have a lease that I'm tied into for the next six months. So even if we did move everything out, I'd still have rent to pay. I think we should take our time."

"How much–time?"

"If you want, we can move my dresser over this weekend, and a lot of my clothes. I never actually tried to condense two homes into one. I'm not sure what to do with things like my dishes, pots and pans, towels. . .stuff like that."

"I said before you could put them in storage. But, I guess if you're paying rent on an empty apartment, you might as well store your things there until your lease is up. I'm sure that by then, we'll have decided what to do with everything."

"Are you really sure about this?" She asked, looking at him sincerely. "I mean, you might find it extremely difficult sharing bathroom space with me."

"How so? You bring your toothbrush over and put it next to mine."

"Okay," she chuckled. "But what do I do with my hair dryer, my razor, my. . .other–more intimate things? I'm not sure you're up to opening your bathroom cabinet and finding a box of tampons inside."

"Don't be absurd," he said, then took a sip from his coffee. "I'm not a teenage boy who gets embarrassed by women's bodily functions. You can bring over whatever you like."

"And as much as I like?" She asked, and received a nod.

"Sara?"

The man's voice turned Sara's attention away from Grissom and upon seeing who it belonged to, her relaxed posture tensed. Grissom's reaction was somewhat stronger as he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck upon sight of the young man.

"Hank," Sara said, clearly shocked to run into him.

"I thought it was you. I saw you from across the room as I was about to leave. You look absolutely lovely tonight."

"Um–thank you." Sara's eyes scanned the restaurant before turning on him again. "You look–nice, too."

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your evening, but I couldn't let this opportunity pass by. You've been in my thoughts a lot lately–and to run into you here tonight–well, it seems like it was something I needed to act upon."

"That's very nice of you, Hank. But I think you might want to check in with your wife and see what she thinks of that idea."

"I'm not married anymore. It didn't work out."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Hank," Grissom finally spoke up a bit gruffly as he sat in a presumably relaxed position, but in reality was getting more and more tense with each greasy little comment the idiot was making. "Maybe you'll have better luck next time."

Hank turned to look at Grissom as if seeing him for the first time. It seemed to take a moment before he recognized him, then he looked back at Sara again.

"I'm not planning on a "next time" unless I know it's with the right woman. Sara, I know this is an awkward situation, but perhaps we could take our conversation outside?"

Sara gave a little cough as she wiped her mouth with her napkin and glanced at Grissom then back to Hank.

"Hank, you seem to be under the impression that I would have anything private to say to you. I'd really rather just be allowed to finish my dinner with my friend, and you should join whomever you came with."

Almost as if called out of the woodwork, a small brunette walked up to the man and placed her hand on his forearm. "There you are! I was looking for you when I came out of the restroom."

The young woman looked at Sara, clearly waiting for an introduction, which Hank granted her.

"Shannon, this is Sara Sidle. Sara, Shannon Putnam."

"This" is Sara?" The other woman said, suddenly turning a bit cold. "I'd like to go home now."

"Certainly," Hank said as he continued looking at Sara.

"Now, Hank!"

"I think she's talking to you, big guy," Grissom taunted from his seat. "Maybe you should take "her" outside to have that little talk you seemed so intent upon having with Sara."

This only seemed to infuriate Ms. Putnam even further as she glared at Hank, but he continued looking at Sara. "It was nice to see you again, Sara. Perhaps we'll have the opportunity to run into one another again soon."

"Hank! Now!"

Sara and Grissom watched as Hank finally escorted the younger woman from the restaurant and when Sara finally looked back at Grissom, she smiled a tiny smile, shrugged her shoulders, and went back to her salad.


	72. Chapter 72

Chapter Seventy-Two

Sara went back to eating her salad but felt the weight of Grissom's stare from across the table. She lifted her eyes to look at him again and saw him watching Hank leaving the restaurant. When he was sure he was gone, he swung his gaze back to Sara.

"Friend?" He asked dryly.

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You'd rather finish dinner with "your friend?" He went back to his coffee, not looking at her now.

"I'm sorry, should I have said, I'd rather finish dinner with my "boss?" or with my "sexual companion?"

He lifted his gaze and looked at her and she could see a bit of disappointment in his blue eyes.

"I thought we were past that? Evidently the sight of an old boyfriend is giving you doubts."

"No," she sighed as she put her fork down. "I'm sorry. But "my boyfriend" seems a bit juvenile, don't you think?" When he didn't answer, she forced a smile and took his hand. "What would you like me to call you? Name it–anything you want."

She saw the smile beginning to tug at his lips a moment before the mischief in his eyes, then he looked at her with mock indignation as his thumb started stroking her hand. "Oh, I don't know. . .how about your Eros?"

"Greek god of erotic love, passion and sex," she chuckled. "Isn't that as bad as my sexual companion?"

"No–if I'm your Eros–I'm your god."

"Only if I'm Aphrodite."

"Greek goddess of fertility, sexual love and beauty?" He seemed to mull this over for a moment. "How about Morongo, goddess of Zimbabwe, of love and sexuality, instead?"

"How–do you remember all of these things?" She asked in awe of his massive mental recall.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a gift, I guess."

"Okay, Eros, do you think we can go home and practice what you preach?"

His smile was sly as he got to his feet while continuing to hold her hand. "I was planning on it."

She laughed at him again as she stood up and he put his arm around her waist and they went outside. He walked her under one of the streetlights that dotted the parking lot, then into the shadows at the passenger's side of his car. She waited for him to release her and either open the door, or free her hand so she could do it herself, but he kept his hand on her waist then turned her so her back was pressed against the car. She looked up into his face, seeing the intensity of his stare as he studied her.

"Gil?" She asked with a gentle smile.

"You really do look lovely tonight. You know that, don't you?" He leaned down and gently kissed her lips. "And I'm not saying that just because that canine equivalent thought he could score a pat on the head from you."

She let his lips play with hers as she put her hands on his shoulders and he held her on both sides of her waist.

"Really? You mean you aren't trying to score anything with your compliment?"

He chuckled against her mouth as he continued his small kisses. "I don't "have" to score anything with compliments, we already know I'm getting it anyway when we get home."

"Oh, you sweet-talker, you."

He pulled his head back and his eyes sparkled at her as he looked at her. "Hey, I tried to say something romantic–but "you" turned it to sex."

"You said something romantic? You compared my ex with a dog. How romantic can that be?"

"Let's forget about him," he murmured as he started to kiss her again, then stopped and added, "but, he "is" a flea-bitten mutt."

"Oh, Gil," she started laughing as he started kissing her again. "You simply make me want to swoon in your arms with your acclamations of adoration."

He pulled back and looked at her. "Should I try again?"

"I don't think so. I don't want to talk about Hank all night. Lets just suffice it to say that you like my dress."

"Well," he hesitated as he let his eyes move over her. "I like your shoes, too. And I like your hair–and your eyes–and your nose–and your lips."

She tilted her face up to him as he first kissed her eyes, then her nose, then her lips. This time his tongue slid across her lips, urging her to part them for his entrance. He had her senses reeling by the time he pulled away and opened the car door. It took her a moment to focus on what was going on as she gazed at his face like a love-struck teenager and he looked back with an expression of complete confidence in himself. Her breathing was shallow as he turned her and guided her into her seat, then closed the door and went around to the driver's side. She watched him, the sight of him in his suit having its usual effect on her as she squeezed her thighs together to ease the coiling sensation he had created. She vaguely noticed the shadowed figure outlined against a car several spaces down as she watched him get behind the wheel. Then, when he backed up, she got a better look at the sole individual who was about to get in her car and the thought crossed her mind that the girl could have been watching them. But she could only see the girl from the back, so perhaps she hadn't really seen anything at all. Sara wondered at the reason she was there. She certainly wasn't dressed for a formal restaurant as she wore her blondish-brown hair hanging loosely, if not straggly, past her shoulders. Her hoodie hung loosely on her slim frame and dangled down to her jean-clad thighs. Then it occurred to Sara that perhaps the girl worked in the kitchen, maybe washing dishes or something menial that didn't require her to dress any particular way.

"Where are we going?" Grissom's voice turned her attention away from the girl and back to him. "Your place to get your car and start packing?"

She leaned back in her seat and smiled over at him. "You're not in a hurry, are you?"

"Well, it "is" on the way home–and it's only ten-thirty. We could get a few things."

She watched him drive to her apartment, feeling like things were finally coming together for her in her life. He was the vision of male beauty as he kept his eyes on the streets in front of them, occasionally glancing over at her with questions regarding anything she'd like to bring to his place first. It seemed like they got to their destination in a matter of minutes but when she looked at the clock on the dashboard, she saw that it had taken them a half hour.

As they walked through her doorway, she took a deep breath and wondered where to begin. She had been living here for over seven years. Although she hadn't really accumulated many little extras, there were a few things that were of importance to her. She went to her bedroom and retrieved her clothing that was hanging in her closet and lay them across her bed to be carried out to her car. She then looked at the shelf at the top of the closet and knew there were things that she had kept up there that she wasn't sure she was ready to share with Grissom; sentimental things that she could never give up over the years. Well, it was now or never. She moved a chair to the opened doorway and stood on it, preparing to unload the shelf.

"Need some help?" Grissom asked as he moved to stand behind her, reaching up to hold her waist to steady her, but startled her instead.

"Gilbert! Don't do that!" She hissed as she grabbed onto the doorframe, turning to find him minus his jacket and tie with the top three buttons of his shirt opened and the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm..

"Uh-oh. You used the full name–now I'm in trouble." He reached past her and pulled down an extra blanket that she had stored up there, and tossed it onto the bed. "My mother used to call me Gilbert when I was in trouble."

"You were in trouble? I can't imagine you doing anything to make your mother angry."

"Well, I was human, ya know. I was a teenager once–with teenage ideas that clashed with hers."

"Such as?" She handed him some linens which he put with the blanket.

"Such as the night of graduation from high school when I stayed out until five the next morning then came home drunk and threw up on the front porch." He smiled at Sara's look of astonishment as she handed down a small wooden chest. "She locked me out of the house and told me to clean up my mess when I was sober. So I went to sleep and woke up when the neighbor girl came over and started to push the porch swing I was lying on."

"Ah, how romantic."

"Not really. She was only eight years old. She pushed so hard that I rolled onto the floor and cut my cheek. I had to get stitches."

Sara laughed at him. "Poor baby. You even had trouble with younger women back then."

"Looks like things haven't changed much. They're still pushing me around."

"I am "not" pushing you around!" She grabbed an eighteen-inch-wide stuffed ladybug from the shelf and hit him in the shoulder with it, prompting him to grab it and toss it onto the floor. "No! Don't! Pick it up."

He looked at her through squinted eyes, then picked it up and inspected at it. It seemed to take a moment before he looked back at her questioningly. "Is this. . ."

"Yes," she whispered as she took it from him and got down to the floor as she hugged it to herself.

She looked at him apprehensively, not sure if he would criticize her for being sentimental, or just plain creepy.

"That's the ladybug I won for you at that carnival in San Francisco?"

"Yes."

"And you kept it all this time?"

"Yes." She seemed incapable of saying anything else until she knew if he thought it was the action of an infatuated stalker.

"You kept it for almost ten years?"

She nodded her head yes, then moved to sit on the edge of her bed. "It isn't ten years–more like. . .eight and a half."

"I see." He moved to sit close to her, but his weight caused the wooden box to fall on the floor and open as it spread its contents around them.

"Gil!" She sighed as she put the ladybug on bed and got to her knees to pick up the scattered goodies, but he got to the items ahead of her.

He paused when he saw a five-by-seven photo of a himself looking rather somber with a smiling Sara next to him as they stood with the Golden Gate Bridge behind them in the distance. He pulled the rest of the items closer as he repositioned himself until he was seated on the floor and leaning back against her bed.

"You kept this also," he said quietly as he studied the picture. "You look so young here. I remember thinking I must look like your father. I didn't know you were really twenty-seven until after I got back to Vegas. I thought you were much younger."

"Oh, I don't know," she said as she looked down at a much younger version of themselves. "You certainly don't look your age, either. You look no older than thirty."

"More like forty-something."

"You don't look very happy to be with me. But I kept it anyway."

"I remember when they took the picture. I was thinking about having to leave that evening. That's probably what made me look so sullen."

He placed the photo on the floor on the other side of him then picked up the next paper on the pile he had gathered. She felt herself turn slightly pink, knowing it was the paperwork she had filled out for his lecture. Slowly, he went through her treasured items that in some way always connected back to him; her baggage check from her flight to Vegas when she first arrived at his bidding; a menu from the seafood shack they had stopped at before they had their picture taken; a paper holder from her cotton candy they had shared while at the carnival the day before; an announcement informing her that she was to attend the lecture of a Dr. Gilbert Grissom, and a set of shot glasses they both had won at the dime-toss booth; one with a butterfly etched into the glass and the other with a unicorn. Finally, he looked up at her.

"Kinda lame, huh?" She asked with her nose crinkled to portray distaste at her childish display of worship.

But instead of criticism, he reached for her until she straddled his lap. He continued to look at her a moment, then put his hands on her neck and pulled her toward him for his kiss.

"You have a sensitive, sentimental side to you that you try to keep hidden away, but believe it or not, we can see it in every breath you take. So, no, I do not regard this as "lame." It's something I should've expected."

"So, you don't mind if I keep this in a safe spot at your place?"

"Wherever you want."

She leaned back into his kiss again, then lay her head on his shoulder as her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, opening it farther until it was only closed beneath his belt.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"I really would like to make love to you right now," she murmured.

"Really? And there's something stopping you?" He asked as his hands stroked her back.

"We piled everything on my bed."

"That can be corrected with a simple flip of the top blanket."

She lifted her head as she looked him in the eye. "You'd throw all my clothes onto the floor?"

He thought for a moment, then nodded his head yes. "If I have a choice between wrinkling your clothes or making love to you. . .I think it's a rather easy decision–don't you?"

But instead of hurrying to get up, he watched her as his fingers moved to the top of her dress, then slid down the front where her breasts were easily accessible through the deep V-neck. She twisted her shoulders as he pushed the silky cloth over them and pulled it down her arms until her dark brown lace bra gave him peeks of her mounds that were beckoning him. She could see how he swallowed with a little difficulty as his hands moved back to the objects of his interest and he massaged them, titillating himself as well as her. She moaned as she felt a jolt of tightness coil in her lower half when his thumbs started stroking over her already hard nipples, bringing his eyes up to look at her. She could feel herself becoming wetter as she looked into the deep blueness of his eyes; so intense on her that she was starting to sway with weakness.

He raised his hands to her bra straps and pulled them down over her arms as well, successfully trapping them against her body as he pulled it low enough to expose the flesh that was screaming for his touch. His tiny smile touched his lips and he pulled her forward, holding onto both of her upper arms as he pulled her hardened nipple into his mouth and bit it. All she could reach was his arms and the sensation of his muscles flexing as he maneuvered her made her practically growl with anticipation.

"My arms," she breathed, and he tugged on her dress and unhooked her bra, releasing them and allowing her to spread her fingers through his hair as she held him to her breast.

She could feel him growing beneath her and her throbbing increased as she started rocking against him. His arms went around her in a bear-like hug before sliding down and holding her tightly against him. When he stopped, her disappointment was immediate, but he pulled her head to him and kissed her lips briefly.

"Get up," he said hoarsely and she moved until she was standing next to him.

He was on his feet in an instant and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and it was tossed onto the floor. He paused to reach for her and pull her into another deep kiss as he pushed her dress down over her waist, leaving her in panties that had matched her bra and pantyhose which he pulled down and stripped from her long legs. He took a step back from her and looked at her completely and she could see the intense desire darkening his face, so intense that she felt a chill run through her as she crossed her arms over her breasts. He took another step back and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then pushed them, as well as his boxer/briefs down and off. He glanced at the bed, and true to his word, grabbed the bedspread and flipped it so all of her belongings were tossed to the floor. She watched as he moved toward her and he turned her with his left arm around her as he kissed the side of her neck.

"Gil," she moaned as she felt his erection pressing against the top of her butt.

"Come with me," he instructed and moved back until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He pulled her down onto his lap and lifted her hair, kissing the back of her neck, then lifted her enough to slide up the side of her panties and into her velvety sheath. She lowered herself onto him, slowly, moaning with each inch that entered her. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking with her as he kissed her neck and shoulders

"Oh my God, Gil," she panted as he pressed inside of her.

She turned her head and leaned it back onto his shoulder, meeting his opened mouth in a fiery kiss. His hands were playing her, exciting her as they roamed over her breasts and took their pleasure in the feel of them. When he lowered them to her abdomen and pressed her back against him, she could swear he was in her so deep that he might be stuck there forever–but with the sensations he was rendering throughout her body, she didn't care. Then when his fingers went down lower and started strumming her, she thought she was going to die of sheer bliss.

He started pumping inside of her, slowly at first, then as she came closer and closer to her release, he was pounding inside of her as she would grind herself back against him. She felt him hitting her in exactly the right spot, and soon her guttural sounds turned into a half-scream/half-yell of complete satisfaction. Her core seized around him, squeezing him exquisitely to meet his own peak of satisfaction that had him growling and for his final thrust, biting down onto her shoulder.


	73. Chapter 73

Chapter Seventy-Three

He fell back onto the bed, pulling her with him as they lay front-to-back, catching their breaths, then slowly she moved to lie on her stomach next to him. He turned toward and smiled, showing his own satisfaction.

"Where did you learn that?" She asked, still breathing a bit hard.

"Why?" His hand began rubbing over her back in feather-light touches. "Didn't you like it?"

She released a combination growl/laugh as she got up on her knees and elbows and moved over him. "You did it so well."

"Well–thank you–I think. Are you saying it was an exception?"

"Of course not–and you know it. So stop fishing for compliments."

"I don't know it," he told her with the most adorable look of doubt on his face.

She just had to do something to erase that way of thinking, so she bent her head and started to leisurely kiss him.

"You are a mighty stallion that has me so addicted to your lovemaking that you'll never be able to keep my hands off of you. So, be prepared for random caresses at random places."

"If I must," he chuckled as he put his arms around her.

"See–you did that on purpose," she chided him. "You wanted me to sing your praises."

"Go ahead," he smiled with sparkling eyes.

"Go ahead–what?"

"Sing" my praises. I want to hear you sing."

"No," she chuckled with a bit of embarrassment. "Not until you sing first."

"I can sing," he told her with certainty, making her laugh more at him. "I can!"

"Then go ahead," she giggled.

"No. You're making fun of me now."

"No, I'm not," she told him as she tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably.

"See!"

He turned until he dumped her on the bed, then scooted up until his head was on the pillow, turning away from her and evidently preparing to go to sleep as he pulled the sheet over his body. She couldn't let it rest though and was on her hands and knees again, climbing up to him where she hung over him, beaming at him with her enthusiasm.

"Come on, baby. Sing me a lullaby."

"I don't do requests," he mumbled with his eyes closed.

"Plllllease?" She begged and he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Oh! I know just the song! I want you to do John Belushi–doing Joe Cocker–doing "You are So Beautiful!"

She watched as the memory of the Saturday Night Live skit hit him and he couldn't stop his short laugh as he turned onto his back and allowed her to crawl into his arms again.

"Are you going to do Gilda Radner doing Roseanna Rosanndanna? No--Emily Litella–I like Emily Litella. Wait–I know–do her doing Lisa Loopner."

"And you'll be Todd?"

"Not on your life." He rolled with her until he was lying on top of her. "Unless that's what does it for you. Does Todd stimulate you?"

She looked at Grissom and the thought of him with his pants pulled up to the bottom of his chest made her laugh, and every time she would look back at him she'd laugh again. She loved the smile he was wearing, but thoughts of him giving her a "noogie" would bring more giggles from her.

"Yeah, Todd gets me hot," she laughed.

He continued to smile at her as she laughed beneath him. "You're imagining me making fun of some guy's butt crack, aren't you?"

"No, I forgot about that."

"Then you're picturing me in pants with the waist band practically up to my chin."

She nodded her head as she watched him. "Makes me want to run out and buy you a pair of slacks just like the ones he used to wear."

"Whatever you want, my petite choo-choo," he said in his best "Todd" impersonation that he could muster.

She threw her hands over her face. "Oh, my God! No! Don't do that! I'll never be able to have sex with you again without imagining you like that! It's horrible!"

It took her almost a full minute to compose herself and finally stop the giggling that threatened to erupt at the memory of his imitation of Bill Murray. Finally, she removed her hands and looked up at him as he watched her with amusement.

"Are you almost done now?" He asked.

"Mmm-hmmm." She nodded her head but wasn't sure she could articulate an answer.

"You sure you don't have any Vicks Vaporub that you could put on to arouse me?"

Again, she nodded her head as she watched him, and managed to speak. "It's mentholated."

"Ya know," he said as he moved off of her and onto his side again as she turned to face him. "Just how bizarre is it that we both memorized the Nerds skits from thirty years ago?"

She shrugged her shoulders, then glanced up at him, but looked away as a new threat of silliness came over her.

"All this just because I tried a different position," he sighed as he held her. "Remind me never to be imaginative with our sex life–you won't stop laughing at me."

"I'll stop laughing. I promise," she said soberly.

"No," he said in a serious whisper. "Don't you ever stop laughing. The beauty of its sound enraptures me."

She cuddled closer to him and he pulled the sheet over her, holding her close as she fell asleep against him.

Sara woke to find Grissom already in his trousers, socks and dress shirt again. He was picking up the clothes he had tossed on the floor earlier and when she turned onto her back and looked at him, he gave her one of his half-smirks.

"What are you doing?" She asked sleepily.

"What we came here to do," he told her as he went about picking things up from the floor. "Are you going to stay in bed all night? Or get dressed and help?"

"And if I said I was going to stay in bed?" She asked with a raised brow.

He shrugged his shoulders as he lay the pile of clothes across her dresser, then suddenly grabbed her foot that was under the sheet and started pulling it toward the end of the bed. She shrieked when he had her butt off the edge of the mattress and kept her leg raised enough that she couldn't right herself.

"You gonna get up?" He teased.

"No," she said in a mock pout, the gaiety of the sparkle in her eyes giving her away. "Come back to bed, honey."

"Nope," he said simply as he pulled her farther off the mattress.

"Okay! Okay! I'm up!"

He gave her a triumphant smile as he lowered her foot to the floor and allowed her to turn and get up. "I thought you might change your mind."

"Fine," she said as she stood up and walked past him wearing only her panties. She purposefully went to one of her bottom drawers and bent directly in front of him to retrieve a clean pair of jeans. When she looked back, over her shoulder, she caught his interested glances at her posterior. "See something you'd like to investigate, Dr. Grissom?"

"Of course, my dear," he told her as he walked past her and gave her butt a gentle rub, then picked up the clothes he had put on her dresser as he started for the living room. "But, I think I've more than met my quota for a twenty-four hour period. Six times in one day should suffice, unless you're planning on putting me in an early grave."

"Five times," she called after him as she pulled on her jeans, then went to a top drawer for a sweatshirt.

"Five times, then." He returned for another load of clothes as she was pulling on a pair of socks.

"See, you're getting tired of me already," she teased.

"Never. But I would like to retain some strength to help you move." He picked up the rest of the things from the floor and went back to the living room with them. "Do you have anything to put all this little stuff in? I can carry the stuff on hangers, but it would be nice to have a box or something for the other things."

"No," she said as she entered the living room with him and looked at the things he was talking about. "But I do have two clothes baskets and a hamper. Will they do?"

Together they filled first Grissom's car, then her own with almost everything from her bedroom, including a small set of drawers, then drove back to Grissom's. Another trip cleared out the bathroom and by eight o'clock that morning, they were looking at a load of possessions piled in his living room. They looked at one another and without speaking, agreed that they would put the things away when they woke up, and they both went into his room and quickly fell into a fitful sleep.

The following days were spent finding the space to put Sara's things, then returning to her apartment for more. Soon, it was decided that although Grissom had originally wanted her moved in completely, it was impossible. So in the end, they had her essentials and a good portion of her nonessentials; leaving almost all of her furniture, dishes and other things that would be taking up space that they just didn't have. She wanted him to remain comfortable in his own home and not have to adjust to a cramped atmosphere when it was unnecessary. She knew it was going to be hard enough for them both to get used to simply living with another person.

As the following week sped by, they were both kept exceptionally busy; so busy, in fact, that Grissom was rarely in his office. When he did manage to finish up the cases that were mounting up, Sara often found him more than ready to go home with her and get the rest that they had been missing while working double shifts for five days straight, then being called in on their "supposed" days off. By the following Monday, they were merely reaching out and touching one another with tiny caresses as they would pass one another in the halls; actually going for two days without even seeing one another as he would get called in during the evening shift, then be out in the field throughout most of the night while she was doing the same, but would stay to work the day shift the following morning.

That Wednesday, Sara was feeling more tired than she had in a long time. She had stopped for breakfast with Greg and Nick, all three of them more than happy that finally they only had a single shift to work, and all three of them so tired that they could barely finish their meals. The thought that she actually had that night off would have thrilled her if she had the energy to even know what day it was. She trudged into her new home with Grissom and started taking off her clothing as soon as the front door was closed. She hung up her jacket, toed off her shoes, started to remove her blouse by the time she was at the bottom of the stairs, and was working on her jeans as she entered the small hallway that lead back to the bedroom.

She really didn't expect to find Grissom in bed and she wasn't surprised to see the room empty. So, she went straight to the bathroom and started drawing a warm bath. She poured some oil into the water, then stepped in, lowering herself with a huge sigh. She watched the water dripping from the faucet and moved her foot to press down on the handle to the hot water, effectively stopping the drip. She lowered herself until her chin was touching the water and closed her eyes, letting the heat and moisture sooth tired muscles and tense nerves.

The sound of the doorbell jerked her awake and she realized that the water was now on the cooler side. She glanced around, trying to orient herself, then heard the buzzer again.

"Damn!" She thought as she listened, hoping it would go away, but again, it alerted her of the persistence of the intruder.

She got up from the tub and threw on her robe, then made her way out through the apartment. She noticed she had been in the tub for over an hour and wondered what could be taking Grissom so long to get home. She made her way to the door, very careful to not make any noise in case it was Catherine or one of her other coworkers, then looked through the peephole to find what appeared to be a deliveryman. She opened the door while staying partially hidden behind it and looked at the blood red roses he held in his hands.

"May I help you?" She asked as she eyed him suspiciously.

He double-checked his paperwork and looked at the number on the door again, then handed the flowers to her.

"This is the correct address. Happy Valentine's Day." He smiled cheerfully and she returned the gesture; not quite as enthusiastically as he, but she did make the attempt.

She took the flowers and closed the door, making her way down to the kitchen counter where she sat them. She thought they were lovely, but remembered the last time Grissom had sent her roses and wondered at his choice of a Valentine's Day gift. She looked at the card and read, "I'm still here." She thought that was a strange thing to write on the card–but then she was dealing with Gilbert Grissom. She presumed it was his way of telling her that he was still at the lab and running late.

She immediately felt a pang of guilt because not only did she not realize what day it was, she didn't get anything for him. It only took her five minutes to get dressed and jump into her car for a quick trip downtown. She had no idea where to start, but within an hour was standing in a jewelry store, having a watch engraved with his initials and the words "Always in my Heart." She hurried home and managed to get inside and settled just in time for Grissom to enter the apartment looking just as tired as she had been.

He seemed to follow the same course that she had taken upon her return from work, then met her as she stood next to the kitchen counter. His eyes moved from her to the vase of roses, then back to her again. She smiled at him and pushed the jewelry box toward him and thought his look of confusion was adorable. Finally taking a closer look at the red box with an embossed silver heart across the front, he quickly looked back up at her and then at the roses.

"Where did. . ." He began, but she couldn't wait for him to see what she had gotten for him.

"Come on," she interrupted. "Open it. I want to see if you like it."

He closed his mouth and opened the box to find the watch, his eyes darting back up to her.

"But–who. . ."

"Turn it over and read it." She watched him do as she instructed, then look back up at her.

"It's lovely."

"So are the flowers. Thank you for getting them for me." She watched as he looked at her and suddenly she knew, even before he voiced it, and she felt the awkwardness of the situation wash over her. She dreaded the words she knew were coming, but heard them anyway.

"I–I didn't. I have no idea where they came from."


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy-Four

"You–didn't send them." She dropped her eyes from his, then looked at the flowers. She picked up the card and read it again, then handed it to him. "Then I guess its from one of "your" admirers."

"No one's going to send me roses!" He said in a dismissive tone as if she were being absurd then read the note. "It was Hank. The damned fool can't take no for an answer."

"Hank would've sent them to "my" place," she told him. "He doesn't know I'm staying here."

"He could've been following you."

"I think I would've known if he was following me," she told him.

He looked doubtfully at her. "Not if he didn't want to be seen. You've been overworked the past week and a half–I doubt you're on the lookout for a stalker."

"Hank is hardly a stalker."

"Really? I wouldn't put it past him to follow you around as if you were a poodle in heat."

"Oh? Happy Valentine's Day, Sara–and by the way, I think you're a dog!" She mocked him.

"You "know" what I mean," he said as he inspected the vase as if to find some indication that the man had, indeed, sent it.

"Yes. And, I know there must be some other explanation as to why these roses are here. Like I said–maybe it was one of "your" admirers."

"No–it wasn't–I mean–there are "no" admirers. So, evidently it was a mistake. The florist sent it to the wrong address." He started opening his shirt as he moved toward their bedroom.

"I can call and see what they know."

"Would you? I could use a shower then about ten hours of sleep."

He removed both of his shirts and threw them into the hamper, then removed his shoes and socks. He pulled a small box from his pants pocket and placed it on her side of the bed, then removed his trousers and grabbed a pair of sweats from his dresser and went to the shower. He took his time, letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders and feeling the tension slowly beginning to leave. He wasn't surprised when the shower curtain was pulled back–he half-expected it, knowing that it wouldn't take long for Sara to find the box he had left for her. He glanced over at her and wiped his hand over his face to get the excess water off, then looked back at her to see the necklace she was now wearing with its eighteen inch chain and abstract outline of a silver heart hanging from it.

It got the reaction he appreciated as she continued to wordlessly watch him and start to remove her clothing. His hands came up to wipe the extra water from his beard as he watched her slow strip tease, removing all of her clothing and wearing only the necklace. He took her hand as she stepped inside the tub with him, then released it as she put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her lips in a kiss that quickly went from lukewarm to steamy hot. He ran his hands down over the slickness of her slim back, pulling her against him when he reached her waist, then her hips, and finally the roundness of her buttocks.

"Mmmm," she moaned into his mouth. "You feel amazing."

He smiled against her. "What part would you be talking about, specifically?"

"Well, lets start with your hair and work my way down to your broad shoulders, your arms, your chest, your hips and stomach. Should I go on?"

"Hmm-mmm," he slowly shook his head negatively. "I get the picture."

He squeezed the roundness of her butt and slid her up against his shaft that was quickly turning hard. His tongue answered hers as she clung to his neck. Then suddenly, she turned her head away from him. He looked at her to see what was wrong, but she shook her head as if to clear it, then turned back to him with a weak smile. She started to kiss him again, but quickly turned away again. This time she stepped back and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, my God," she managed to get out as she looked at him. "I'm so sorry."

"Honey?" He reached for her face and turned it up so he could look at her. "Are you okay?"

She took a deep breath, then tried to smile again as she nodded her head. "I'm fine."

She attempted to step toward him again, but gagged and covered her mouth.

"Sara?" Grissom turned off the water and helped her out of the shower, noticing how pale she had suddenly become.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

Grissom wrapped a towel around his waist, then grabbed another towel and wrapped it around her. "Are you going to throw up? Should we stay in here?"

"No," she said as she looked just as confused as he was. "I think I want to go to bed, if that's okay. I'm really tired."

He grabbed his sweat pants that he had brought into the bathroom with him, then put his arm around her and guided her back to their bedroom. He deposited her on the side of the bed, then pulled on his sweats and tossed the towel aside before going to her dresser and getting some panties and a nightshirt.

"Here, put these on." He held her panties for her, but she smiled and took them from him.

"Gil, I can dress myself. I'm just tired."

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"I'm sure. But here, you can put this in its box for now." She removed her necklace and handed it to him, then pulled on her panties and disposed of her towel before putting on the nightshirt.

Grissom put on a tee shirt then joined her on the bed. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? I can get something for you, in case you have to vomit."

"I'm fine. I'm feeling better already," she said drowsily. "Just hold me and let me go to sleep." Then, as if she remembered the reason she came into the bedroom to begin with, she added. "I called the florist. They said it was paid for in cash, and your address was the address given. They said if "anyone" made a mistake, it was the person who ordered the flowers."

"Shh." He put his arms around her and let her cuddle against him. "We'll worry about the flowers after we get some sleep."

Grissom slept for nearly eight hours, not waking up until six o'clock. He looked over at Sara and saw how she was sleeping on her stomach with the blankets kicked off. He turned on his side and took in the sight of her long legs peeping out from beneath the nightshirt that was bunched up around her waist. She wore white panties and in this position, they made her rounded orbs irresistible and he couldn't have stopped his hand from sliding over the smoothness, even if he had wanted to. He watched how she continued to sleep through his massage, so he slid his hand inside and slowly made his way around to the front of her where he felt her nest of soft hair and pressed his finger through it. She moaned slightly as she leaned more onto her side, facing away from him and allowing him greater access to the area he was teasing. He strummed her more thoroughly, stroking in circles around the nub that was getting harder beneath his fingers. When it was pebble-hard, he slid his hand down lower and inserted the tip of his finger into her, then brought it back out to massage the length of her. Each time he inserted his finger, he would push it farther and farther into her until he had two of his fingers pressed in completely. She was lazily writhing, but as he watched her, she continued to sleep. Her hips started rocking against his hand and he began pumping in and out of her, but before she could reach climax she woke up and slid her hand down over the hair of his forearm until she covered his hand with her own and stopped his movements. She turned her head to kiss him gently.

"Mmmm," she hummed as she turned around to face him with her eyes still closed, then cooed softly. "Ah, baby, that was nice–but please let me sleep for a few more minutes, okay? I promise I'll have the energy after five more minutes of sleep."

He raised his brows as she snuggled up against his chest and seemed to fall back into slumber. Well, that certainly was different. Usually, when he would wake her in this way, she would either be on her side with him deep inside of her from behind, or, if she was feeling extra energetic, she would turn and slide down to administer her special talent to him with her mouth; sometimes turning her body to receive his ministrations at the same time; sometimes only doing him. This was actually the first time she had ever let him get this far and then stopped it.

He turned onto his back, already having attained full erection just from feeling her moving against his hand, and counted to twenty. Nope–that didn't work–especially when she lifted her leg and draped it over his, coming in direct contact with his penis. Okay, now count to forty. Nope. Think of work. . .thinking–thinking–thinking–of the last time he saw Sara going over evidence in the layout room and after everyone else had left, she moved in very close as if to look at the same thing he was studying, then slid her tongue into his ear as her hand moved down the front of his chest until it stopped at his groin where she gave it a squeeze. She left the room before he could even turn to look at her, giggling as she exited. Okay, thinking of work isn't doing it–Ecklie–think of Ecklie. Ahhh, that's it–down it goes, deflating by the second.

Okay, now he knew how to get out of embarrassing situations like a raging hard-on when in public (this only seemed to happen when Sara was near). Think of Conrad Ecklie and he was in the clear.

Grissom looked at the clock and saw that it was five minutes since she had gone back to sleep, so he turned toward her and kissed her gently on the lips, nibbling on them in a way that always aroused her.

"Mmmmm, I love you, baby," she murmured. "I'll get up in a minute."

He sighed, realizing it was a lost cause, and turned away from her and got out of bed. He went to the kitchen and looked at the flowers again, wondering if he should do something to see that Hank doesn't go any farther than this. He opened his cell and called his friend.

"Brass."

"Jim, I think I need a favor from you."

"Okay, shoot."

Grissom went on to explain his suspicions and what had occurred and after several minutes convinced Jim that he should go ask some questions for him. Brass promised to get back to him as soon as he found anything out. He was about to return to his bedroom but the flowers caught his eyes again. He knew the vase wasn't one of theirs, so the roses must have been delivered in it. He lifted it and looked at the bottom of it but saw nothing unusual, probably a typical florist's vase. Then he lifted the bunch of roses from the glass container. That was when he saw the strip of black lace ribbon tied around the stems. He carefully untied the ribbon only to see that it was a piece of black lace sewn onto a strip of black satin, and he wondered at what kind of a game Hank was playing. He shoved the damp ribbon into his sweat pants pocket, fully intending to take it to work with him that night. There was no reason for Sara to see it. If it "was" Hank and he was leaving some kind of message with the cloth, she didn't need to know that she was in danger of actually being stalked by the man.

He then went to his office and started doing some paperwork he had neglected since his return. He thought about the mail that he had almost finished going through at the lab and wondered if he would complete it tonight. By the time he was done with the last of his work, he looked at the clock to see that it was almost eight o'clock and began to worry about Sara. He knew she was overworked lately and had every right to be tired, but this wasn't like her. Even on her days where she was completely wiped out, she would wake up after six or seven hours. Add to that the fact that she wasn't feeling well, and he wondered if she was coming down with a stomach virus.

He got up from his desk and turned off the light in his office then made his way through the darkness until he reached his bedroom. He turned on the lamp next to Sara's side of the bed and watched her sleeping with her hair spread across the pillow. She almost looked like a child as she lay so still, the major difference being that her nightshirt had become unbuttoned, exposing two luscious breasts. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently pushed the cloth toward her sides, exposing her and making her irresistible. The backs of his fingers grazed over her nipples and the sight of them tightening into perfect buds sent a jolt straight to his groin. He leaned down and positioned her breast so his lips and tongue encircled her nipple and brought it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then more intensely as his hand massaged her other mound of flesh. He felt her move beneath him and give a slight moan. She went into a full body stretch with a sigh, then moved her hands down to run her fingers along his bearded face.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?" He asked, still involved in his delicacy.

"I'm hungry."

"So am I," he murmured as he went back to his feast.

"I mean–I'm hungry for food."

He lifted his head and looked down at her. Well, that must be a good thing–evidently she has her appetite back. She smiled sheepishly at him. He gave her an answering smile and closed her nightshirt, then got to his feet and went to the dresser where he began getting clothes to wear for work that night. He heard her yawn again, then leave the room and within seconds, the sounds of the refrigerator opening and closing.

"Gil?" She called from the kitchen.

"Yes, dear?" He came down the short hallway and watched as she put a jar of marinara sauce on the counter.

"Do you mind cheese tortellini and garlic bread?" She turned for his answer and stopped abruptly when she almost walked directly into him. "Don't–do that!"

He smirked at her and grabbed her waist, pulling her into his arms as he pressed her back against the wall. "Why not? I like to watch you jump."

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed sarcastically. "But, that's usually after you snap your fingers."

"How long is this going to take?" He nodded toward the ingredients that were now scattered across the counter. "It's already after eight and that leaves less than two hours until I have to leave."

"If you let go, it should be in the oven in about ten minutes. Then another half hour or so and we can eat."

"Is there anything that can be done to help speed this along?"

She looked at him, then back at the marinara sauce and bit her lip in indecision. "Okay. I won't make the cheese tortellini until after you leave and I'll make sandwiches for us now."

"I'll help with the sandwiches."


	75. Chapter 75

Chapter Seventy-Five

Grissom released Sara and got the bread while she got out the cheese, lettuce and tomatoes. Within a matter of five minutes they were both eating their mini-meal and by the time he was half-way through with his, he looked up to see her taking her final bite.

"I'm sorry," she giggled as she poured herself a cup of orange juice and started to drink it. "I was "really" hungry. I didn't eat anything since breakfast this morning."

He watched as the orange juice was gulped down and looked at the half-sandwich still in his hand, then put it on the counter and reached for her hand. He started walking back toward the bedroom with her.

"You're not hungry anymore–right?" He asked.

"No," she answered happily. "I'm feeling a little stuffed right now."

"Not as stuffed as you're going to feel in a few minutes," he mumbled, rewarding him with an amused laugh from her.

"Now you're making me sound like a Thanksgiving turkey."

"I've never stuffed a piece of foul with what I'm going to stuff you with."

"Shouldn't we go brush our teeth first?" She asked with a wide smile as he unbuttoned her nightshirt and guided her back onto the bed.

"No. We'll rough it," he teased, then removed his tee shirt and his sweat pants.

She lay on her back, watching him and he felt himself growing harder the more she inspected him. He wouldn't say that he was into exhibitionism–actually he was quite the opposite and anyone who ever saw the way he dressed could see that. But where Sara was concerned, she had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if he were the only man alive.

"I–think–I'm getting hungry again," she said as she watched his erection bob as he walked toward her.

"But not for food," he made certain.

"Not unless you're on the menu."

He smiled down at her and allowed her the freedom to reach out and tenderly glide her hand up the inside of his thigh until she reached her destination. He let her move her fingers on him until he had to reach out and press his hand to the wall to steady himself, and even then, she went on for several moments. Finally, he knew he couldn't stand that stimulation much longer, so he covered her hand with his and removed it from his erection. He moved to the other side of the bed and spread himself out next to her until they were face to face. His hand went to her back and pulled her more tightly against himself as his lips found hers and he drank of her until she was nearly breathless. He moved his kiss down her neck and throat, nibbling on his favorite spot as he slid his hand over her smooth bottom and massaged it with her pressing against his throbbing pole that was lying between them. His lips worked their way lower, until he was nipping and sucking at her very adequate breasts. The sounds she was making intensified the sensations rolling through him and he wanted her so badly he could have easily spilled his seed between their bodies, but he pulled his hips away from her as his fingers trailed over her hip and down, inside the front of her panties. She moaned again as she held his head to her and his fingers immediately found the cavern he was searching for as his thumb grazed against her hardened nub. She started to move in rhythm with his hand and as her guttural sounds escaped her throat he pulled away from her breasts and moved lower, grasping onto both sides of her panties as she lifted her hips and he stripped them off her legs. He was like a starving man as he looked down at her beauty and without hesitation or preparation, he pressed her legs apart and dropped his mouth to where he had just removed his hand. She arched her back immediately as she grasped onto his head and pulled him to her; her crying gasp instigating him to increase his rhythm as he alternately circled her bud with his tongue and sucked, then moved lower to give her pleasure as he would probe deep inside.

"God, Sara," he moaned against her. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever known."

"Gil!"

She started panting and he moved his lips back to the bundle of nerves that were ready to explode within her as he inserted is fingers back where he could pleasure her the most. Suddenly she was lifting herself against him so hard that he had to grab onto her legs and put them over his shoulders before resuming his act and within seconds he felt her squeezing around his fingers as he took her over the edge into ecstacy. He didn't hesitate to move on his knees between her legs and he slowly entered her even before her climax was complete; his slow and steady intrusion making her moan as she clutched the sheets beneath her. He watched her face as she reacted to his unhurried pace, letting her move with her sensations until she was ready for him to proceed and started lifting her hips in response to him. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, then reached for him, pulling him down until he was on top of her, then rolling with him as she remained impaled but was now on top. He loved this position as he watched her take over their lovemaking and start riding him, moving her hips in various positions to intensify both her pleasure as well as his. He watched the intensity of her expression as she started to get lost in what she was doing and he took her hands, entwining his fingers with hers to aid in her balance. When he felt himself coming close, he moved both of her hands into one of his, then reached down and started strumming her again, forcing himself to wait until he felt her clamping down around him and as she milked him. He growled with his explosion and she dropped down upon him, sweaty and breathing hard, and his lips moved to her forehead as he gently kissed her.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom went to the break room almost immediately upon entering the lab that night. He was in desperate need of some coffee. He looked at the new watch he was wearing and noted that he had another ten minutes before the start of the shift and wondered if anyone else noticed that he hadn't been coming to work quite so early anymore. He noticed Nick and Greg at the table, neither looking their best, and listened as they conversed.

"I thought I was going to die," Nick said as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his stomach. "It didn't start until around nine or ten–then all hell broke loose. I thought I was going to throw up my shoes!"

"I got it around eleven. It kinda hit real quick–like I was fine one minute and the next I had my head in the toilet," Greg told him.

Grissom turned to look at the two men as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Are you both sick?" He asked, noticing the opened box of donuts sitting on the table between them.

"I think we had something bad at the restaurant this morning. We both got sicker than dogs about mid-morning–but then it eased up and seemed to go away by this evening. I wonder if Sara got sick too–she had breakfast with us," Nick answered.

"Ask her when she comes in," Greg suggested.

"Can't," Nick told him. "She's off tonight–unless she gets called in."

They all looked up as Catherine and Warrick wondered into the room and upon seeing the donuts, Catherine pulled one from the box, then gestured for Warrick to join her in her dessert.

"Ugh, no thanks," Warrick responded with a negative shake of his head as he went straight for the coffee pot. "My stomach's been bothering me all day today. I think its going away, but its still there, nagging at me. I don't think a glazed donut is going to agree with me."

"You too?" Catherine asked as she looked at him and bit into the pastry. "I wasn't feeling well this morning, after work. It didn't last long though."

"I guess that rules out food poisoning," Nick said to Greg. "Must be some kind of virus. How about you, boss? Did it hit you yet?"

"No," he answered as he looked at the people surrounding him and decided that if he didn't catch it from Sara by now, he probably wasn't going to be affected by it. "I'm fine."

"For now," Greg said. "Just wait–it creeps up on ya out of nowhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," Grissom said as he started out of the room, seeing Brass heading for his office. "Jim."

Brass turned and looked at him, then waited for him to catch up as they walked to Grissom's office together. He waited until he was inside the room before speaking.

"I just got back from Hank's house." Brass moved to sit in a chair in front of Grissom's desk.

"And?"

"And he isn't there. It seems he and the missus went to Puerto Rico for a week for their second honeymoon. They left last Saturday, and wont be back until this Saturday. So, evidently he isn't divorced–or even separated from his wife like he told Sara. And–since you said the person who sent the flowers paid cash–that rules him out. He wasn't around to do it."

Grissom sighed as he moved around to his chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black cloth he had taken from the roses earlier that evening and tossed it on his desk.

"This was wrapped around the rose stems. A rather unusual adornment, don't you think?" He took his seat and watched as Brass picked it up and inspected it. "Any ideas what it is?"

"Sure," Brass said then looked back up at Grissom. "It's the bottom of a woman's slip or nightgown–something like that. It's a pretty obvious hint on who sent the flowers–and they weren't sent to Sara."

"Who would wrap a piece of lingerie around flowers?" Grissom asked, completely puzzled.

"Someone who didn't want to sign their name to the card but figured you'd recognize the "lingerie." Brass looked at Grissom with disapproval in his eyes. "Can you think of anyone you screwed lately who wore a black negligee? Or maybe black leather with a whip?"

Grissom showed no emotion as he looked back at Brass.

"No," he lied.

"Uh-huh," Brass got to his feet and started back out of the door. "Well, when you do "recall" who just might be trying to remind you that "they're still there," don't bother filling me in on the details because I don't want to know anymore."

Grissom watched Brass leave, clearly intending to leave the building altogether and he wondered how he could have not known who sent the flowers as well as the message. He had told her months ago that he would talk to her when he returned from his sabbatical. She was clearly concerned with his welfare, wanting to see if he was alright and yet she wanted to protect his reputation by not signing the card. He retrieved a notebook out of his desk drawer and opened it until he found Heather's number, then dialed it on his cell. It didn't take long for her to answer.

"Grissom!" Her hushed voice came over the phone.

"Heather." He didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, or how to say it. "I–I just wanted to call to let you know I received the "gift" today."

"I hope you liked them. I know they're absolutely cliche but I thought them appropriate."

"Heather, I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your concern, and your offer to discuss things, but. . ."

"I'm here, Grissom. You have to know that. I can help you through the stress you must be under."

"And I appreciate that, Heather. But, I'm doing fine. You were right. I needed to get away so I could see things clearer, and it worked. I came home knowing what I wanted."

"You. . .want. . ."

"I want a life with Sara. So, I'll always be grateful to you for showing me how to open my eyes and see that before it was too late. I want to wish you the best, Heather. You deserve some happiness in your life. I hope you get it."

"Happiness, Grissom? I'm sure I'll find it–I do have a way about me. I'm a survivor, remember? You've told me that enough. But then self-esteem was never a problem for me. Unlike some, I'm very confident that I'll end up getting what I want–what I deserve. I know my worth. So, I'll let you go back to work now, Grissom. I'm sure we'll talk again soon."

"Heather?"

"Yes, Grissom?"

"I'm truly sorry if I lead you to believe. . ."

"Don't be ridiculous, Grissom. I'm not some child fresh off the streets. I'm a woman in control of my life. You're actions and words have little to do with what I believe. Goodnight, Grissom."

He hung up his cell and picked up the cloth that Brass had left on his desk. He ran it through his fingers, then wound it loosely around them so he could put it in his desk, but as he reached for the drawer he thought better of it and tossed it into his waste can.

He drank his coffee and went over the night's assignments, noting there wasn't much for him to pass out. For the most part, the crew would be in-house finally. They were having a quiet night and he was glad. He went to the break room and informed the others of the night ahead of them, then returned to his office. He opened the last few pieces of mail that had been delivered while he was on sabbatical, leaving only a large box. He thought opening it but felt it wasn't going anywhere, so instead, called Sara's cell.

"Sidle," she answered.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she said gently.

"How are ya feeling?"

"Lonely–bored. How about you?"

"About the same. But, I meant, your stomach. How's it doing?"

"I'm fine. I haven't had any trouble since this morning. I don't know what was wrong."

"Stomach virus. It seems to have made its way through the rest of the crew. Actually, I'm the only one it missed."

"Are they okay? Did they all make it to work?"

"They're doing great now. Well, except Warrick. He's still looking a little green, but everyone else says it hit fast, then left just as quickly."

"Are you sure you're not feeling a little queasy?" She asked mischievously. "It would be an excellent excuse for you to come home and eat smores with me. I could make hot chocolate."

"Sorry to say, I'm feeling fine," he smiled into the phone.

"Then I guess that leaves me to my latest novel to keep me company."

"I should be home early tomorrow."

"A quiet night, huh?"

"Very. That means no double-shift. So I'm grateful for that."

"I'll be waiting for you."

He smiled gently at the thought of her in his bed waiting to cuddle against his side when he returned home in eight hours. "Goodnight, my dear."

"Night, baby."

He sighed again and turned in his seat. One more box to open and he'd be caught up. He got up and got his knife and cut through the tape. Slowly, he lifted the lid and the sight of the miniature room inside sent chills through him. It wasn't possible! They had gotten the miniature killer! He picked up the model and started through the halls, glancing into rooms on his way until he saw Catherine.

"Catherine! Layout room! Right away!"


	76. Chapter 76

Chapter Seventy-Six

Sara was getting the cheese tortellini and garlic bread from the oven when her cell went off again. It had been about an hour since Grissom had called her before and she noticed his name come up on her cell again.

"Sidle."

"Sara, I need you to come in. We've got another miniature."

"A miniature?" She was confused. "But Ernie Dell committed suicide."

"It seems there's an accomplice or, perhaps Ernie wasn't the killer, after all. Anyway, I need you in here. You've dealt with the case from the very beginning. I'll need your help to get to the bottom of this."

"I'll be right there," she said, still finding it hard to believe there was another miniature.

Sara quickly got dressed and grabbed her jacket and keys from the counter, pausing a second to look at the vase of roses still sitting there. She had her doubts regarding their origin, but as of yet, she and Grissom were still at a loss over where they came from. She couldn't stop the nagging feeling that he wasn't telling her something, though; and beyond that was a sickening in her stomach that she got whenever she imagined who they "could" be from.

Once she got to the lab, Grissom filled her in on everything he knew and sent her to fill in Warrick and Nick, and soon they were in search of a killing that evidently hadn't even happened yet. This one was a bit different than the past three in that it was a warning of things to come. The killer evidently was evolving.

The hours turned into days as Sara diligently looked into any leads from past cases and Ernie Dell, while Grissom, Nick and Warrick worked on preventing the present killing from happening. Her energy was being drained as she worked, having no time to recuperate decently from the virus. She took solace in the fact that Warrick still complained of slight nausea from time to time, as well. Finally, after losing two victims, they still came up empty-handed and Sara was ready to give up until she could recover from this damned bug that seemed to hold on only enough to nag at her.

She celebrated the morning she went home ahead of Grissom. She knew it would be at least another hour until he would be coming home to join her, so she planned to jump in the tub and sooth away her weariness. As she walked across the kitchen, already removing her clothing piece by piece, she noticed the roses were looking a bit weary as well. She paused and looked at them again–they made her feel uneasy–almost as if she were a stranger in Grissom's home and was imposing on his hospitality. She noticed how the flowers were beginning to droop, and that was an excellent reason for her to get them out of her sight. They were dying–right? So, we'll simply throw them into the trash. She lifted the vase and took it to the sink where she grasped onto the stems to get them from the glass container, but upon pulling on them, she felt a searing pain across the top of her hand. She dropped the roses and looked to see a streak of blood where a thorn had scratched nearly two inches long. Damn! She thought they were supposed to be removed before sending them out to people. Oh, well, she remembered the song, Every Rose Has its Thorn, and figured she just found this one.

"You" have been a "thorn" in my side since the day you were delivered," she muttered to the decaying flowers as she tossed them into the garbage, then emptied the vase.

She went to the bedroom where she finished undressing, then went on to the bathroom where she began her own personal spa. She pinned her hair up and was yearning for a cozy atmosphere, so she poured some vanilla sugar scented oil into the water, then stepped in. It was wonderful, after days of catching naps on a cot at the lab or falling asleep in the break room, to spread out and let the scent and warmth envelop her was pure heaven. Finally, she was starting to feel back to her old self again, and with a good day's rest, she would be revitalized.

An hour later she was wrapped in a robe, snuggled inside a pair of sweat pants, socks and a tee-shirt. She went to the kitchen in search of something warm and equally as soothing as her bath had been and was soon sitting at the head of the bed, watching Jimmy Srewart searching for his son in Shenandoah as she wrapped her hands around a large mug of hot cocoa. It's creamy warmth was heating her belly and making her sleepier than she already was, so she pressed record and finished her drink before settling in under the blankets. She barely remembered feeling Grissom's weight on the mattress when he came to bed an hour later, and the fresh aroma told her that he had just showered. She inhaled his scent as he pulled her against him, then fell into a much needed sleep.

Sara was up and warmed up the cheese tortellini she had made a few nights earlier, expecting Grissom to wake soon as well. By seven o'clock he still wasn't awake, so she went in and sat on the bed next to him.

"Gil?"

"Hmmm?" He asked as he lay on his side with his face shoved into the pillow.

"Are you getting up soon?"

Mmm-hmm," he grunted affirmatively, although she knew what he really meant was "anytime between now and some time after midnight."

"Do you want some dinner?"

This time he blinked his eyes several times before turning his face toward her and asked groggily. "What time is it?"

"After seven. Wouldn't you like to come have something to eat?"

He didn't answer for a moment and she knew he was trying to decide if he was hungrier than he was tired.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I'll be out in a minute."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek then returned to the kitchen where she put their dinner on plates and sat at the table. She had already made a pot of coffee and poured him a cup, but she was definitely in the mood for some more hot cocoa. She sat at the table and waited for him as she sipped at her sweet drink, not looking up until she heard the chair scrape across the floor as he wandered into the kitchen with her.

"Gil?" She looked at his face and saw the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Are you alright?"

He looked over at her as he picked up his fork and stabbed a tortellini. "I'm okay–why?"

"You just. . .look. . .kinda tired, I guess."

"I "am" tired," he mumbled as he looked back at his plate and started eating in earnest.

"I recorded an old James Stewart movie this morning. Would you like to watch it with me after we're finished eating?"

"Rear Window?" He asked as he looked up at her.

"No. Shenandoah."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed that it wasn't the Hitchcock movie. "Yeah, I'll watch it."

"If they don't call us in to work, you mean," she added.

"I'm tempted to "lose" my cell phone until Tuesday night."

"They can't fault you for wanting off two consecutive days after working sixteen days straight."

"I had last Friday night off, remember?" He continued eating as if he were starving.

"Okay, one day out of sixteen. I'm just glad Nick offered to work tonight so I could have off."

He didn't comment as he continued to eat and she watched as he devoured his plate of food then started on his garlic bread. He finished that, then started his coffee, getting about half-way through before looking up at her again. This time when he looked at her, she "knew" something was wrong. She watched with huge eyes as he jumped up from his chair and ran in through his bedroom and into the bathroom where she heard retching. She only waited a moment before following him where he knelt before the toilet and heaved his dinner.

She gently stroked his back as he continued to be sick and he reached out and grabbed her other hand, squeezing it as his illness seized him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he stopped and leaned his head against his arm in exhaustion. She moved to get a cool cloth as she cleaned his face and helped ease the discomfort a bit.

"Where in the hell did that come from?" He asked weakly.

"That's what we meant when we said it sneaks up on you. Can you get up and make it to bed? Do you need anything to take along? A bucket?" She wiped his forehead gently.

"I don't know. Bring one along, just in case it "sneaks up on me" again."

Sara helped him to his feet and guided him back to the bed where he immediately lay down and pulled the covers over himself. She then went to the kitchen where she got a glass of ice water and a bucket, then brought them back to him. She turned on the television and moved to sit on her side of the bed with her back against the headboard and he soon rolled over and repositioned himself until his head was lying on her lap and his hand held onto her thigh, almost as if he were holding on for security. She pressed play and watched the credits of Shenandoah begin and the beauty of a Civil-War-era Virginia filled the screen as she gently stroked his hair and forehead. She wasn't quite sure how much he actually saw, and how much he slept through, but knowing from her own experience from a few days prior, he was going to be down for the rest of the night.

She waited until the movie was over before slipping off the bed and moving back to the kitchen where she cleaned up from their dinner, and went about cleaning the rest of the area, then going in and repeating the process in the bathroom. She went through some of her things that still hadn't been put away since her move in with Grissom and found appropriate places for the items, then after cleaning the landing and living room, she went back to the bed and turned on the television again. This time she watched Bette Davis in "Burnt Offerings with Karen Black and Oliver Reed. By the time Oliver Reed had his first encounter with the chauffeur, Sara had had enough creepiness and turned of the television. She noticed that it was almost four o'clock and with nothing else to do, decided to catch up on some sleep.

Sara didn't know what woke her first, the queasiness that was washing over her, breaking her out in a sweat, or the sound of Grissom tinkering around in the kitchen. She decided that if she simply lay there for a little, the illness would disappear, but it seemed to worsen as she rolled onto her back. She waited a little longer then tried to get up, but the room started to spin and the next thing she realized, she was on the floor with Grissom next to her.

"What happened?" He held her hand as he knelt on one knee. "I heard you fall."

"I don't know," she moaned as he helped her to her feet. "I tried to get to the bathroom and got dizzy. I think I caught the flu from you."

"Are you sure? Its odd that you went through the whole process only to have it return again." He walked with her and watched as she leaned against the sink and splashed some cool water on her face. "Maybe you weren't over it completely to begin with."

"I suppose not."

She pressed her cool fingers to her cheeks and had to admit that the sensation was helping to revive her. Her whole body felt hot so she splashed some of the coolness on her throat and neck, then slid her hand down the front of her tee-shirt and sighed with the comfort it gave her. He evidently picked up on her "heat flash" and eased her top from her body, walked her over to sit on the edge of the tub, then got a cool washcloth for her to dab herself with. When she felt another wave of nausea hit her, she pressed the cloth to her closed lips and looked at him with panic before it slowly subsided.

"How are we supposed to get rid of this bug if we keep passing it back and forth?" He asked as he watched her.

"I don't know," she said irritably. "What do you suggest? That we live separately again?"

"No," he said slowly. "Getting a little touchy with it this time, I see. I was thinking more along the lines of you and I resting for the next day and a half with lots of fluids and rest. And not, calling you in to work too soon. That's probably the reason you got it back so quickly and easily–you're overworked."

"And you're not?"

"Don't argue with me about it, Sara. We'll just do some ginger-ale and Sprite at first, then work your way into the BRAT diet."

"BRAT diet?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"BRAT–bananas, rice, applesauce and tea and dry toast. Non-fibre foods that are easy on the stomach. My mother used to ease me into it when I'd get the flu."

"I noticed you said you were going to work "my" way into it. What about you?"

"I feel fine. I feel great, actually. But, if you'd feel better if I didn't eat anything too tempting in front of you for the next twenty-four hours, then I'll stick to bananas and rice, too."

"No," she sighed as she managed to get to her feet and started back toward the bedroom again. "I scrubbed everything last night, hoping to get rid of the germs."

"And picked them up again in the process, instead." He pulled the blankets up over her as she lay on the bed. "I'll go make you a cup of tea, but I need to go out to get the soda and other food. Do you think you're going to be alright until I get back? It should only take about half an hour."

She nodded her head yes as she closed her eyes and nestled against the pillows, and within moments she was sleeping again.

The sound of the television woke her several hours later and she turned to see Grissom sitting on his side of the bed with his legs stretched out across the mattress. He was as equally involved in the Discovery Channel as he was in the quarter-pounder he was munching on.

"Gil," she moaned as she watched him. "You're eating a cow."

He watched two men trying to prove or disprove the myth that tooth fillings can pick up radio signals, then looked at her. "You were supposed to stay asleep until I finished it. I have some ginger-ale for you. Do you need help getting it?"

"No. I'm fine." She picked up the glass from her night stand and started sipping from it. Surprisingly, she felt much better than she had earlier that morning, but then she remembered how it has fooled her before. This time, she was going to take it much more slowly and hopefully beat it once and for all.


	77. Chapter 77

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Over the next twenty-four hours Sara had to laugh at Grissom's over-attentiveness, especially when she discovered that he was being so attentive so she didn't have to come out to the living room and kitchen where he would be eating burgers that he had smuggled into the apartment. But, by her second morning, she was up and eating her "BRAT" diet and feeling somewhat human again, and by late afternoon with all his burgers gone, Grissom insisted on seeing for himself just how healthy she was feeling.

"What are you doing?" She asked as he leaned over her with his hand under her shirt where he was caressing her left breast.

"Checking for a fever," he told her with a smirk.

"Mmmm-hmmm," she smiled at him. "So, am I feverish?"

"No, but give me a few minutes. I'll get you there."

"And, would you like me to check "your" temperature?" She asked and he chuckled as he turned onto his back then ran his hand over his bare chest, stopping just below his navel. "If you truly insist, my dear. We don't want to risk spreading this virus any farther, so check away."

"Gilbert Grissom," she purred as she turned against him and slowly crawled until she was directly over him on her hands and knees. "Here I am just coming back from death's door, and all you can think about is having your way with me."

"That's not entirely true," he argued as his hands went under her tee-shirt and massaged the tender skin of her waist. "I've been wanting to have my way with you since "before" you were at death's door–and then "while" you were at death's door, and then. . ."

"I guess I've kept you waiting long enough," she smiled brightly at him, actually feeling so well that she was already anticipating making love to him. She lowered her hips until she was straddling his tented boxer/briefs and rubbed herself across his erection. She watched his face as he sucked in air through his clenched teeth while keeping his eyes connected with hers. "My, you've grown into quite a "big" boy since I've been sick."

"Flatter me some more–see where it gets you," he whispered as his hands cupped her buttocks and he moved her across his lap in a highly erotic fashion.

"Okay," she said slowly then added. "You've got to have the sexiest eyes I've ever seen in my entire life. Just looking into them makes me want to grab your pants and yank them down and eat you all up."

"Mmm," he said thoughtfully. "I think that was the idea."

"Oh," she continued to grind against him with his assistance. "So, that was the idea, huh? And what if I need some "lovin'" too?"

"It just so happens that looking into those chocolate orbs of yours has a similar effect on me." He lifted his head and started kissing her lips as she smiled against him.

"Heaven forbid we look into each other's eyes while in the break room at the lab. Everyone would be in for a highly stimulating show."

"So, my little kitten's into exhibitionism? Would you like me to set up a camera for your pleasure?"

"Ew! God, no! Can you imagine?" She giggled. "What we think are our best moves could look like we're having seizures or something and we'll never be the same again! Every time we'd have sex, we'd remember what we looked like."

He pulled his head back from her and looked at her with a raised brow. "Seizures? You're such a romantic little devil–did I ever tell you that?"

"Okay," she said much more seriously this time as she reached between them and pushed his underwear down to expose him, and pulled her panties to the side, gliding him up and inside of her. "When we make love, you make me feel whole, as if nothing can ever hurt me again. And yet, when we make love, I feel so fragmented and fragile that I could crack into a million pieces and become interlaced with the universe. You make me feel as if I can accomplish anything, climb the highest peaks, and yet I'm so vulnerable that I feel minuscule."

He watched as she spoke, but instead of answering, he pulled her head down and started to kiss her deeply. Her arms came up around his head, holding onto him as she kissed him back and moved her body back and forth as she rode him. Suddenly he turned with her so she was nearly on her back, but still somewhat on her side, as he kept the rhythm but increased the force of his strokes.

"God, Sara–you don't know what you do to me!"

Her arms went around him again as his lips moved to her neck and throat. Each stroke brought her more and more intense pleasure and she knew it wouldn't be long before she was peaking with her climax, but her responding hip movements stopped when she heard Grissom's cell going off on the night stand.

"Baby?" She said as he didn't miss a beat.

"Ignore it," he breathed against her, and she lost herself in him again.

The noise ended, but soon enough it started on his telephone in the living room. Again, his rhythm didn't suffer as he actually gained power and speed until a woman's voice came across the answering machine. His movements ceased immediately as she held him to her.

"C'mon, Gris! I know you're home! I saw your car when I drove past on my way here!" Catherine's determined voice reached them.

"On your way–where?" He asked thin air as he looked in the direction of the living room.

"The scene's only about five blocks from your apartment, buddy. If you don't pick up, I'm coming right back and getting you!"

Grissom looked down at Sara. "Maybe she means she'll walk. If she walks–we'll have time to finish."

"Alright! That's it! I'm getting in my car! I warned you!"

Grissom started moving his hips against Sara and dipped his head to cover her mouth with his, clearly having no intention of stopping his course of action.

"Gil! She's coming!" Sara managed to get out between thrusts of his tongue.

"No, honey," he started to pant as he held her tightly and she could feel his beard scratching her cheek. "You're" gonna come–then me. Catherine can just wait at the door."

"Ohhh, you sweet-talkin' man," she giggled against him. "You do realize Catherine killed the mood for me."

He stopped his movements as he raised his head to look at her. "But, as you can feel, she didn't kill the mood for me, and if she show's up and I'm not finished–not only will she be seeing a tent in my pants the size of Barnum and Bailey's, I'm liable to rip her damned head off. So, please, ignore her."

He reached for his bed stand and turned on some music, turning the sound up until it filled them entirely. He slowly began moving inside of her as he kissed her and coaxed her back into passion. She could tell he was getting close, so she took his hand and placed it between them, urging it toward her clit where he immediately stroked it and worked her into a climactic ending. She held him in her arms tightly as he continued to pound into her and came so hard that he practically roared. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked down at her with a smirk.

"I think "you're" the one with a bit of exhibitionism flowing through your veins, Dr. Grissom," Sara's eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "That really got you off, knowing she was going to show up at any second, didn't it?"

"No, dear," he said as he kissed her briefly, then raised himself and got off the bed. "You" really "got me off," as you so delicately put it."

"But you love it when I talk dirty," she teased, watching as he hurried into the bathroom and started the shower. "Hey, what am I supposed to do if she starts banging on the door?"

"Well," he said as he turned to see her standing behind him. "You could answer the door–just like that–but for the sake of our privacy, I'd suggest you get clothes on and just ignore it until I can answer it. Then I'll take care of it."

Sara watched him jump in, do the fastest wash-over she had ever witnessed, then get back out and do a super-dry with a towel. He threw on his clothes just as the knocking began and he grabbed his shoes and coat, then turned off the music.

"What are you going to do?" Sara asked him.

"Shhh," he said then kissed her lips. "I don't know–but I'll think of something. I'll see you later tonight."

As she stood out of sight, Grissom opened the door with his coat and shoes in his right hand while hurriedly closing the door with his left.

"What's going on? Don't I even warrant a quick drink of water or something?" Catherine complained.

"Can't. Sorry. No one can go in right now."

"Why not? And what took so long answering the door?"

"Um, I got a dog–a big one–a brown one!" Grissom blurted out and Sara knew he was making it up as he went. "He's not used to anyone yet."

"A dog?" Catherine sounded delighted. "Come on, let me see!"

"No–no, can't do that. He's rather nasty with women right now. I'll have to get him better trained before I chance any female visitors."

"Well, what's his name?" Catherine asked, their conversation still loud enough for Sara to hear through the closed door.

"Um–Hank! That's it–Hank–the woman-hating dog!"

Sara's eyes widened on that, but then she had to cover her mouth with her hand as she stifled her chuckle.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"Grissom's got a dog!" Greg alerted Sara as she walked into the break room that evening.

"And you'll never guess what he named it," Nick told her as he sipped from his coffee.

Warrick spoke up next. "I can't believe he actually got a dog to begin with–then to name it "Hank"–well, that's just plain in poor taste. Doesn't he ever use his head?"

"It's really insensitive to call your pet after someone's ex-boyfriend–especially when that someone's in love. . ." Nick stopped quickly, averting his eyes away from Sara. "Well, its just cold-hearted."

"I don't think he even thought about Sara's Hank," Catherine said as she entered the break room, having heard their conversation. "He probably knew he heard the name somewhere before and couldn't come up with something on his own. Grissom isn't as complicated as most people think. He just does things, and if you're lucky, he might think about it after its done."

"Yeah," Nick said with disapproval. "Well, he might try being a little more aware of other people's feelings."

"Oh, I don't know," Greg said as he looked at Sara with a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Sara might think Hank is a completely suitable name for a dog. What do you think, Sara?"

"Hey," Sara went to get a cup of coffee. "The man can name his dog whatever he likes. It's not like I've actually seen it and can compare it to my ex-boyfriend."

"The funny thing is," Catherine began. "He says it doesn't like women."

"Grissom's dog is "gay?" Nick asked with raised brows. "I didn't even know dogs "could" be gay!"

"No," Catherine laughed at him. "He doesn't like "human" women."

"Oh," Nick nodded his head in understanding. "Why not?"

"Don't know," Catherine got a soda from the refrigerator. "Was probably abused by a woman. I had a dog once that used to get into the waste can and my mom would always chase it away with a broom. Every time it saw a broom after that, it would run and cower in a corner."

"If it doesn't like women–then I think "we" should go over and check it out. What kind is it, anyway?" Nick asked.

"He never said. He just said it's big and brown," Catherine told him as she watched Grissom enter the room with assignments.

"Did any of you think you might want to work tonight? Or did you plan on hiding in here for the rest of the evening?" Grissom asked the crew.

"We were coming," Warrick assured him. "We were just talking about your new dog."

"Yes," Grissom sighed. "My new dog. Well, lets talk about your assignments instead, if you don't mind."

"Fine–but we're coming to check out this fierce animal tomorrow morning." Nick moved toward Grissom. "And what was the idea of naming it "Hank?" That was kinda cold–dontcha think?"

"I named it "Hank" because . . . It's none of your . . ."

"Okay," Sara interrupted them. "I'd like to see where I'm working tonight, unless everyone would rather stand around talking about a dog that Grissom may or may not have gotten, that may or may not be big and brown, but everyone is positive is named after my boyfriend."

"Really?" Grissom looked at her and Sara knew from his expression that he picked up on her lack of "ex" before the term boyfriend. "I didn't even remember your "boyfriend's" name is Hank. What a coincidence that the dog was named that from the time he was a pup. And he doesn't like women either. Hmm, imagine that."

"You're kidding," Nick looked at him through wide eyes. "You mean "you" didn't even name him that?"

"Nope," Grissom looked down at the papers in his hands. "And as far as you coming to check him out. There's no need. There's enough work here to keep you busy well into tomorrow morning. I'm sure you'll have much more important things to do than come look at a dog."

"I don't care what you say–I get along fine with dogs. I'm coming over tomorrow morning–no–wait–I have to drop Lindsey off at practice and then bring her home. Well, I'll be there before dinner tomorrow."

"I might not be there, so don't bother," Grissom assured her. "Okay, Greg–DB in a dumpster down behind the Palermo. Nick, go with him. Cath and Warrick, apparent homicide/suicide out on fifteen. Sara, you're with me tonight."

Sara sipped at her coffee as she watched everyone head out, then she looked at Grissom as he jotted some notes on his paperwork. Tossing out the drink that tasted as if it had been brewed three days ago, she approached him and they started walking down the hall.

"Ya know," Sara said. "You're digging yourself deeper and deeper into a hole. You really need to come up with better lies the next time Catherine catches you with your pants down."

"If Catherine wouldn't have insisted on going inside the apartment, I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Ah, but she did, and you are. Now, what are you going to do when the guys come over to check on "Hank-the-dog?"

"What "can" I do?" He opened the door to the garage for her.

"Couldn't you have just made it easier by telling her you had a woman in your apartment?"

"Right. I'm in enough trouble with the guys because they think I named my dog after your "ex" boyfriend. How do you think they'd react if they thought I was with another woman?" They walked to the Denali. ""No, it looks like you and I are going to a shelter first thing in the morning and doing some "Hank" hunting."


	78. Chapter 78

Chapter Seventy-Eight

A dog. He hadn't owned a dog since he was fourteen–and then, after it got hit by a car and broke his heart completely, he swore he'd never get another one. How did he get himself into this mess? And a "big" dog to boot. He walked with his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched Sara walking ahead of him, cheerfully looking at each dog as they passed it. He thought about the prospect of complicating his life even more and never regretted anything in his life as much as he regretted telling Catherine his tale of a pet dog. What was he going to do with a dog? He was just getting used to sharing his apartment with Sara–now he was going to add a dog to it!

"Oh! Look at this one! It's so cute!"

Grissom looked down at a tiny rat-looking animal. "I am "not" Paris Hilton. Anyway, I said it was a "big" dog."

"Okay," Sara said as she moved on then dropped to her knees and stuck her fingers inside the wire fence as a huge tongue came out and lapped at her digits. "Hello, beautiful!"

Grissom looked at the gray and white Husky with the ice-blue eyes. "It's the blue-eye thing, isn't it? You're a sucker for blue eyes."

She chuckled as she stroked what she could of the dog, then got up and moved on. "It won't work anyway–you had to specify that it was a big "brown" dog."

"I'm sorry, dear. Next time I'll allow you to make up a lie to cover the fact that we had just completed a session of hot sex."

"Oooh, Gil–this one's big–and brown–and it's friendly, too!"

Grissom looked in to see a chocolate lab, then glanced at the next caged area and saw another that fit the description.

"So's this one."

"And this one! Look, there are four of them!" Sara looked like a little girl who had just found a mountain of candy. "Can we have them all?"

"No."

"Fine," she said indignantly as she stuck her finger in to the lab and giggled as it, too, showed its affection with a friendly tongue, then proceeded to talk to the dog in baby-talk. "I'd take you all–yes, I would–uh-huh! But some big, mean old "man" doesn't want you."

Grissom looked at the four dogs, seeing the lab, a boxer, a bloodhound, and a german shepherd. Within seconds, Sara had all four dogs so wound up that they were jumping up at the fence. Well, Grissom thought, this certainly wouldn't do. The last thing he wanted was a dog that would tear his apartment to shreds!

"SIT!" Grissom ordered and watched the boxer and shepherd sat down immediately and stared at him, while the lab and bloodhound continued to try to get out and prove to Sara that they would be the more desirable pet.

"Well, you don't have to be mean about it!" Sara turned to look at him, then went back to playing with the animals.

Grissom watched as the shepherd and boxer looked at him with great interest, then after he didn't show them any affection, turned their attention back to Sara.

"HANK!" Grissom said loudly, this time getting the boxer's attention as he wagged his tail and moved closer to the side of the cage where Grissom stood.

Sara watched this, then turned and smiled at Grissom. "I think you found Hank!"

"Okay–next question. Is he housebroken?"

Sara looked at the paperwork displayed for the animal, then looked at the cement floor the dog was standing on, still wagging his tail so fiercely at Grissom that his little butt wiggled along with it. There were no signs of a mess anywhere, unlike the shepherd and bloodhound which had stains and other evidence that proved they weren't used to being indoors.

"Cage looks clean, and it "says" he's housebroken."

"Is he neutered?" Grissom asked and watched as the dog's ears went back against his head and he whimpered as he sat down, staring at him with a tilted head.

"Yes," Sara confirmed.

"And the final question–does he like "you?"

Sara looked back at Grissom then at the dog again. She placed her hand up against the wire fence and saw the dog glance at her, but his attention went back to Grissom.

"Hank?" Sara coaxed and the dog stood up and wagged his tail a few times as he came over and sniffed her hand, then licked it twice before going back to his spot where he sat down and stared at Grissom some more. "He might "like" me–but I think his heart belongs to you."

"Hmph," Grissom grunted. "Do "you" like "him?"

"Of course. He's adorable."

"Then lets go pay for him and go home." Grissom started back toward the front of the building.

"Uh–Gil–we need "things" for him. We need to stop at a store on the way home."

Grissom stopped and looked at her. "What "things?"

"Well, food to start with. Then there's a collar, a leash, a bed, shampoo, food dish, water dish. Stuff like that."

"Fine–so, we'll go pay for him and then stop at a store."

Grissom wasn't a covetous man by any means. But when he paid the hundred and fifty dollar "donation" to the shelter he couldn't stop the groan that erupted from his throat. Sara simply smiled at the attendant who took his card and swiped it, then waited eagerly for the dog to be brought out to them.

"I would advise you to get a pet carrier for him so he doesn't endanger himself or you while your driving," the attendant explained as he unleashed Hank and allowed the dog to jump into the back seat of Grissom's "too small" car.

"I'll keep that in mind," Grissom answered as he moved around to the driver's side and got inside. The huge puff of hot breath on his face turned his head to come nose-to-nose with a very happy boxer who let his tongue flap up over Grissom's mouth and nose, which was responded with a very loud, "Ugh! DO "NOT" **EVER** DO THAT AGAIN!"

Hank's ears lay back as he quickly jumped into the back seat, allowing Sara to get in the passenger's seat and close her door. Grissom started his vehicle and was backing out of the stall when Hank stepped forward between the two front seats again, then walked across Sara's lap to look out her window. Sara's "omph" brought another command from Grissom as he ordered the dog to "SIT!" Hank, evidently extremely intelligent, did just that as he turned around and plopped down onto Sara's lap as he continued to stare at Grissom. Grissom was about to order the dog to the rear of the car again, but Sara stopped him.

"Just go. He's fine for now. The sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can go home."

Grissom did as advised and started down the street, then pulled onto the highway and went in the direction of his home and the nearest store to buy pet supplies, but within the first two miles, Sara and Grissom heard a strange gulping sound from behind them.

"What the hell is that?" Grissom asked as Sara turned and looked at the dog.

"Oh, no! He's getting car-sick!" She pushed the button and put her window down about six inches and Hank immediately crawled over her and stood with his back legs between the seats and his front ones on her legs as he put his head out the window.

"Are you okay?" Grissom asked as he looked for Sara and saw only dog.

"I'm fine," she said with effort. "Just keep driving."

Another sound that could only be described as something extremely moist flapping in the wind had Sara giggling and Grissom very curious.

"What is "that" sound?"

"The wind's hitting his face and making his cheeks flap," Sara laughed as she listened to the strange sound. "I think he likes it."

Finally, after about twenty minutes Grissom pulled into the parking lot of a large department store. He tried to look at Sara again but couldn't see through Hank.

"Sit down!" He said impatiently to the dog who immediately dropped its butt down onto the divider between the two humans. "Not here! Back there!"

Hank turned and looked at Grissom with questioning eyes until Grissom pointed to the back seat, then the boxer took one hop to his ordered destination. Grissom started to reach for his door, but Sara's voice stopped him.

"You're not going in that store and leaving this poor animal out here by itself!"

"Why not?"

"It's cold!"

"I'm sure he won't freeze until we get back."

"He'll get lonely. He's not even adjusted to a new home, and you already want to leave him alone in a small, enclosed space. He'll get anxious and might hurt himself."

"Then, how, my dear, am I supposed to get the supplies we need for him?"

"I'll go in and get it." She opened the door and stood up. "Can I buy him a little tuxedo if they have one?"

"No."

"Can I get him a jacket?"

"No."

"A sweater?"

"No."

"What about. . ."

"No clothing, Sara. Just the essentials."

"Fine–just the essentials," she said, then added under her breath as she was closing the door. "But I think a cute little red satin bow-tie collar is something every boxer needs."

"Sara!" He called after her but she kept walking.

Hank stuck his head up between the seats and looked Grissom in the face, then turned and looked out the window at Sara as she was walking toward the store. The dog moved up to her seat where he continued to watch her, then let out with a God-awful howl that nearly made Grissom jump out of his seat.

"That's enough of that!" He warned Hank, and the animal turned to look at him as if he wanted to argue the point that their "girl human" was escaping. "Sit!"

Hank circled Sara's seat three times, then sat down on it, facing Grissom as he continued to stare at him. Grissom looked back at him and very nearly received another lick until he snapped his head back and gave the dog a warning look at which time Hank lay down on the seat and proceeded to go to sleep.

It was nearly an hour later when Grissom finally saw Sara returning to the car with a shopping cart filled with things. He popped the trunk and watched as she put a large box inside, followed by a huge bag of dog food, then a bag from the store with much smaller articles. She nearly closed the trunk, then snatched something out of the bag, closed the lid and came to her side of the car.

"Get in the back!" Grissom demanded, bringing Hank's attention up to him before he noticed Sara standing outside. He gave out a huge bark, then started practically running in place as he watched her with excitement. "Back!"

Hank certainly didn't agree with his new master on this call, but when Sara held up what looked to be a rawhide bone, about twelve inches long, then moved it to the back window, the dog eagerly followed the toy. Sara quickly got inside, then handed the bone to Hank who decided the back seat was the perfect place to stretch out his length and joyfully chew his new gift.

"Okay." Sara smiled at Grissom. "We can go home now."

Sara managed to get a very sensible black leather collar on Hank as they rode home and by the time they got there, she had the leash attached and Grissom was given the job of walking him around the block as Sara unloaded the car. But Hank wasn't interested in attempting to relieve himself on the first time around the block. The only things he seemed to want to do was chase after any noise that was unfamiliar to him. Another turn around the block and Grissom thought he might have to take him to a vet to see how an animal could pee so much. He seemed to be lifting a leg every two feet and squirting on whatever he saw. Finally, on the third time around, Hank seemed to find an acceptable spot to do his business and allow his master to return them to the apartment.

He walked in to find a large black cage already assembled in the corner of his living room, a water and food dish put out in the kitchen with ample food in for the animal, and various chewy toys in a basket close to the cage. Hank thought the arrangement was excellent–except the toys (which were all made of extra-durable rubber, considering the size of his teeth and jaws). He decided that the yellow fish should be put under the coffee table, and the purple octopus under the kitchen table. The various balls were tossed out of the basket and scattered on the floor, while the minty fresh bones for his breath were buried beneath the couch cushions. The raccoon, on the other hand, was taken into his cage where he nudged the old blanket that Sara had given him until it covered the very life-like toy. After his new belongings were dealt with to his satisfaction, he went to sit next to where Grissom stood, watching him. The dog looked up at him with complete devotion and the sight made Sara laugh at them.

"Remember what you said about the "blue-eye-thing?" Well, I think it's brown eyes for you. You couldn't pass up this set of beautiful brown eyes, could you?" Sara knelt down and started stroking Hank's neck and head, earning her a quick lick on her cheek before he dropped onto his back and invited her to scratch his chest.

The loud bang on Grissom's front door turned everyone's attention in that direction. Another bang, and Catherine's voice put everyone on high alert.

"Gris! Lindsey's practice was cancelled! Open up–I want to meet Hank!"

The dog gave Sara a quick look, then let out with a bark that startled his female owner to the point of actually jumping. Hank ran toward the door, barking fiercely at the new, unknown voice behind the door.

"HANK!" Grissom yelled as he moved to grab onto the dogs collar.

The animal instantly sat down but remained anxious as he was pushed away from the door to allow Grissom to squeeze through and meet Catherine in the hallway. As his new master deserted him, Hank went into super-panic and started clawing at the door and howling. Grissom looked up at Catherine's open-mouthed, shocked expression and smiled sweetly at her.

"My God!" Catherine breathed as she held her hand over her throat as if afraid the dog might break through the door and go straight for the tasty morsel. "What kind of an animal did you get?"

"Hank's a boxer. I told you he isn't used to women yet."

"No kidding!" She looked from Grissom to the door, then back at Grissom again. "Did you ever consider dog tranquilizers? Sweet Jesus!"

"He'll be fine. Just give him a few weeks of training." They both glanced at the door as they heard a scraping sound from inside the apartment and a yelp before there was silence. "There–see? He's great."

"Do you think he's under control now? Maybe I could go in and sneak a look?"

"I don't know, Catherine," Grissom said loudly. "Even if he "is" quiet now, once he hears you again–ya never know."

Upon cue, they heard Hank running toward the door again and start scratching and howling, making Catherine jump back an inch or so as she eyed the wood that separated her from the vicious man-eater (or in this case, woman-eater) on the other side.

"Yeah, well," Catherine said as she took another step backwards, then turned and started down the hallway. "Give me a call when you get that beast a lobotomy or something! I don't think he's "ever" gonna become even close to sociable."

"I'm sorry you had to waste your time for nothing, Catherine," he called after her as he grabbed onto the knob. "Next time give me a head's up, and I'm sure I'll have him under better control."

"Yeah-yeah." She waved her hand at him without looking back. "I'll believe that when I see it!"

Grissom pushed the door open to see Hank being held by his collar as he searched for his master. Upon seeing him, Hank's tail thumped on the floor and he ran for Grissom, yanking Sara along for the ride.

"Jesus," Grissom looked at Sara with concerned eyes as she released the animal. "Do you really think he hates women?"

"Well, what do ya call me?" She asked him with irritated eyes.

Grissom gave her one of his most manipulative smiles as he walked up to her and put his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. "I call you, Sara, my love goddess, keeper of my soul."

"Uh-huh," she chuckled, then looked down at the animal that sat watching his humans. "Ya better watch it, Hank. He can always squirm out of trouble by flattery and that damned smile of his."

Hank responded by thumping his tail against the floor as he kept his eyes on them.

"Now, what?" Grissom looked at the dog, then back to Sara. "Is he settled in for the day. Can we go to bed?"

"I think so. He has enough to occupy him while we sleep."

"I wasn't talking about sleep." Grissom started to nibble on Sara's lips as she smiled at him. "I was hoping for a little more than sleep."

"We can try. Do you feel lucky?"


	79. Chapter 79

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Grissom smiled at Sara and walked with his arm around her waist but upon entering their bedroom and starting to kiss her again, realized that his little "friend" was standing next to him watching him "trying to eat the girl human's face." Hank gave a short bark of objection, turning his master's perturbed attention back to him.

"Out!" He moved to his doorway and pointed, noticing how the animal seemed to be picking up on his signals rather quickly as he ran into the hallway, then turned and looked back at him through pitiful eyes. "Lie down!"

Grissom waited until the animal did as commanded, then he closed the door between them and walked back to the gorgeous creature waiting for him. He was extremely tired, but needed some contact with her, knowing it wouldn't last long but would be satisfying for them both. He watched as she undressed and took her time about moving onto the bed and under the blanket as he removed his own clothing. He joined her and immediately started kissing her with yearning. He felt himself begin to burn for her as her hands moved over his body, alternating between lightly running her fingernails over his skin to grasping onto him and stroking him completely. Grissom got as far as Sara's throat before he felt the sudden bounce on the mattress and looked down to see Hank standing over them with interested eyes. Sara pulled the blanket up to her nose and started laughing as Grissom could only stare at the dog.

"Get out of here!" Grissom's anger sounded in his voice and the dog ran back out of the room.

Another attempt at closing the door, and making sure that it "clicked" shut this time, and Grissom came back to join Sara again, but when he went directly for her neck, Sara didn't seem to be as involved in their lovemaking as she was before. Then, after a moment, she told him why.

"Gil, listen."

"Do I have to?" He asked as he lifted his head and looked down at her, finding her very amused at their situation.

"Shh. Now watch."

Grissom turned and looked at the door where he could hear small scratches midway up the barrier. After a moment, it slowly opened and Hank triumphantly stuck his head through and looked at them, but upon seeing them watching him, he backed out a step before turning around and looking at them again.

"Out!" Gil ordered.

But Hank only wagged his tail twice then ran in and jumped on the bed, circled twice, then lay down with his head lying on Grissom's legs.

"Ahh," Sara cooed as she reached down and stroked Hank's forehead. "He's lonely. He wants to be with his master."

"And his master's horny!" Grissom objected and got out of the bed again, prompting Hank to follow him.

The cage was put to immediate use as Hank was put inside and although he didn't appreciate it very much, he seemed satisfied with the rawhide bone that Grissom put in with him. Upon re-entering the bedroom he found Sara sitting up in bed with the sheet pulled over her breasts as she looked at him through concerned eyes.

"Can he come in and sleep with us when we're through?"

"No!" He got back into the bed and pulled her down with him. "I'm not allowing that damned dog on my bed."

"Fine," Sara moped, but soon forgot about their new roommate as Grissom's mouth and fingers prepared her for a ride through heaven.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

It took several days, but Hank quickly fell into the routine of spending part of his days in his cage as his humans would share their bed, then his master would take him out for a walk. Sometimes the lady would take him when his master wasn't there, but all-in-all, he was adjusting quite nicely to his new pet humans. He was training them well, they scratched him when he wanted scratched, they fed him when he wanted fed, they played with him when he wanted to play. He was still confused about their need to return him to his cage while they weren't sleeping. He knew they weren't sleeping during those times, because these were the occasions that he learned their names. He could hear them calling to one another when they were behind that door. That's when he found out that his master's name was Ogod, and the lady's name was Yesyesah. Yesyesah had a tendency to call to Ogod several times over and over again (sometimes he wasn't sure if his name was Ogod or if it was Harder, as Yesyesah had a tendency to call the master both of these names), but in the end, Ogod always answered by calling her name. He soon learned that Ogod was often in a very good mood after they came out of the room together–as long as he didn't try to go in and interrupt them. And he liked Yesyesah. She always talked Ogod into letting him do things, like finally letting him come into the room with them and sleep on the bed while they watched the talking box. Yep, Hank was adjusting nicely.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Weekends were becoming a blur for Grissom. He couldn't recall the last time he had a weekend to off, other than when he returned from his sabbatical the month before. The past week with his new "menace" was finally starting to settle down. Once Catherine spread the news about the vicious monster he was raising, the others quickly lost interest in investigating the animal. The damned thing ate like a horse, and he wondered if he would be sent to bankruptcy trying to keep up with the dog's appetite; either that or maybe he should buy stock in Alpo.

It was Friday morning and he was going home to meet Sara so they could begin their weekend off, but the sounds that emanated from his apartment sent up a flag that things weren't quite as peaceful as he had intended.

"You, son-of-a-bitch, Hank! Couldn't you have eaten any of "his" clothes? Why did they have to be all mine?" Sara's angry voice met him as he opened the door.

Grissom looked around to see scraps of cloth spread throughout the living room. When Sara grabbed onto a blue blouse that was on the edge of the sofa, Hank evidently thought the game was in play, because he grabbed onto the other end and they started a tug-of-war over the item. Sara, though, wasn't as happy about it as Hank seemed to be as he wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Give me that goddamned shirt!" She yelled at him when he won the battle and ran off behind the sofa to claim his prize and she chased after him. She swung a tattered sock at him and hit him square on the nose, resulting in a yelp as Hank discovered his master coming down the stairs toward them. "Gimme the shirt! Give it here!"

But Hank ran to Grissom and eyed her warily from behind his legs. Grissom tried to step back from her attack, but nearly tripped over the canine, prompting him to grab onto a bookcase and almost knocking it over. His eyes widened as Sara went in for the kill and wrestled Hank to the floor to try to pry the delicate cloth from his powerful jaws.

"Jesus Christ, Sara! It's only a damned shirt!" Grissom tried.

"But–its–my–shirt. . ." She grimaced as she got a good hold onto the cloth, but Hank retaliated with a quick snap of his head and the sound of it ripping seemed to echo throughout the room. "You little fucker!!"

Grissom watched in astonishment as Sara pulled her sneaker off and threw it at the dog who was now playing tag with her and danced across the room, already having abandoned the pretty cloth and the "old" game.

"ENOUGH!" Grissom roared and pointed to the cage, stopping Hank's antics immediately as he stared at him, then ran for cover in the wire contraption he called his bed.

He looked back to Sara, seeing how she slowly went about the room, picking up torn pieces of her wardrobe. When she found one of her black heels, evidently separated from the rest of the shoe, she stood erect and turned to look at Grissom. Without a word, she left the rest of her annihilated clothing as she trudged back to their bedroom. He gave a quick glance at Hank, who was sitting still, watching Sara's actions with what appeared to be concern over her lack of enthusiasm. Clearly, the dog was so worried that he didn't even realize the gate wasn't closed as he remained in the cage. Grissom promptly closed it and upon hearing a quiet wail of "No, not this, too!" He sighed and went to find out what else the animal had tried to digest.

The sight of Sara sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the red dress she wore so long ago, put him on instant alert. When he saw the tears streaking her cheeks, he looked at the damaged cloth, and went to kneel before her.

"Maybe it can be fixed?" It was more of a question than a suggestion. She held it up for his quick inspection and he saw that it was chewed beyond repair and she started to cry again as she looked at it.

"It was special. It was the dress I wore at my first formal dinner with you. Even if I "wasn't" your date."

He knew she sometimes got emotional shortly before her menstruation, but this took him by surprise as he pulled her into his arms and soothed her by rubbing her back

"But I wanted you to be," he said as he tried a coaxing smile.

"I think he hates me!"

"It kinda looks like the feeling's mutual. I must say that for being an animal lover, you certainly went after him with a vengeance."

"He made me mad."

"I can see that. Remind me to never rip your clothes. . .oh, wait. . .I guess I already do that, don't I?"

This brought a small chuckle from her as she looked at him. "Yeah, that's different. I'm in them while you're doing it."

"So, what do you want me to do? How can I make this better?"

"Make sure you close the gate the next time you put him in his cage."

"I did." He raised his brows as looked at her. "I always close the gate."

"Really?" She sniffed as she looked past his shoulder. "Tell "him" that."

Grissom turned and saw Hank lying in the doorway with his head on the floor as he watched the two of them.

"What the. . ." Grissom got to his feet and moved back to the living room to see the gate wide open. "Hank! Come here!"

The dog did as ordered and went back into the cage, which Grissom again closed and made double-sure that the latch was pulled down. He turned around and walked back toward the bedroom but stopped in the doorway as Sara moved to stand next to him, both watching the animal. It took a few moments, but Hank started pawing at the latch. They silently watched as, with a lot of chewing, pawing and head-butting, he finally popped out and leisurely walked over to them, sitting at Sara's feet as he looked up at her. When she only looked at him briefly, then looked away, he placed his paw on her foot. When that didn't work, he got up and placed his front paws on her hips. She simply turned away from him and walked back into the bedroom where she began cleaning the mess he had left.

Grissom took Hank back out and put him in the cage for a second time, this time turning it so the gate was against the wall. Hank immediately started pawing and chewing, but after finding it useless, turned and looked at Grissom in confusion.

"You did it now," Grissom said quietly to the dog. "You know you're in trouble when she doesn't speak to you. "I" know. "I've" been there."

He went through the living room and kitchen, picking up pieces of her clothing and sorting through the salvageable and non-salvageable items. When he finished, he put them on the counter and took Hank out for an extra-long walk, then upon returning, unleashed him. He joined Sara in the bedroom where she was folding laundry but was interrupted when Hank jumped up on the bed and walked over to her. Sara glanced at him briefly, then turned her back to him and continued folding clothes. Hank watched her as he lay on the mattress, but she refused to acknowledge him.

Grissom helped Sara put the things away, then turned on the television and changed into sweats and a tee-shirt as Sara did the same. She went to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, then returned where she sat on her side of the bed and watched an old episode of Quantum Leap. Grissom sat next to her, working on a crossword puzzle as Hank lay at their feet with his head resting across Grissom's shin. When the show was finished, Sara pulled back the blankets and crawled under them and within a few seconds Grissom took Hank to his cage, deciding that a little more exercise might be just what the dog needed. He'd see to that when he took him on his next walk. When he returned to the bedroom he saw how she was watching him and he pulled off his shirt and pants before lying next to her.

"Did you fix the gate?" She asked as he moved until he was lying face-to-face with her.

"It's pushed up against the wall. He can't get out."

"We'll have to find something better than that to work," she told him, then dropped her gaze before looking up at him again as her hands moved up thte front of his chest where she stroked her thumbs through the coarse hair she found there.. "I'm sorry I got so worked up. I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I cry at the drop of a hat."

"You were provoked. How about if we take in a movie this evening? We'll take a break from the dog; go out and have dinner."

"That sounds nice," she smiled gently at him and tilted her head, inviting him to meet her lips with his own.

He took the invitation and rested his hand on her waist, then slid it up, inside her tee-shirt. After a moment, he reached for its hem and pulled it up until he maneuvered it over her head, then tossed it to the side. He looked at the loveliness of her chest and couldn't resist the temptation to taste the ivory skin that lead to her breasts which were encased inside a beige bra. His hands moved down over her waist, pushing the bands of her sweats and panties over her hips, then helping her peel them from her legs. Once they were removed, he slid his palms over the length of her thigh and calf before taking her ankle and pulling it up, around his waist.

"Did I tell you lately how much I love your legs?" He asked, bringing a smile to her.

"No, not that I can recall at the moment." Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "Are they the only things you love?"

"Not at all." He pulled her more tightly against him as he pressed his growing erection against the front of her while his hand slid over and massaged her rounded buttocks. "I'm nuts over this."

"What, exactly would "that" be?" She sighed.

"Everything."

He leaned forward and met her lips with his, giving her little kisses as her hands started their dance across his chest and then his back, working their way down to his backside. He pulled her more tightly against him then rolled with her until she was lying on top of him. He ran his hands over the smooth skin covering the back of her, starting at her neck and working his way down to her back, her bottom, her thighs and calves and then back again. He felt himself growing more as she put her arms on each side of his head and started to hungrily kiss him, her lips and tongue having come alive with passion as they mated with his. Her hands moved to his bearded face, stroking it before moving her lips lower to kiss his neck and throat. He enjoyed her caresses as she stroked down his sides, then stopped at his hips, reaching between them as she took hold of him and moved him into a throbbing hardness. Soon, he turned with her again and raised himself up on elbow as he moved his kiss down to her breasts, taking her nipples between his lips and tasting their exquisite sweetness as her hand continued to stroke him. He feasted on her, taking pleasure in what her body was capable of giving, then slid the backs of his fingers over her tummy and down to her front until he teased the nest he found there. He lifted her leg again, spreading her wider as his fingers lid between her folds, stroking back and forth from her entrance to the hardened nub at her front. When he pressed two fingers deep inside of her, he felt her moan against him.

"Gil," she breathed. "You make me feel things no one else can. Please, don't ever stop."

"I don't plan on going anywhere," he whispered back, as together their hands and mouths were giving them waves of pleasure.

"Make love to me," she said between kisses that she was bestowing on the top of his head, where she could reach.

He pressed her back against the mattress and moved between her legs, with her help, positioning himself at her core. He pressed into her, feeling her stretch around him and he had to move slowly as he feared he may lose control upon complete entrance. She, on the other hand, started moving her hips beneath him as she wrapped her legs around his. But he continued to go slowly, wanting to relish in this most amazing experience as he indulged himself on her, starting at her lips and going to her cheeks, her ears, her jaw and eyes, her forehead and nose. He felt her squeeze him internally, and then it felt as if she actually flipped him as he was embedded inside of her. He looked into her eyes and watched as she repeated her Kegel. He had been with his share of women, but she was the only one who ever practiced this exercise while having sex. The sensation always brought him so close to the edge before she would relax her muscles and let him regain his momentum, then after awhile, do it again and start all over again. Together they took one another on a journey of exploration that ended with her arms clenched tightly around him as he pounded inside of her.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Harder–harder," Sara nearly screamed with her head thrown back in ecstacy as her orgasm washed over her. "Oh, God!"

Grissom felt her gripping him as he pumped inside, making his strokes turn erratic but very powerful. He felt his imminent explosion as his growl passed his lips once more.

"Yes! Yes! Ahhh!"


	80. Chapter 80

Chapter Eighty

Sara sat in the darkness of the theater, drinking her Sprite as Grissom sat next to her and chomped on some popcorn. Normally, she would have her hand inside the small tub, right along with his, but for some reason, the smell of the butter wasn't exactly agreeing with her. The movie kept them entertained, although she noticed that Grissom's attention did wander from time to time. But, overall, John Travolta, William H. Macy, Martin Lawrence and Tim Allen were an excellent respite from the tensions of Hank's destructive phase. She really couldn't explain her reaction to the dog earlier that day. It normally wasn't in her to attack a dog! And then she was baffled with her crying jag. She was just glad that she was past it and with this little "date" her mood was steadily brightening. Things were actually feeling quite nice as they sat in the uppermost corner of the dark room and after half of the movie, the popcorn was finished and she leaned in closer to Grissom as she rested her head on his shoulder. He held her hand as they watched the rest of the movie.

The restaurant was semi-formal and Sara was more than satisfied with her vegetable quiche. The conversation was intermittent, alternating between intimate gestures and glances, but silences being comfortable. They were just finishing their first course when Sara noticed how Grissom's attention was suddenly averted from her to something on the other side of the restaurant. When Sara turned to look in that direction, he spoke up and turned her attention back to him.

"So, what do you have planned for the rest of the night?" Grissom asked quickly as he continued to eat his broiled haddock.

"I–haven't given it much thought. But it might be a good time to try to replace parts of my wardrobe that was eaten today. And, it might be wise to find something to keep Hank "inside" his cage while we're working."

"That sounds like that could take the rest of the night," he said with a touch of humor then glanced back in the direction he had been watching before, only to have his eyes widen slightly before looking back at Sara. "Maybe we could finish up here a little more quickly, then start shopping for your clothes. My treat."

Sara looked at him suspiciously then turned her head in the direction that had been giving him such trouble, only to see a very blond, very tight-skinned, Terri Miller approaching them.

"Oh," Sara said quietly. "Now, I can see why you wanted to appease me with a new wardrobe so quickly."

"I–don't know what you're talking about," Grissom said indignantly as he continued to watch her, clearly trying to ignore the approaching blond.

"Hello, Gil," Terri's tone reverberated with smoothness as she looked down at him seemingly without tilting her head in an attempt to keep her nose high in the air.

"Terri." Grissom got to his feet and took Terri's hand in a gentle shake that kept their hands together longer than necessary. "It's always a treat to see you."

"Yes," Terri gave Grissom something that resembled a smile–at least Sara "thought" it was supposed to be a smile. "So you said last week when "we" were having dinner together."

"Yes," Grissom coughed nervously. "So, I did."

Terri finally looked down at Sara but Sara's eyes were glued to Grissom's bearded face. It was unreadable as he refused to look at her.

"I didn't realize you take "all" your employees out to dinner," Terri said stiffly.

"Um, yeah–I've got dinner all lined up with Nick Stokes for next week." Grissom smiled at Terri.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to visit the ladies room," Sara said to no one in particular as she pushed her seat back from the table.

She noticed that neither person seemed interested in what she was doing anyway, so she went and tended to her needs. Her mind was whirling, knowing that the only possible time he could have taken Terri Miller out to dinner was the middle of last week when she had been off for two days and he "supposedly" worked. She returned as far as the edge of the room to find Terri seated in her chair. Grissom's eyes seemed to be glued to the woman as she sat with her hair pulled back so tightly that Sara swore it was holding her face up into a do-it-yourself face-lift. Sara stayed there, watching as Terri reached across the table and placed her hand on Grissom's. The fact that he didn't make any attempts to remove it was a bit hard to swallow. She reluctantly went back to the table, where Terri stayed in her chair and Grissom remained seated.

"I–uh–just wanted to thank you for dinner, boss," she said distantly, noticing that Grissom finally got to his feet to acknowledge the arrival of a lady (hmph!). "I'm sure Nick will enjoy his meal next week."

"Sit down, Sara," Grissom said as he pulled a third chair to the table.

"Oh," she gave a false laugh as she put her hand up in protest. "No. Really! I have to go now. Hank, my boyfriend–you remember Hank, don't you?"

Grissom nodded his head slowly as he watched her. "Yes, I remember Hank."

"Well, Hank's picking me up any minute. He said it was very nice of you to take the team out to dinner like this, acknowledging all the work we've done over the past few months. Hank thinks you're just great. As a matter of fact, I think I can compare you to Hank in many ways."

"Sit down, Sara," Grissom said a bit more sternly this time.

"Yes, dear," Terri agreed. "I'd love to meet this super-human who is your boyfriend. He must be amazing if you can compare him to Gilbert."

Sara slowly turned her attention to the near-albino sitting in her chair and noticed that she had pushed Sara's plate to the side.

"I'm sure you would–but Hank's all mine," Sara gave her a sweet, faux smile. "But, no. I saw him in the lobby as I was returning from the restroom. He's in the car now, waiting for me. Goodnight."

Sara turned and started for the lobby, but could hear their conversation as she went.

"She's a very lucky woman to have someone who is so much like you. You must be very fond of her. She must be like the daughter you never had."

Sara could hear no more as she walked across the lobby and out into the night air. It was still a bit cold and she closed her jacket as she started walking down the street. She didn't know exactly where she was going–or what she was doing. But it was clear that Grissom had no intentions of letting the woman know that it "wasn't" a simple "reward" to his employee for a job well done. If she would have sat there with them, she wouldn't have known how to behave. Terri's flirting was blatant; Grissom's reception of it was disturbing; and all the while she was supposed to sit there and look at him as her "father-figure?" What would that make the witch back there? "Mommie-Dearest?" Get out your wire hangers and powered cleanser and have a blast, ya freakishly pale troll!

And the dinner they shared last week. How was she supposed to digest that information? More little secrets that he chose to keep from her. She noticed she had walked for blocks, then turned left and walked another two blocks before turning right again and heading in that direction. The mood she was rapidly achieving was adequate enough to send her walking the full five or so miles back to their apartment. Maybe it would be enough time for her to actually think this situation through and perhaps even calm herself.

Another three blocks and she heard the first rumble of thunder and her hopes of making it to the apartment were fading fast. Another two blocks and the sky opened up and rain came pouring down on her. "Jesus! Aren't I the lucky one!" She ran to a bar that was at the corner and stood beneath its awning. She pulled out her cell and tried to think of whom to call. Her first instinct was Nick.

"Hey, Sunshine! What's up?" Came his greeting, evidently having read her name on his caller ID.

"Nick!" She tried to say over the noise of the bar behind her. "I'm in a bit of a bind here. Do you think you could help me out?"

"Sure. What's wrong?"

"I sort of got stranded without my car and its pouring down raining. Could you come and pick me up?"

"What are you doing at a bar?"

"I had a date. We argued–I left. This is the first place I ran to when it started to rain."

"Okay–where are ya?"

Sara had to step back and look at the name. "It's called the Little Flamingo."

"Not sure where that one's at. What street?"

"East Bonneville and South Tenth."

"Will you be okay until I get there? I'm about half an hour away."

"I should be fine."

"Sara! Before you hang up–I just wanted to say your boyfriends are bad news! You need to look someplace else for a new guy!"

"I'll seriously keep that in mind," she said as she hung up her cell. It rang again almost immediately and she had half a smile as she opened her phone, expecting more of a lecture from Nick on just "whom" she "should" be dating. "Yes, Nick? I know my boyfriend's a complete ass. Don't worry–I'm fine. I'll just dump the bastard!"

"He might be an ass–but I don't think its worth dumping him," Grissom's voice came over the line. She remained silent, tempted to simply hang up, but knowing he'd call again. "Where are you, Sara?"

"I'm fine," was all she managed to get out.

"Then if you're fine, you'll have no problem telling me where you are."

"I called Nick. He's coming to get me."

"Call him back. Tell him your scumbag boyfriend picked you up instead and you're going to go home with him."

"I can't do that."

"If you don't–I will."

"No, you won't. You'd never let him know you're dating me. It would damage your image."

"My image–and what image is that?"

"The image of an apathetic old man whose only interested in women who seem to be mummified with their impressive "class." Tell me something, Grissom–is this a "mother" thing? Was she an uppity bitch who looked down on the rest of society and was too refined to wipe her own ass? Is this what your fascination is with these zombies?"

There was a long silence on the phone, then it went dead. She didn't care! Let the son-of-a-bitch hang up on her. She turned and started pacing in front of the entrance to the bar and before too long she heard a horn blow behind her. She let out a deep sigh, prepared to get into Nick's truck, but upon turning, found Grissom's car instead.

"Get in," he called through the opened passenger's window as he looked out at her.

"No thanks," she bent to look in at him. "I've got a ride coming."

"Sara, get in the car."

"Um, I really don't think so," she said, then jumped with startled surprise when a police officer came up behind them.

"What's going on here?"

Sara almost laughed when she realized he thought Grissom was trying to pick up a hooker. "He wanted to know if I wanted a ride."

Her explanation brought a loud moan from Grissom.

"Alright, pull over and get out of the car," the officer told him.

"He's my boyfriend," Sara explained, pulling her CSI badge from her pocket and showing him. "We're just having a disagreement. That's all."

The man looked at Grissom as if he wasn't quite sure of his character, then back to Sara. "Take your argument somewhere else or I "will" run you both in."

"On what charges?" Sara asked indignantly, but Grissom spoke up from the driver's seat.

"Yes, sir. We'll be on our way. Sara, get in the car–NOW!"

Sara looked from the office to Grissom, then sighed as she got inside the car and Grissom drove off. She opened her cell and dialed Nick.

"Yeah–I'm on my way, but there was a major traffic block. It's going to be at least another half hour."

"Never mind, Nick. My "scumbag boyfriend" found me and is taking me home." She glanced over to see Grissom's tense expression upon her use of the terminology he had instructed her to use.

"Are you sure? I can still meet you at your apartment and make sure you're okay. I'd kinda like to come face-to-face with this dick-head and let him know how unacceptable it is to treat you like this."

"No, Nick. Thank you anyway for wanting to make sure I'm okay. But I don't think meeting the "dick-head" will do much good."

"It will if I kick his damned ass and tell him to fuck off!"

"Oh, Nick," she couldn't help but smile at his concern. "You are the sweetest man. I'll let you kick his ass the next time but you can tell him to "fuck off" now if you want to. Should I put the phone to his ear?"

"Yes!" Sara held it about six inches from Grissom's ear as he continued to drive and listened to Nick ranting from the other end. "Listen you little prick, I don't know who in the hell you think you are–but you better knock off your egotistical horseshit and either learn to treat Sara like the lady she is, or better yet, just ride off into the sunset and leave her the hell alone. Because I swear to God, once I find out who you are, you're going to be having to pry my boot out of your ass because I'm sick of how you're treating Sara. Why in the hell she settles for a piece of shit like you is beyond me! She's got more than her share of men who absolutely adore her at work and would treat her with the respect she deserves and love her the way she should be loved!" There was a pause, then Nick started with new vigor. "Ya know what? I'm not gonna wait until next time–you tell me where the hell you are right now and I'll show ya what a piece of crap you are!"

Sara watched as Grissom's face became angrier and angrier before silently looking over at her. She brought the phone back to her ear.

"Thanks, Nick. I think he got the point. If he's even capable of it. But, you go home now and I'll be fine. I think you've frightened him enough."

"Did I?"

"He's shaking in his boots," she told him.

"You call me when you get home so I know you're okay. Got it?"

"Yes, Nick."

"I love you, kiddo. There's no reason for you to settle for the jackasses you settle for."

"I know, Nick. I love you, too. Goodnight."

"Well, isn't that just sweet?" Grissom finally managed when he saw that she had closed the phone and there was no chances of Nick recognizing his voice.

"I think so," she said as she brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of her pants. "Nick's a sweet guy."

"I can see that. Now, that you've got me on Nick's ten most wanted list, perhaps you can explain why you took off like you did." He turned the car down the next street.

"I think that should be fairly obvious. I didn't want to interrupt your cozy little chat."

"So, now you're going to get paranoid about Terri. Tell me something, Sara. Is there anyone I "can" talk to without you blowing everything out of proportion?"

"You tell "me" something, Grissom. If this was so innocent, then why in the hell didn't you tell me that you took her to dinner? A woman you are known to have had a thing for." Having said it out loud, it initiated a spell of anxiety and as it spread through her, she felt claustrophobic. When he stopped at the next stop sign, she clawed at the handle and got out, into the now darkened street. "I've got to get out of here!"

"Goddammit!" Grissom cursed as he pulled to the next block then parked the car. He got out and hurried to where she was walking in another direction. He caught up with her and grabbed her arms, turning her to face him. "I didn't take her to "dinner!" She was working and it was a break–we went to the break room and shared a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I really didn't think it was worthwhile bringing up. I'd actually forgotten about it until I saw her at the restaurant tonight!"

"She "said" you took her to dinner!"

"No–she said we were having dinner together. There's a difference. Come on, Sara! It's raining and we're both getting soaked. We've got better things to do than stand in this kind of weather, arguing about something so insubstantial."

"Did you even bother to let her know she shouldn't be chasing after you? That you're involved with someone else?"

He stared blankly at her and she jerked her arms out of his grasp, before he grabbed her again. "Of course I did! I think it was kinda clear when I got up and chased after you!"

"You did not! It took you twenty minutes to catch up to me!"

"Because you took off in another direction, Sara," he scolded. "It wasn't as if you went in a straight line–I had to look for you. Now, come on. Get in the car."

She looked at him, more confused than ever. She had two choices, either believe him and go on as if this never happened, or "not" believe him and let it tear at her. She looked over at him and noted the soft smile he had in his eyes. She hated when he did this. She knew she wouldn't be able to walk away from him tonight–simply because she wasn't sure what had gone on. She sighed deeply, then started walking with him, feeling that at this point she had no other choice than to give him the benefit of the doubt.


	81. Chapter 81

Chapter Eighty-One

"Where are we going?" Sara asked when she realized they weren't heading in the direction of Grissom's apartment.

"We've got shopping to do." He pulled into a mall parking lot.

"I'm not going in like this! I'm all wet!"

"That's a good reason to get some dry clothes." He turned off the ignition and looked at her. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Since when do you find shopping for women's clothes fun?" She stared back at him.

"Since I've got a beautiful woman to put them on. Anyway, I promised to replace your clothes. We've nothing better to do right now–we'll go shopping."

"Grissom, I'm really not in the mood. . ."

She stopped speaking when he leaned over and placed his lips on hers, then pulled her back against him. He felt cold in his wet clothes and she wasn't much better. His lips moved across hers, then started nipping at her, deepening the kiss before retreating again.

"I know," he whispered as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I know you're still upset. I'm an ass–I know it–you know it–and if Nick knew who he had been talking to, he'd know it too. So, I'm going to try to make it up to you. You should've had my undivided attention tonight, instead, I allowed an old friend to intervene and cause problems where there shouldn't have been anything but an evening of relaxation and devotion to you."

"So, now you're gonna go and try to buy me off with new clothes?" She mumbled half-heartedly.

"Exactly," he smiled at her, then kissed her again. "Come on, darling–we can turn this evening around to what it should've been."

He released her and got out of the car, then came around to her side and opened her door. She hesitated as she watched him standing in the rain, shrugged her shoulders and joined him. They hurried toward the entrance and went inside. The first place they stopped, they bought a dry set of clothes for him to change into, and a set for her. From there, they took their time as they walked the length of the mall, stopping wherever she wished to stop. After several hours Sara declared it was time to give it up for the night. It was nearing five o'clock in the morning and they still hadn't looked for anything for the dog. By six they were walking in the door to the apartment and she went directly to her bedroom to unload her clothing while he hooked up Hank and took him for a walk.

She moved back to the living room and attached the "dog-proof" clasps they had found, then waited for Grissom to return. She had a few minutes of silence as she looked out the window and watched him with the dog. He seemed to be getting along much better with Hank, his patience with the animal growing the more he learned about him. Her patience, though, was thinning and she couldn't understand why. But then, it wasn't only the dog who was getting the short end of her temper. As she stood at the window she saw him glance up, then upon seeing her, gave a short wave and started back toward the apartment.

She had watched him closely during their impromptu shopping spree. He held her hand or walked with his arm around her waist as they traveled the length of the mall. He waited patiently for her to make her decisions, although she really wasn't in the mood for clothes shopping. He even seemed enthusiastic when they came to a formal dress shop, encouraging her to go in, even though she had no desire. In the end, they exited the boutique without a purchase, but he still spent the rest of their time attentively watching her look at blouses, jeans, tee-shirts and socks. No major purchases this trip. She decided to save those for a time when she needed them. Not now; not when she was still upset that the dog had destroyed her clothing in the first place, then when she added to it her doubts about Grissom and Terri Miller, she couldn't even fathom purchasing anything as intimate as formal wear.

On the way home, he refused to release her hand as he drove; a very uncharacteristic trait for him, especially during the late hours of the morning when he was starting to feel tired. But she knew he was trying very hard to convince her that she didn't have a thing to worry about. The problem was, the more he tried–the more she felt he was trying to cover something up. She was so confused that she didn't know which way to turn, and when she saw him enter the apartment building, she turned and went back to their bedroom. She changed clothes, then got into bed and closed her eyes, hoping he would give her the space she was seeking. She listened as he returned Hank to his cage, then made his way to the bedroom with her. He paused in the doorway and she knew he was watching her, then he went about undressing. She glanced at him when she noticed she didn't hear any sounds of him re-dressing in night clothes and just as she suspected, he was slipping beneath the blankets next to her with only his boxer/briefs covering his mid-section. He reached for her and pulled her closer.

"Grissom," she objected quietly, but he continued to pull her against him.

"Gil," he corrected as his lips moved to her forehead.

"Grissom," she started again but he pulled her more tightly and covered her lips with his.

"Don't call me that. You only call me that when you're angry. I don't want you to be angry anymore."

"Alright–Gilbert."

"Not Gilbert, either. That means you're upset with me."

She watched him as he came closer and kissed her forehead again. "Gil," she said slowly. "I don't feel comfortable tonight."

He sighed deeply as he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Do you feel comfortable enough to come over here and "sleep" with me?"

The fact was, that she had to stop and think about it. She had been betrayed so many times in her life; she didn't want to play the fool again, especially with the one person she loved more than anyone else. Her hesitation was quite noticeable as he looked back at her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized for her inability to come to him.

"We shared a coffee and sandwich in the damned break room," he said through his teeth as he continued to look at her. "I don't even know where she went when we were through because she was working on a case with Catherine. I went back to work with your "hero," Nick."

"Don't criticize Nick simply because he sticks up for me. He didn't do anything wrong."

"And neither did I." He turned onto his side, facing away from her and that was the last she heard from him as she watched him fall asleep.

Sleep has a strange tendency to betray your emotions in its own special way. She was shown this when she heard Grissom's cell go off and she woke to find herself lying in his arms. She actually had to pull her limbs from around him as he groggily turned and picked up the phone.

"Grissom." He lifted his arm and looked at his watch. "You've got to be kidding. And just where is he? Fine. Yes, I'll be there right away."

Sara watched as he turned back to look at her, irritation written plainly on his face. He stared at her as if in indecision, then leaned down and covered her lips with his. He kissed her until she felt her head spinning from the intensity of it, then pulled away from her and turned to get off the bed. He looked down at the front of his boxer/briefs, turning her attention to it as well, to see the large bulge revealed there.

"I. . ." She began but didn't know quite what to say.

"Just remember how you affect me, while I'm working today and you have time on your hands."

"Where are you going?" She finally asked as he pulled on his work clothes.

"Some high school. Two kids are missing and Brass decided I was the only person capable of doing this job." His irritation with the situation was showing in the way he spoke; the way he moved.

Guilt suddenly overwhelmed her as she watched him, knowing he only had about three hours sleep, and it had been an uneasy sleep at best. She got to her feet and moved to stand behind him as he was buttoning his shirt. She slid her hands under the cloth, onto his stomach and up to his chest and moved closer to give him a gentle hug.

"I hope its only a few tests and you're back home again. You need some sleep."

He stopped his actions as he looked over his shoulder at her. "Now? You feel comfortable enough to touch me–now?"

She moved around to the front of him as he finished his chore with his buttons. "Being angry with me isn't going to help, ya know."

"I'm not angry–with you. Now, Brass–that's another matter." He picked up his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on. "Saturday morning! Dammit, can't I have at least one Saturday morning to sleep in?"

He finished getting ready, then grabbed his jacket from the front closet and walked out the door. She moved to the window and watched him go to his car, still showing his ire as he drove off.

It didn't take long for her to realize he wasn't coming back soon, and not much longer than that for her cell to go off and hear that they were all needed. She was sent to investigate a van that Sophia had located and they quickly found evidence that proved at least one of the missing teens had been inside at some point. The van was moved back to the lab where she and Warrick began a more intensive investigation.

Sara opened the front door of the van. "Ryan is six feet. Whoever was driving must have adjusted the seat." She reached for the handle and moved the seat back to find a pink cell phone lying on the floor. "Hello."

"Whatcha got?" Warrick asked as he took some pictures.

"I got a cell phone." She took a photo of its location then picked it up and looked more closely at it. "Battery's dead, so I don't know who it belongs to. Something tells me that pink is not Ryan's color."

"I don't know." Warrick lifted a pair of pink lace panties with his finger. "I think he might be always "thinkin'" pink." He goes about taking more photos of a used condom, then picks up more panties. "If these all belong to one girl, she's got nothing left to wear."

"Ya know," Sara said as she started to the back of the van to join Warrick. "When I was in college, I had this boyfriend, and I "thought" we were monogamous until one night, during the post-coital panty search he handed me a pair of underwear that wasn't mine."

"Whoo! How did he explain that one?"

"He said they belonged to his sister."

"Yeah–right."

"I know," she agreed.

"Lets hope your taste in men has improved since then."

"Yeah." Sara wondered at that thought–she still wasn't quite sure.

It was well into evening when the case closed and Sara stood in the layout room, looking at pictures of a dead boy with his teacher lying next to him, having committed suicide. For some reason, she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the macabre photos. She had seen bodies in various stages of dismemberment and decay, and yet the sight before her was absolutely disturbing. She was still standing there when Grissom entered the room and stood behind her.

"Not exactly what we expected to find, is it?" He looked at the photos as well.

"When you play with as many partners as he had, there's bound to be trouble. And why? It was all an ego trip, wasn't it?"

"I suppose so. That and the teenage conviction that it isn't hurting anyone. I don't think he actually felt anything for any of them–so, because he didn't feel anything, he figured "they" didn't either." He started putting the photos together and replaced them in a folder. "But then, I don't suppose it helped that he spread crabs throughout his little harem. That evidently was enough to piss someone off and get him killed in the process."

"That's rather extreme, don't you think?" She walked with him to his office where he put the photos away.

"I think–its time to go home and get some sleep." They turned and started for the exit to the lab. "I noticed you were talking to Catherine tonight. Did you hear anything interesting?"

"I did. I was told that Terri Miller was working here last week, and spent almost all of her time with Catherine. And of course, Catherine was a bit reluctant to inform me that you had coffee with her in the break room, knowing how infatuated I am with you."

"Are you?"

"Don't push it, Grissom." She smiled as they entered the parking garage.

She met him at the apartment and went about taking a shower while he took Hank out for his walk. It took him so long that she was already dressed for bed by the time he entered the room, then went to get his shower. She lay down, intending to get a good night's sleep and before long images of the young student with his amorous teacher flitted through her head. Her dream started almost immediately as she lay on a bed of white satin. She lifted her head to try to figure out where she was but could only see as far as the edge of the bed, everything beyond that was a blur. She looked down at Grissom as he lay next to her, naked with the sheet draped across his lower half. He smiled at her and she felt her heart soar as she leaned down and met his kiss.

"I love you–remember that," he voiced and suddenly he was gone.

She looked around herself; at the white sheets; and saw the red stain spreading from her. She was bleeding but she couldn't understand from where. She looked for Grissom to help her, but he wasn't there. She tried to call out to him but was met with silence.

"Sara!" Grissom's voice broke through to her, waking her and bringing her eyes to see him leaning over her in bed. The sleepiness of his eyes told her that he had been sleeping and she evidently had awakened him. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, God!" She reached for him and pulled him down into a powerful hug, the fear of losing him like she did in her dream, pounding through her. "You're here! You didn't leave!"

He grabbed onto the mattress in an attempt to not fall on her from the force of her hug, then lifted his head to look at her closely. "You were having a dream."

"It was horrible!" She started running her fingers across his bearded face as if to make sure he was really there.

He took her fingers in his hand and kissed them, as he continued to look at her with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to forget it." She removed her hand and slid it down over his shoulders and onto his arms before going up the bottom of his tee-shirt and feeling the hair of his chest and stomach. "Make me forget it."

"Certainly."

His eyes smiled at her and he dropped his head to meet hers, initiating a kiss that sent her senses reeling. Her need for him surpassed a simple sexual gratification, she needed to feel him, to be sure he was there and wasn't going to disappear before her very eyes. In her anxiousness, she quickly pushed her panties down over her hips and kicked them from her legs, then grabbed onto her shirt and started yanking it up, revealing her breasts. Next, her hands went to his boxer/briefs and she slid her left hand inside where she grasped onto him with such fierceness that she could feel him wince.

"Slow down," he murmured against her lips as his hand covered hers.

"Gil, I need you–now."

"Okay, but you don't have to maim me in the process. Just slow down a little, and give me time to wake up a little more." He pulled back his hand and placed it on her shoulder, then gently pressed her onto her back. He pulled her tee-shirt completely off of her, then let his fingers run over her breasts as he looked down at her. Her breathing was increasing with her anxiousness, but he refused to speed up. Instead, he was trying to slow her down. "Turn over."

"But. . .," she started, but he placed his finger over her lips and nodded his head in a gesture that repeated his request.

She watched his eyes, their blueness so intense that she could drown in them. Slowly, she turned onto her stomach with her face turned toward her bed stand. She tried to calm herself as she felt his fingertips traveling over her spine, down until they were gently stroking her buttocks. She took a deep breath as he leaned onto her and kissed her shoulders, then worked his way down to where his fingers had traveled. She allowed him to kiss her cheeks, then work his way back up until he was lying partially on top of her and his lips moved to the area where her shoulder met her neck. She could feel him pulling back long enough to remove his own shirt and bottoms, then he reached between her legs and pressed them apart. He moved his big body over hers and lifted her hips as he positioned himself at her entrance. The sensation of his size expanding her in this position brought a growl of pleasure from her. He moved slowly within her, letting the sensations spread through them until she could feel his need for more. With both hands on her waist, he lifted her until she was on her knees in front of him and he re-entered her from behind. Her anticipation had her at such a fevered pitch that his strokes were turning her on fire. She used her hands to crawl up the headboard of the bed, holding onto it as he continued to stroke inside of her. Her need to touch him sent her into a fully erect position as she reached behind herself and pulled his head down to meet hers. He leaned forward and thrust his tongue into her mouth as his hand moved over her breasts, massaging them and his other hand moved down the front of her and stopped on her abdomen. He held her against him as he pumped faster and harder, then moved his fingers down to the curls between her legs and moved them over her nub that was pounding with need. He sent her on an explosive orgasm as she held onto the wall and headboard for support, then felt him pounding inside of her several more times before he hugged her tightly and released himself.

He leaned against her, panting and trying to catch his breath as she reached for his face, wanting to kiss him. Unable to satisfy her need, she pulled away from him and pushed him onto the mattress where she met his lips with her own.

"This has got to go," she said between kisses as she held his cheeks.

"What?"

"I want to kiss skin–not fur. Anyway, it's a little rough on my. . ."

"But its so long," he sighed. "It's going to be a pain in the ass to shave it off, now."

"How hard can it be?" She smiled at him. "You take a razor and scrape it off."

"There's a little bit more to it than that–but since you think its so easy–you do it."

"Are you serious?"

He looked at her a moment with his eyes dancing with amusement. "Of course I'm serious. Although I'm not sure I want you to do it right now. I'd rather wait until you're a little bit more awake."

"You don't think I'll do it–do you?"

"No. Not really."

"Tomorrow morning. I'm going to shave you."

"Mmm-hmm," he said doubtfully as he pulled her closer and closed his eyes. "I'll be there."


	82. Chapter 82

Chapter Eighty-Two

There was an undeniable chill to the air as Grissom slowly woke up to see that it was after nine o'clock in the morning. He reached for the blankets in an attempt to get some heat back into his body, but when he tugged on them, he found they were pulled completely over onto Sara's side of the bed. He tugged again and received an irritated grunt for his efforts.

"Hey!" Grissom's voice woke Sara with a jerk.

"What?" She asked sleepily.

"You took all the blankets! I'm freezing over here!"

This brought a giggle from the other side of the bed, then she slowly turned until she was facing him, still not offering him any of the blankets.

"You look so cute over there, all naked and half-frozen."

"I'm glad you approve," he said, then yanked on the cover and flipped her onto her back in the process as he pulled it over him.

"Jeez! Someone gets awfully testy when they're cold." She moved her body closer to his and crawled over him until she was lying on his chest. "I'll warm you."

"Thank you." He looked into her eyes then smiled broadly as she wriggled on top of him. "Is there any part of me, in particular, that you wanted to warm up?"

"Maybe," she said as his hands slid up over her smooth back. "I'm just trying to keep my little Gilbert from getting frostbite."

"Your little Gilbert?"

"Okay, my "huge" Gilbert. Is that better?"

"Almost. Don't call me Gilbert, though. You only call me Gilbert when. . ."

"I'm angry. But, I wasn't calling "you" Gilbert. I was calling "this" Gilbert." She reached between them and cupped his essentials, making him jerk in response.

"You can let go now–I don't think "Gilbert" is going to turn blue and fall off."

"Fine. Keep the little guy all to yourself. See what I care." She got up from the bed and wrapped the blankets around herself and started toward the bathroom.

"Give that back!"

He lunged toward the bottom of the bed and caught the cloth and snatched it, pulling her legs out from beneath her as she landed on the end of the bed. She shrieked as she tried to regain her footing, but he wrapped her in the blankets like a cocoon and pulled her up until she was lying beneath him, unable to move. He sat up as he straddled her thighs and looked down at her triumphantly.

"Now what are you going to do?" She smiled up at him from inside her human wrap.

"Have my nasty way with you–what else?"

"And how are you going to do that? I'm practically a mummy."

"I can certainly fix that." He moved off of her and pulled the blankets from around her, then looked from the blanket to her and back again. "Hmmm."

"You're having a hard time deciding between having sex with me and covering up and going back to sleep–aren't you!" She laughed at him. "Fine, take the covers. But they won't make you pant like I do."

"I don't pant!" He said indignantly as he moved toward the end of the bed and grabbed a tee-shirt and pair of sweats from his bureau.

She leaned up on her elbows as she watched him as he started into the bathroom. "Oh, yes you do. Especially when. . .hey! I was going in there!"

"Too late." He closed the door behind him.

"That is "so" not fair."

He smiled as he put on his clothes, glad to see that she was feeling better than she had been. He knew she had cause to be upset, but he also knew it was all for nothing. Well, except the dog. Hank definitely was enough to send her over the edge. He pulled on his pants then listened as he heard drawers being opened and closed. After pulling on his grey tee-shirt, he went to the sink and started lathering his beard. When he was finished, he moved back to the door of the bedroom and opened it to find her sitting on the end of the bed, already dressed.

"Hey, you still want to give this a try?"

She got to her feet and walked into the bathroom with him, hesitating only a moment before picking up the straight razor.

"Do you trust me?"

He looked into her eyes as she stood before him and knew there was no one he trusted more.

"Intimately."

She watched him a second, then he tilted his head, allowing her to start the process of shaving him. He had never had this done by anyone before. He knew that had it been anyone else, he'd be dreading each swipe of the blade in fear of it slicing through his skin. But he was relaxed to the point of actually enjoying it. He alternated between watching her to actually closing his eyes in complete surrender to her.

Never, in his wildest dreams, would he have thought of this activity as erotic, but there was something so soothing in the way her hands and fingers traveled on his skin, that he couldn't help but become aroused.

"Are you alright?" She asked as she finished one cheek then moved to the other side of him. "Am I hurting you?"

He gave a throaty chuckle. "I wouldn't exactly call this hurting."

She smiled then went on with her job and when she finished, she got a fresh towel so she could pat the excess shaving cream from his face. His hands automatically encircled her waist as he held her close and leaned down to kiss her, making her squeal and turn her head away. He laughed at her, but wouldn't release her, wiping as much of the white froth onto her as he could manage. She stopped all movement when he was finished and looked at him with a raised brow, her expression, combined with the smears of shaving cream, making him chuckle again.

"Ya know," she said calmly as she started cleaning her own face with the towel, then looked back at him. "Payback can be a bitch sometimes."

"But you love me and wouldn't stoop so low." He took the towel and watched her with his smile still dancing from his eyes as he patted his own face clean, then widened his eyes when she didn't immediately agree with him. "You "do" love me–right?"

"If you say so," she said, admiring her workmanship before tossing the towel into the sink and turning to leave. "Much better."

"Not yet," he whispered as he refused to release her. "Aren't you going to try it? Make sure it's close enough for you?"

"I think you just did that when you rubbed yourself all over me," she smiled, then rested her arms on his shoulders and went on in a sultry voice. "So, how do you suggest I test it?"

"Use your imagination."

First she moved her fingers to each cheek and lightly caressed them, watching her strokes before pressing her palms against them to test his skin's smoothness. She moved closer to him and pressed her cheek to his, then slowly brought her lips around to touch him, tasting his skin as she moved closer to his mouth, but at the last moment, skipped over it to repeat the procedure on his other cheek.

"I think they're just fine," she murmured as she moved back against his waiting lips.

He took over in a lazy kiss, tasting and nibbling as he slowly walked her backwards until she was against the sink. He pressed himself against her, making no mistake about his arousal, but the sound of whimpering ended the kiss as Sara pulled away.

"He can wait," Grissom told her as he tried to resume the kiss, but she put her fingers to his lips to stop him.

"I really think he's past the "waiting" stage. So, either you take him for a walk, or I will."

"I'll do it," Grissom sulked as he went through his bedroom. "I don't think its right that just because he's been neutered, he keeps interrupting "my" action."

"But he loves you," Sara pacified him.

"Right. I'll keep that in mind when I've gone without sex for six weeks, all because "he" loves me."

Hank readily accepted the leash and seemed to try very hard to be patient while Grissom took him out of the building, but once in the open air, his patience was at its limit and he pulled his master to his favorite spot to fertilize the bushes. Grissom had promised himself to see that the dog had gotten more exercise, so expanded their usual walk to twice its length.

The smell of pancakes hit him as soon as he entered his apartment and the scent excited his canine friend. Grissom unhooked the leash and watched as Hank ran to meet Sara in the kitchen but with a simple movement of her hand, to ward him off, he sat wagging his tail as he watched her. "Funny," Grissom thought as he approached them. "She has the same effect on me." She turned and looked at him with more welcome than she had shown the dog as she gave him a flirtatious smile while licking whipped cream from a spoon.

"What are you making?" He asked as he moved to stand next to her and looked at the purplish batter.

"Blueberry pancakes. And fruit salad." She picked up a piece of cantaloupe and placed it in his mouth. "Are you up for it?"

"It smells amazing. Do you want coffee?"

She nodded her head as she took another spoonful of whipped cream, then tried to talk around it. "I was going to make it, but didn't get that far."

Her mumbled speech made her laugh as she covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed its contents and he thought she never looked sweeter.

"Would you like to say that one more time?" He smiled at her.

"I "said", I was going to make it, but didn't get that far." She turned back to the stove and flipped two small pancakes, then looked at him with a mischievous glint to her eyes. "I can do that without using the flipper-thing, ya know."

"The flipper-thing? You're so technical."

"Turns ya on, doesn't it?" She gave a throaty laugh.

"Hmmm," he agreed as he watched her.

"Watch." She picked up the pan and jerked it, allowing the cakes to turn over in the air.

"Very good. And where, may I ask, did you learn to do that?"

"I used to have to entertain four little kids in one of my foster homes. I was around sixteen and they were all younger than ten. So, to keep them occupied, I learned to do little things to entertain them."

"Such a talent. Is there anything else you can do to occupy children?"

"Mmmm, I could. . .never mind. No, nothing."

"What were you going to say? You could. . .what?"

"Nothing–really. I mean, they were only little kids–gullible, really. How hard is it to find something to keep their attention?" She put two of the pancakes on a plate and poured two more.

"I wouldn't know. I don't have any experience with children. So, tell me–what did you do that was so bad that you don't want to tell me?" He moved to stand directly behind her and put his arms around her waist, pressed himself against her rump and rested his chin on her shoulder. The longer she went without answering, the more he moved his hips against her.

"Alright!" She chuckled as she pulled away from him. "I could make my finger disappear."

"You could. . ." He looked at her through squinted eyes, trying to figure out what she was talking about. "Where?"

"What do you mean, "where?" There's not many places to make your finger disappear, is there?" She thought for a moment then looked back at him. "Ew! That's disgusting! Like I'd do that in front of "anyone" let alone in front of children! No–I'd make it. . ." She went on very reluctantly. ". . .disappear up my. . .nose."

He couldn't stop the smile from tugging at his lips. "Show me."

"No, I'm not going to show you!" She glanced at him. "And don't be as naive as those kids–don't go shoving your finger up your nose just to see if it can be done. One or two of them actually got nosebleeds and I was in royal trouble after that."

"Show me," he repeated as he lifted his hand toward his face, threatening to insert it. ". . .or I will."

She looked at him, then back at the pan, then turned toward him. She bent her middle finger at the knuckle and placed the knuckle against her nostril while extending the other fingers up against her face, giving the illusion that the center digit was stuck completely inside.

"Ya know, that's kinda gross," he told her.

"Not to kids–they loved it."

He went back to the coffee pot and started to fill it with water. "Ya know, it was a little awkward working with Nick yesterday. The only thing that kept me from whacking him on the head was the fact that he didn't know whom he was talking to on the phone."

"Nick thinks the world of you, you should know that."

"Yeah, I could tell from the way he wanted to kick my ass."

"He was only trying to protect me. Can I help it he's a gallant man?" She leaned over and pecked his cheek. "I've been thinking. . .I want to get a new car."

"Why?"

"I don't know–I'm due for a change. I like that "new-car" smell. Do you want to help me look for one?"

He shrugged as he put a new filter in the basket and put grounds inside of it. "Sure. Are you in a hurry to get it? I mean, are the kind of person who goes into a dealership and takes the first thing that's offered? Or will you shop around?"

"Shop around. I don't know what I want yet, so I want to check several different makes." She moved their breakfast to the table and took her seat. "I want to start looking today, though."

"Okay–when, today?"

"Around noon. Then we can stop for lunch."

"We didn't even start eating breakfast and you're already thinking about lunch?" He sat opposite her and watched as she put a sizable amount of fruit on her plate and started eating.

"I'm hungry." She then got herself two pancakes some whipped cream, plus blueberry syrup. "I've been thinking."

"Again? Don't overdo it," he inserted, receiving a raised brow as she looked back at him. "I'm kidding. What have you been thinking?"

"About Easter. There was one Easter that I can remember, and that family got all the kids baskets that was filled to the brink with chocolate and jelly beans."

"That ought to have won your heart, right there. Is that what got you started on Snickers bars?" He sliced into his pancake and took a bite.

"No," she told him irritably, then went on with her thoughts. "The thing that really impressed me was the meal they had that morning. I mean, don't get me wrong, there were a lot of kids there and everything, but the food was enough to feed an army. I've been remembering that a lot lately. Do you think I could do something like that?"

He swallowed as he looked at her. "Do "what" exactly? Invite in a slew of kids and make Easter breakfast for them?"

"No–just make Easter breakfast–for us."

He thought about it a moment. "I'm not sure what all you have in mind, but wouldn't it be a lot of food for only two people. Wouldn't it be easier if I simply took you "out" for Easter breakfast? You don't have to cook and there would be no leftovers."

"When is Easter, anyway?"

"April eighth, I believe. I take it, this fascination with a religious holiday has nothing to do with the actual holiday, itself–merely an excuse to overeat?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yeah. Overeat Easter food."

"But you don't eat meat."

"I eat the side dishes. Then it's a date. . .first thing Easter morning, we're going for breakfast." She smiled at him as if she were still one of those children receiving the candy-loaded basket, but her smile dimmed as she looked down at her plate.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered automatically, then tried another bite of her pancake but quickly put her napkin to her mouth. "Damn! I thought I was over this crap!"

Grissom watched as she pressed her hand to her stomach.

"Are you sick–again?"

"No, not really sick. Just bloated and sometimes nauseated. It gets worse when we. . .ya know."

He wiped his own mouth as he looked up at her, misunderstanding her insinuation. "When we "what?" Make love?"

"No," she assured him. "No, I meant, when we argue. It happens when we run into tough cases, too. I think its stress-related."

"Can you finish eating? If it's stress, then starving yourself isn't going to help the situation."

"I'd hardly call it "starving myself." I'm making plans to eat some restaurant out of their profits next month."

He continued to watch her until she started picking at her fruit salad again, then when the coffee was ready she got up and poured them each a cup. By the time he finished with his breakfast, he noticed she had eaten only half of her food. He'd see that she made up for it at lunch, after they went automobile shopping.

They cleared off the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, then went into the living room and turned on the television as Hank sat on the floor between them. She leaned back in his arms as they watched the Discovery Channel for awhile, then he got up and moved to his office where he worked on a project he had begun. Before he knew it, Sara entered the room behind him and stroked the back of his neck. When he looked at her, he saw that she had changed her clothes and was ready to go on their exploration of the car world.

"Just let me change clothes and take Hank for a walk before we leave."

"I'll be in the living room watching the Food Channel."

It only took him about five minutes to change into a pair of jeans and sweatshirt, then he came out and hooked Hank to his leash. After another fifteen minutes, he was back, unhooking the dog but when he looked around the apartment, all he saw was Paula Deen on the television screen. Hank was the first to notice the person he was looking for as he stood at the end of the sofa wagging his tail. Grissom moved next to the dog and looked down at Sara who was sound asleep with her hands tucked under her cheek. He knew that at this point, rest was probably one of the best remedies for stress, so he went back into his office and let her catch up on all the sleep she had missed over the weekend.


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty-Three

The car shopping was delayed until much later that afternoon, and by the time they finished with the third lot, Sara was still undecided about what she wanted, so they put the search off until the following weekend. The next days varied between working three separate cases at once, to having only one job while the rest of the crew worked in the lab. It was during one of the light evenings that Grissom took Nick with him to investigate a fire that had three fatalities. The evidence, itself, was easily and quickly collected before the two men headed back to the lab. Grissom was more than happy with the comfortable silence taking place as he drove with Nick sitting in the passenger's seat, but Nick evidently felt otherwise.

"I–uh–had an interesting call last weekend," Nick started in a clear attempt to open a conversation, but Grissom didn't respond. "I was just finishing up a case when I got a call from a friend." Again, no response. "I worry a lot about this friend. . .and well, I'm afraid if I would've caught up with the ape she was with, I would've done some real damage."

This, perked Grissom's attention. "Really?"

"I threatened him on the telephone. If she would've let me, I would've caught up with them and pounded the shit outta the guy."

"And you felt you had to do this, without even meeting him?"

"I'm just so sick of my friend being mistreated by the men she sees. Awhile back she was seeing this paramedic who was engaged to be married to someone else the whole time he was seeing her."

"Uh, Nick, I don't know that we should be discussing a coworker like this."

"I guess you know I'm talking about Sara. It was no secret about Hank. But the problem is–she keeps going for these jerks. The next one cheated on her, too–and from what I understand the guy was a real loser, and the woman he cheated on her with was a real skank!"

"Uh, Nick. . ."

"You know, scum of the earth type."

"Nick. . ."

"And now she has another one–and this one abandoned her on a date. Just let her where she was. She had to call me to come and get her. Then, while I'm on my way–he comes back and picks her up! Can you imagine the balls on this guy?"

"But she went with him," Grissom tried to explain to the younger man, but Nick had no interest in defending the offensive date.

"Yeah–but did she really have a choice? I mean–who knows what he would've done if she wouldn't have gone with him."

"Sara's a capable woman, Nick. I'm sure she would've been fine."

"That's what they all think–and they're the ones you find beaten to a pulp in a ditch somewhere."

"But she wasn't."

"But she couldda been! Jeez, Griss! You sound like you're almost stickin' up for the guy!"

"I'm not sticking up for anyone. . ."

"Well, I'd think you'd stick up for Sara. I mean, I know there's this "crush" thing she has on ya and all, but still, that's no reason to wish her harm!"

"I'm not wishing anyone harm, Nick."

"Well, no–maybe not outright–but you'd think you'd at least be concerned if she was gonna get butchered by a lunatic boyfriend or not."

"No one is going to butcher Sara and throw her in a ditch."

"How do you know, though? All due respect, Grissom, but I'd think you'd have more compassion toward Sara. We all love her to death, and you don't even acknowledge she's alive. Instead you go get your cookies off at. . ." Nick stopped himself abruptly. "Well, I mean, when you compare Sara to . . ., well, there just aint no comparison. Sara's so full of life and beautiful and compassionate and intelligent!"

Grissom listened as Nick was working himself up into a fevered pitch.

"I never said she wasn't. . ." Grissom said as he pulled into the parking spot at the lab, noticing that Sara's car was close by.

"No–but you'd rather be with that. . . Ya know what? It's none of my business, but you're just as screwed up in your choices of women as Sara is in her choices of men. You two are quite the pair–only you won't. . .Ah, just forget it! I shouldn't have brought it up to you. I'll talk to Warrick or Greg about it–someone who loves her too."

Nick got out of the car, leaving Grissom to stare after him. He watched as Sara got out of her car and started toward the Denali, but was sidetracked by her dark-haired admirer.

"Hey, Sunshine! Where are ya headed?" Nick stopped Sara with a hand on her arm.

She looked back at Grissom and started to point. "I was just. . ."

"Come with me. I'm "always" glad to see ya. Come on, I'll buy ya a coffee."

"O-kay," Sara said as she started walking with the younger man, glancing over her shoulder at Grissom and giving him a "what-the-hell" look.

Grissom shrugged his shoulders and followed them inside.

Over the next few days, Grissom overheard various discussions between Warrick and Nick regarding the low-life who left Sara to fend for herself in the most dangerous parts of Las Vegas. They would then state that had they been there two weekends before, they'd have shown him what they thought of his ungallant behavior. While this was going on, Greg would usually stand close by and watch Grissom with an amused look in his eyes.

"Okay!" Nick said loudly as he was closing his locker. "I'm glad that night's over. Now–who's up for breakfast? It's been a long time since we all went out. Anyone else as hungry as I am?"

"Boy, I am," Sara said to no one in particular as she got her jacket, then glanced at Grissom. "I'm starving."

Sophia, who was walking down the hall on her way out of the lab, paused in the doorway to look at them. "Breakfast? I'm so hungry I could eat a horse about now. Anyone mind if I tag along?"

"Nope," Nick told her. "But I don't know if they actually serve horses there–they do some great steak though."

"I'll go," Greg spoke up as he started out the door. "Frank's?"

"Where else?" Nick chuckled. "Grissom? Up for breakfast?"

After a quick look back at Sara, and seeing the almost pleading expression in her eyes, he agreed to stop in at the diner. Another twenty minutes and the booth was being filled as Greg sat next to the window with Sara next to him and Nick on the other side of her. Grissom took the seat opposite Greg while Sophia squeezed in between him and Warrick.

The orders went out rapidly as Greg went more for brunch as he ordered a milkshake, BLT (bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich) and bar-b-que chips; Sara ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet; Nick got his usual half pound of steak with two eggs and hash browns; Warrick ordered a sausage and egg sandwich with orange juice; and Sophia settled for OJ, a slice of ham, two eggs and a bran muffin. Grissom went for bacon, hash browns and OJ. The coffee was taken for granted as they were all served with a pot of the brew when first arriving.

"So," Sophia started as she pulled the paper off her bran muffin. "You seeing anyone special, Nick?"

"Me?" He sounded surprised. "Nah. No one special. I guess the right one hasn't come along yet."

"There's someone special–he just doesn't want to say," Greg told her, bringing a chuckle from the blonde woman.

"No, there isn't," Nick said with a snort.

"Yes, there is," Warrick almost chanted. "He just doesn't want to admit it to anyone–especially her."

"He's being shy all of a sudden," Greg told her.

"You both know who it is?" Sophia asked. "Then it must be someone at work."

"A certain brunette we all know and admire," Warrick said then bit into his sandwich. "But, he's afraid to tell her."

"A brunette?" Grissom asked with a raised brow, looking over at Sara as she placed a portion of her omelet into her mouth, but for some reason was watching Greg's place with more interest. She didn't even seem to be aware of the conversation going on around her. "A brunette we all know?"

"Mmm-hmm," Warrick said with a smile. "Our little Casanova can't seem to work up the nerve to actually start anything with her."

"And she doesn't know?" Sophia cut into her slice of ham as she glanced back at Nick.

"She knows," Nick said with obvious embarrassment. "Sort of. She knows I think she's a great kid."

"A kid?" Sophia raised her brows. "She can't be that much younger than you."

"No, not a lot."

"Do we get to know what this lucky lady's name is?" Grissom asked as he still watched Sara as she repeatedly glanced over at Greg's food.

"No," Nick worked on his hash browns and eggs. "It's no one's business who she is. Some day, I'll get around to letting her know. But until then. . ."

"But Warrick and Greg know." Sophia teased. "How much coaxing do you really think it'll take to get the information out of Greg?"

"Nope, I'm not telling anyone until Nick gives the okay." He turned and looked at the woman sitting next to him. "Sara! What are you looking at? If you get any closer, I'll be pulling you out of my sandwich."

"Nothing," Sara said quickly as she looked back at her own plate and started cutting the omelet into pieces, but it didn't take long for her eyes to wander back to his plate. In a flash, her hand moved to grab some of his potato chips and stuff them in her mouth so quickly that Grissom wasn't even sure he saw correctly.

"God," Greg breathed quietly as he looked back at his dish. "Good thing I didn't have my fingers down there or you might've taken them off."

"So, who is it, Warrick?" Sophia continued to pry with amusement.

"Can't say. CSI confidentiality."

Nick smiled down at his plate and continued to eat, prickling Grissom's curiosity as he wondered just whom this brunette could be, and considering there was only one brunette on their team, he wondered, not for the first time, just how fond the young man was of Sara. But before he could investigate Nick's love life any farther, he caught Sara leaning closer to Greg and whispering to him.

"Greg, I'll pay you two bucks if you give me your chips."

"Here–take them." He put them on her plate but was listening to the conversation at the other end of the table.

"Okay, if Nick isn't going to spill the beans–Greg, what about you? You seeing anyone?"

"Of course. I'm seeing a lot of people. I'm never at a loss for a good time. What about you?"

"No time," Sophia told him as she spread butter on her muffin.

"Yeah," Warrick countered. "That's not what Brass said. He says there's a detective downtown who's working his way up your social ladder. Tall, dark and rather good looking, according to Brass."

"Ahh, who listens to Brass?" Sophia joked.

"Now, there's one we need to get hooked up. He hasn't had a decent date since I can remember," Warrick told her.

"Brass?" Nick asked. "Hmph. I never actually thought of him dating anyone."

Grissom allowed the conversation to continue about various members' romantic interests but he was still watching Sara as she slowly placed the pieces of crispness into her mouth.

"Excuse me," Sara called to the waitress as she was walking by. "Could you please bring me a glass of apple juice?"

"Certainly."

"And–do you have cheese curls?" After receiving an affirmative nod, Sara continued. "I'll take a bag of those, too."

"Apple juice and cheese curls?" Nick said as he looked at her. "I've never quite heard of that combination. Is it good?"

"The salty and sweet mixed together–what else can I say?"

"Hey, is anyone doing anything for St. Patty's Day?" Greg asked anyone who was listening.

"I didn't know you were Irish," Sophia said.

"I'm not–but its still a good excuse to celebrate. Go to a pub, get green beer, corned beef and cabbage. Party with the leprechauns."

"Sure–I'll go. Do you know of an Irish pub?" Nick asked.

"Every bar's an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day," Greg smiled. "And if they aren't, they should be."

"Sara?" Nick looked at her. "What about you? You wanna celebrate the green on Saturday?"

"Can't." Sara opened the small bag of cheese curls as they and the glass of apple juice were sat in front of her. "I've already got plans."

"Not with that jerk who left you stranded in the worst part of Vegas, is it?" Nick asked with raised brows.

"Nah," Sara assured him as she dipped a crunchy, orange-powdered delicacy into her juice, then popped it into her mouth. "It's with another jerk."

"Girl!" Nick started, but Sara calmed him with a hand on his forearm.

"I'm kidding. I'm actually planning on staying in and watching some old movies. There ought to be some great old flicks on–something Irish-oriented."

"Sean Connery is on in Darby O'Gill and the Little People," Sophia told her. "And I think he's on later in the Molly Maguires."

"Oh, I love Sean Connery," Sara told her. "Richard Harris is in that movie, too–isn't he?"

"Yeah–he was a looker when he was young–wasn't he?" Sophia chuckled. "And–the only Dumbledore as far as I'm concerned."

Grissom finished his breakfast and listened to everyone's opinion of the latest Harry Potter movie before turning back to the Irish flicks of the past, including John Wayne in the Quiet Man, which was Nick's favorite, to Roddy McDowell in How Green was My Valley which Warrick and Greg both liked. By the time the meals were complete, all members of the party were well fed with several of them to the point of swearing they were going to burst. They then declared their near exhaustion and the need for them to return home and get a good day's rest, and soon they were all in their cars, heading in separate directions.

A quick walk with Hank, and Grissom was back inside his apartment where he found Sara putting dishes away that had been in the dishwasher.

"You were awfully quiet at breakfast," she said as he entered the kitchen area with her.

"Didn't have much to say–not after hearing that Nick's got a crush on some hot brunette at the lab."

"So, I've heard," she smiled knowingly at him. "I'm surprised you hadn't heard about it–but then, no one probably thought you'd be interested."

"As long as its simply a "crush" and he doesn't act on it–I guess I don't have a problem with it."

"I should hope not," she said, then sighed as she put her hand to her back after straightening from the dishwasher. "I think I might've overdone it with the bending."

"Then come along, my dear," he said as he took her hand in his and started toward their bedroom. "I know the perfect way to get that crick out of your back."

"I'm sure you do," she chuckled as she opened her jeans and pushed them down over her hips as she walked backwards toward the bed. "I doubt you'll have a problem with "me" taking the crick out of "your" back, as well."

"No problem at all."

He smiled mischievously at her and started opening his shirt, then tossed it aside. He looked at the sight of her before him, standing tall and lean in just a tiny tee-shirt and her panties, and she looked heavenly. He was going to take her to the bed and join her there, but she had other ideas as she dropped to the floor in front of him. She opened his belt, then his button and zipper, and soon his pants were pushed down past his hips. He never tired of watching her perform this ritual of deep affection and as she brought her lips to touch the tip of him, his hand automatically found the thickness of her hair. She had a way of bringing him to full erection almost immediately and then her expertise would tease and coax him, never letting him hit full completion until she was absolutely ready for him to do so. He felt himself shiver as her lips moved along the length of him and her tongue circled him, applying the perfect amount of pressure in the most appropriate spots. He couldn't seem to look away as he watched her beauty and grace, and although he strained to remain gentle in his reaction to her, it wasn't too very long before he was moving his hips in an uncontrollable response to her enticement. His completion shook him and he thought for sure his legs would buckle from the power of it, but he remained standing as she lifted her head and smiled gently at him. He reached for her hand and assisted her to her feet, seeing her wince and hearing a tiny grunt as she straightened.

"You alright?" He asked as they moved onto the bed, prepared to administer as much attention on her as she had just given him.

"Not a good move to kneel down like that after unloading the dishwasher," she sighed, then turned and lay on her stomach as she gave him another small smile. "Nothing a little back rub won't cure."

He leaned down and kissed her lips, then lay next to her and stroked the length of her, feeling the tenseness in the small of her back. He enjoyed the texture of her smooth, soft skin as he slid his hands over her, feeling that the act was not only relaxing her, but easing the tension from himself as well. Soon, he noticed her even breathing, announcing that she had fallen asleep, then after pulling the blanket over them, he settled next to her and joined her in slumber.


	84. Chapter 84

Chapter Eighty-Four

Sara woke, opening her eyes to see the man of her dreams lying next to her. He watched her as his hand slid up beneath tee-shirt, taking his time as his large palm touched her belly and bottom of her chest, before pulling the cups of her bra up to free the flesh he was seeking. This procedure usually brought a warm groan of pleasure from her as she would lean into him and encourage him to go farther, but this time, as he gently squeezed her, she felt bruised and sore. She must be due for her period soon, she thought, they sometimes got sore a week or two before her menstruation. So, instead of allowing him to go on with his upper body caresses, she gently pulled his hand back down and placed it on her stomach as she leaned over to meet his lips with her own.

"You fell asleep before I could take care of you," he murmured against her.

She smiled as she looked at him, he looked so sweet with his hair messed from sleep and his eyes so blue she could drown in them. She stretched as she leaned into him and put her arms around his neck, allowing him to slide his hand over her waist to her back and pull her against him.

"That's because your back rub was so relaxing–I had no choice."

She knew what he was going to do next, even before he attempted it, and she lifted her leg to assist him as he pulled it up and over his hip. This always gave him greater access as he would press himself against her core and gently rock against her, slowly waking them and sending chills through her.

"You have a choice now."

"I do, don't I?" She nipped at his lips.

"So–choose."

"I choose–slow. . .and long. . .and without these." She pulled her leg back down and pressed her panties over her hips, then kicked them off of her long legs.

"And I say, without these."

He pulled her tee-shirt up until she maneuvered it over her head and off her arms, then removed her bra. She was a little wary of his attention he was evidently going to give to her breasts, but knew it wouldn't be too painful–just a bit sore. She had done this with him during previous pre-menstrual cycles, and actually, it was kind of nice once he got started.

Their fingers and hands began their exploration as their lips and tongues slowly teased one another. She sighed as she moved onto her back and he leaned over her, letting his hand splay across her stomach before moving up to cup a mound of breast. His desire to taste them pushed him to lower his head until he pulled a nipple into his mouth, sucking it intensely as his touch moved lower again.

"Gil," she breathed as she ran her fingers through the curls on his head and cradled him against her.

Her legs separated when he palmed her hips and then her thighs, giving him the access that she knew he was seeking. His fingers found her, gentle and slow as she had requested. He alternated between her lips, throat and breast, as if he couldn't decide which area he wanted to lavish his attention on the most, but never neglecting her lower areas. His fingers never ceased to amaze her; their size intensifying the sensations he was now an expert at creating. His knowledge of where to touch her, and how to stroke her had her writhing beneath him and when she was almost ready to tumble over the edge, he lifted his head to watch her. Her back arched, her legs shuddered and she couldn't seem to control her heavy breaths that rushed from her. When her orgasm hit its peak, he withdrew his fingers and gently stroked her hip and waist until she looked at him.

He finally smiled that little-boy smile as he lay next to her again. "Now, you can go back to sleep."

"You woke me up, so you could do that?" She chuckled as her hand touched his cheek.

"Hmm," he agreed. "I woke up and couldn't seem to resist it. You enthrall me."

Sara's smile faded as she looked at his face, its masculine beauty making her heart skip a beat. She continued to stroke his cheek then leaned in to gently kiss him.

"I love you, Gil," she whispered against his lips.

He answered her kiss, then pulled her more tightly against him as he rolled onto his back and she was resting with her head on his shoulder. She lay with her hand on his abdomen as she listened to his breathing getting more even and knew he was falling back to sleep. Soon, she joined him and didn't get back up again until that evening when she heard Hank bark his excitement at being taken out for a walk.

She took her time about getting up, then stripped the bed of its sheets and remade it. Her mind wandered to earlier that morning, and Grissom's odd statement regarding Nick's possible connection with a coworker. She couldn't quite understand why he was so resistant to the happiness of two people just because they work together, especially considering his relationship with her. Frankly, she thought Mandy was a lovely girl, and when she watched Nick interacting with her, she seems to bring a youth to him that made him beam with brightness. She would love to see Nick open up to the dark-haired girl. They were so cute together.

St. Patrick's Day came and went and Sara had a night planned of simply watching vintage movies and eating a bag of sour cream and chive potato chips and banana yogurt. The fact that Grissom got called to a case dampened her spirits, but soon she had Hank lying on the sofa with her as she fed him chips and shared her opinions of the movies he watched with her. The following week was the official first day of spring, although the temperature outside didn't quite agree. And it was while she was getting dressed for work that morning that the tightness of her jeans alerted her that her newfound desire for potato chips and cheese curls was increasing her waistline. She supposed the fact that she was eating one or two candy bars a night wasn't helping either. So, that night, before she left for work, she collected all evidence of her "snacks" and tossed them in the trash. She decided she was going on a strict fruit and yogurt diet.

The last weekend of the month she was scheduled to work and soon she was called out on a case that involved a young couple who were shot and left in their homes. It took nearly ten hours to collect all the evidence and when she got back to the lab, she felt drained, but still, she processed what she could for another four hours. By the time she got home, all she could think of was the following weekend when she planned on sleeping in and doing nothing–then Sunday morning going to have the Easter breakfast Grissom had promised her. She was due for a weekend of relaxation.

Mid-week she was given two comp days for the time worked during the weekend and she decided to go out and get a suitable set of clothes for her "date" in a few days. A nice pair of slacks and blouse ought to work. After that, she bought herself two planters with live tulips to help put her into more of a "spring" mood.

But, as always seemed to be the case, Saturday night came and by one o'clock Sunday morning, Grissom was called out on a case, promising to do his best to return for their date. By five o'clock Sara got the call she was dreading as she was informed that another case came up and everyone was needed on the scene.

It was a multiple homicide, six showgirls killed in their home. She slowly made her way up the dark stairs where she found Warrick searching one of the room. He promptly directed her to "follow the blood" to the next room where Grissom was.

"My date got canceled." She pointed her flashlight on Grissom.

"I'm sure he had a good excuse," he answered, somewhat apologetically.

She entered the room with him and looked at the body on the bed. "Looks like sexual assault, bound, pants pulled down."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Where do you want me?"

"Next bedroom. There's another body in there."

"Well, that makes five. The dispatch said there were six."

"According to Brass, the boyfriend of one of the victims found the bodies. He said there were six roommates, all showgirls. Evidently one didn't come home."

"She picked the right night."

Sara went to the next room where she found a girl lying on one of the beds. She looked at her, seeing that her throat was cut with a pool of blood below her neck and head. She flashed her light across the floor and soon found another trail of blood leading under the other bed. She got down on her knees to look beneath the furniture when a pair of hands reached out at her. Her shock was complete as she jumped back and screamed, "Hot scene! Suspect under the bed!"

She pulled her gun as she heard Grissom running from the other room.

"SARA!"

But the suspect she expected to find turned out to be another girl, barely holding onto what was left of her life.

"Please, help me. Please," the girl gasped and Sara dropped the gun immediately.

Her first reaction took her down, trying to crawl beneath the bed to get to the girl. "Hold on. Victim down! Call an ambulance!"

She went to the girl, took her hands in hers and felt her heart breaking as she tried to get information from her. She identified herself as Cammie. She was so young, and the chances of her making it out alive were slim–but still, if they moved fast enough–if she could hold onto her tight enough–maybe. . .maybe. . .

Sara stood outside, giving her statement to Brass, wondering just what good she was doing. In the end, the Cammie died and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Brass was overly gentle in his questioning but soon had to move on with his work, leaving Sara to hers. This time, she took the perimeter of the house where she found evidence they were in need of. As the sun rose, she made her way back inside where she found Nick taking photos of the area.

"He used a chair to jam this door," she told him.

"I heard about what happened," Nick said, concern filling his face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, giving him a smile that told him she was still quite shaken.

"There's a custom-made label on a wine bottle over there."

Nick pointed to the object then turned back to what he had been taking pictures of. Sara examined the bottle and recalled something Cammie had said, thinking perhaps the wine bottle had something to do with the case. They discussed the possibility of the killer having poured wine down Cammie's throat, then Nick saw the despair in Sara's eyes as she looked around the room.

"It was good that you were there for her, Sara. She didn't have to die alone."

Sara looked at him, her emotion showing through to Nick, the one who could feel things as deeply as she. "We usually show up too late to meet the victim."

They worked together off and on throughout the rest of the day, at one point leaving Sara to discuss Cammie with Doc Robbins where she found that the girl had given birth at one poin. Later, when there was a lead out in the field, she and Nick met Brass at a suspect's home. While they were waiting, another victim was stabbed, sending Sara and Nick to the scene in hopes of connecting it with the showgirl murders. When they arrived there, Sophia was working the case of a man who was lying in the street with a stab wound to the neck. Nick found what appeared to be the weapon they had been looking for, prompting Sara to go in the ambulance with the latest victim in hopes of getting some kind of information. Against Nick's advice, she got into the ambulance and rode to the hospital with the man, holding his hand to calm him as they went.

Sara stayed at the hospital and took evidence from the victim, her sympathy for him communicating through her gentleness. But as she fingerprinted him, the suspicion slammed into her that perhaps her newest victim was, in fact, the suspect they had been looking for. When he saw the realization cross her features, he grabbed her and as she fought him off, she was convinced she had the right man.

She returned to the lab, her sympathy now turned into blatant anger as she explained her reasoning to Grissom in a rather loud manner. She went to join Nick at the car that was brought in and they went through the objects found in the trunk, quickly proving that the man in the hospital had indeed attacked the six showgirls.

It fell upon Sara to contact Cammie's child's father. As she went through baby pictures of the child, she felt such a deep compassion for the child's loss, even though Cammie wasn't raising her. Still, the child had lost her mother.

"The biggest regret of my life," the young man told Sara. "is not marrying Cammie and raising Finn together. I wanted to, but she said we were too young. Maybe if we had. . ."

"Cory," Sara interrupted. "You can't blame yourself."

"Were you with her when she died?" Cory asked and received an affirmative nod. "At least Cammie died knowing kindness."

This didn't help ease her despondency. She simply nodded again.

In the emptiness of the lab, Sara stood with Grissom, both watching the newscast about their case with the murderer's face on the screen.

"I held his hand," Sara looked at Grissom with tears streaming down her face, then back to the television. "Just like I held hers. I lost perspective."

Grissom reached up and wiped a tear, then put his arm around her waist and started down the hall with her. She needed to go home to the security of Grissom's arms. She vaguely took notice of the woman mopping the floor as they passed her, images of a similar girl standing in a restaurant's parking lot from weeks before crossed her mind for a moment, but was soon lost in her grief.

She walked with him to the garage then started for her car but he stopped her.

"Are you really up to driving? You can ride home with me," he said gently as he held onto her hand.

She closed her eyes as more tears fell from them, then nodded her head and he guided her into the passenger's seat of his car. She put her sunglasses on to guard against the evening sun, and felt pain starting in her temples. The more Grissom drove with the sun shining at her, the more the pain in her head throbbed. She released the hand that had been holding onto hers as she pressed her fingertips to her forehead and leaned her against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her next moment of awareness came as she heard Grissom saying her name. She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling next to the car at her opened door.

"Oh," she whispered. "I fell asleep."

"It's alright. Come on, we'll go inside and I'll make you something warm to drink." He escorted her from the car, walking next to her until they entered the apartment. "What would you like? Cocoa? Mint tea? Coffee?"

"I don't know. Whatever you feel like drinking or making."

She went into the bedroom and turned on the shower as she listened to him put Hank on his leash and take him out for a quick walk. When she finished, she dressed in lounge pants and a tank top, then came back out to the kitchen where she found Grissom just pouring some steaming cocoa into a large mug. He then poured some coffee into another mug and nodded toward the sofa as he carried them. She sat next to him with her feet tucked beneath her and held the cup as if to warm herself.

"She had a child." Sara looked at Grissom for some of his reasoning. "She gave her up because she was so young when she had her."

"She probably wasn't mature enough to raise a child, and she realized it. She evidently felt the child would be better off being raised by someone else. And," he said gently. "I imagine she planned on having more children, later."

"And now the child will never have the opportunity to know her mother."

"Sara, she wouldn't have known her anyway. The child won't feel the loss."

"Maybe not now–but later, when she's an adult. She'll probably want to meet her only to find out that she's dead."

Sara watched as Grissom thought a moment, seeming to leave the realm of their conversation for a moment. "It might sound callous, but it's so much easier when a child loses a parent, than a parent losing a child."

Sara looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking of the comparison between the sadness a child feels over the loss of a parent, and the anguish a mother feels when they lose a child. I can only imagine. . . Never mind." He looked at her and took her hand in his. "How's your headache?"

She blinked at his abrupt change of subject, then sipped at her cocoa. "Better, but its still there–kinda nagging. How did you know I even had a headache? I didn't say anything."

"I saw you rubbing your forehead in the car while you were sleeping." He put his coffee on the end table and turned toward her, allowing her to maneuver herself until she was leaning back in his arms. "Maybe some more rest will help. Did you take anything for it?"

"Two Tylenol."

"A good night's rest ought to help. And I think it would be best if you didn't come in tomorrow morning when I go in. Wait until regular shift. You need a break."

She leaned more fully into his arms, sipping at her cocoa as she stretched her legs out along the sofa.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"We missed Easter."

"I'll make it up to you next Sunday. I promise."


	85. Chapter 85

Chapter Eighty-Five

"HOT SCENE! SUSPECT UNDER THE BED!"

Grissom shot for the other bedroom, his need to get to Sara so fierce that he couldn't even find his voice until he stopped in the doorway.

"SARA!"

The sight of her lying on the floor with blood flowing from her stomach sent a chill through him so frigid that he found it hard to move. She held onto her injury, her hands red with the liquid escaping her body as she slowly turned to look at him. She reached out, tears streaking down her face as she tried to get to him, and yet he couldn't move. Then she stopped trying and turned away from him. His heart was shattering as he remained frozen, unable to assist her as he watched the life drain from her eyes.

The cell phone woke Grissom earlier than expected. He had been stretched out on his back with one arm covering his eyes and the other one hanging off the bed. He blindly reached for the phone and was instructed to meet Brass as soon as possible. He grumbled back, then ran his hand over his face as he tried to shake the nightmare he had just suffered through. As he clicked his cell closed, he turned and looked at Sara as she slept next to him. She was usually the one who woke first at the sound of the cells, but her even breathing continued in uninterrupted sleep. She seemed so peaceful and yet the dream haunted him. Hell, the memory of her shout of warning weighed more heavily on him than even he had imagined it could have. This was their job. They were to expect such possibilities. But her shout continued to play through his head, each time terrorizing him more than the last.

He turned onto his side and slid his body lower until he was lying face-to-face.

"You're staring at me," she mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes.

"Yes. I am. I thought you were sleeping," he answered.

"I was. Until you told Brass to shove his fuckin' case up his ass."

He chuckled as he watched her. "I didn't say anything like that."

She opened her eyes and looked at him with a bit of mischief. "But you were thinking it."

"You're probably right."

She moved closer to him as he put his arms around her. "I guess that means you have to leave right now."

"I guess it does."

She slid her hands up beneath his tee-shirt, sending sensations through him that he didn't want to to deal with right now. "You'll call me if you need me–right?"

"Of course." He leaned closer and gave her a quick kiss then got off the bed and went to meet Brass, Greg and David Phillips.

The case ran well into the next day, giving them only about eight hours of rest before returning to the lab again. This time, Grissom sent everyone out in the field while he stayed in to do an autopsy on a man they pulled from Lake Meade. The invasion of a rat during his and Doc Robbins' examination added some entertainment for him and when the end of the shift came, he and Sara were both on their way home, hoping to have a normal sixteen hours away from work.

"Did you happen to stop at the store on the way home?" Sara called from the foyer where she was unhooking Hank from the leash.

"No. Was I supposed to?" He asked as he closed the door and joined her.

"Hank's getting low on food, and we could use a few things."

"Now? Couldn't it wait until we wake up this afternoon?"

"Yes," she said as she turned and started back toward the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice. "There's no particular rush."

"No cheese curls to dip in your juice?" He asked as he grabbed a pear from the dish on the table and bit into it. "Or is that what we're going to the grocery store for?"

"No. Evidently you haven't noticed that I stopped eating chips and cheese curls. Some observant investigator you are." She took another sip of her juice, then opened her jacket to show him her tee-shirt covered body. "I've been gaining too much weight lately. Surely you noticed that!"

"Um." He looked at her softly rounded stomach, then at her breasts, which were the things that he actually noticed. The fact that they were larger was a bonus as far as he was concerned. But then she had a tendency to swell a little before she got her period. "Yeah–but its nothing out of the norm. You'll slim down again after you get your period. You always do."

"Oh! That reminds me!" She moved to the calendar and looked at it until she saw her writing on it. "I've got an appointment for my shot on Saturday afternoon. And you're not forgetting about our Easter breakfast we're cooking Sunday morning–right?"

"No, I didn't forget. But, that's something else we need to get at the store."

"Don't worry. I've got a list."

"Did you move the peanut butter?" He was searching through the cabinet when she turned to look at him as if he were a child.

"If you mean "put it away," then yes, I moved it." She came back to him and opened a door he hadn't looked in yet, then handed him the jar.

"And the. . ." He started.

She grabbed the loaf of bread from the new bread box she had gotten. "Right here."

"When did you put that there?" He asked as he went about making himself a peanut butter sandwich.

"Last week. See how observant you are?" She started back toward his bedroom. "Do you mind if I shower first?"

"No, go ahead."

He finished making his sandwich and poured a glass of milk, then went to his office where he worked on the project he had started a few days prior. He got lost in his measuring and cutting until Hank entered the room with him and sat at his feet. He looked at the dog a moment, then glanced at his watch. He had been working for nearly two hours. No wonder he was getting tired. He found Sara already asleep as he crossed the bedroom and went for his shower, then after he finished, pulled on a pair of sweat pants and tee-shirt, then crawled into bed and spooned behind her. She mumbled something he wasn't sure of as she continued to sleep and put her hand on the arm he had around her waist.

He slept heavily and when he finally woke, he noticed it was dark outside. Sara wasn't in bed next to him so he slowly got up and made his way to the bathroom, then went for the kitchen. There were no signs of her as he went through the apartment turning on lamps here and there to combat the darkness. He went back to the kitchen where he came across her note, alerting him that she went to pick up the things they needed and would return soon. He moped around the living room, giving Hank a rub on the back when he came to sit close to him, then turned on the television. After finding nothing of interest, he went to his bedroom again where he noticed a piece of luggage sitting in the corner. Jeez, he couldn't believe he hadn't unpacked that since his arrival home from his sabbatical over two months ago. Granted, it was only his research materials and books, but they should have been put away long ago. He started unloading some files, noting that some of them had fallen to the bottom of the bag during his transport back to Nevada. He put the ones he could reach on a pile on his dresser, to later be taken to his office and filed. Next came several books that he sat on the bed before going back to get the rest of the files. He put the empty piece of luggage in his closet, then took the files to his office where he put them where he wanted them.

"Hey," Sara's voice came from the doorway.

He looked up to see her face flushed from the cool air. He couldn't stop the smile of appreciation as he watched her, and she, in turn, smiled questioningly back at him.

"Done shopping?"

"Yeah. I only went to the grocery store. Did you just get up?"

He shrugged his shoulders as he started walking out of the room. "About twenty minutes ago. You look cold."

"A little."

"Do you want warmed up?"

"Are you offering?"

"Yes, I do believe I am." He followed her back into the bedroom where she saw his books piled on the bed.

"Looks like you finally put your things away–at least most of them."

She picked up the books and put them on the night stand on her side, glancing back over her shoulder to look at him.

"I'll–uh–put them away later."

He watched as she faced him and started removing her clothes, but her expression was completely baffling as she watched him pull his tee-shirt over his head, then lower his sweats and step out of them. She quickly stripped out of her clothing and watched as he moved toward her. She felt chilled as he slid his hands up her arms, but nothing he couldn't warm in a matter of seconds. She walked backwards with him until they hit the mattress and they lowered themselves onto it. She immediately put her arms around his neck, her fingers delving into the hair at the back of his head as she pulled him down on top of her. His hand slid up her waist until he got to her breast, its fullness pleasing him as he lowered his lips to touch hers.

"Gil," she breathed against him as she wrapped her long leg around his thicker one.

"Hmm?" He moved his kiss down to her neck as she stroked his back.

"You'll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store."

"Okay," he said as he nuzzled on the sensitive area where her shoulder met her neck.

"Okay–what?" She giggled.

"Okay–I'll never guess."

"Don't you want to know?" She asked as his hand massaged her left breast and he went lower, kissing the mound on her right side.

"Do I have a choice?" He pulled her hardened nipple into his mouth and suckled on it, making her gasp. But still, she kept talking and he wondered just what it was going to take to make her stop.

"No!" She said with a bit of excitement. "It was Doc and Mrs. Robbins."

"That's nice." He moved his kiss back up her chest and to the other side of her throat.

"He said there was a rat inside the Lake Meade floater."

"Mmm-hmm," he answered, already picking up on the change in her tone and knowing this lovemaking session was not going to be as romantic as he had planned.

"And, he said that when he cut the guy open it practically exploded out of the guy's abdomen."

"Uh-huh."

"Then he said you screamed like a little girl!" She couldn't hold the amusement any longer as he lifted his head and saw her smiling broadly.

"I did not! "He" was the one who was making all the racket!"

"He said you ran away so fast that you knocked over his light and broke it."

"I did not! I wasn't trying to run "away!" I was running after it!"

"That's not what he said. He said he never saw you jump so far as when that rat came out of the guys guts. He said you musta jumped three feet in the air!" She giggled. "And that was when you screamed like a girl."

"I didn't scream! And if you would've been there, you would've jumped too. Hell, it looked like a scene out of "Alien!"

"Did you really break his light?"

"I don't know! All I know is I tried to kill the damned thing but missed, then I went after it. It wasn't my fault the light was sitting right in front of me."

"So, you ran into it?" She giggled.

"Yes, I ran into it," he conceded, then turned onto his back. "But I didn't scream like a girl."

"Oh? What did you scream like?"

"I keep telling you, I didn't. I just ran after it. But it was too fast. I heard several people scream from the hall, though."

"Okay," she tried to say solemnly as she turned against him and put her hand on his chest, lightly rubbing the area. "So, you didn't scream."

"No. I didn't."

"You maintained your composure as you jumped three feet in the air, ran over a light and couldn't catch a rat."

"You're really killing the mood, Sara." He turned toward her again and pulled her leg up over his hip.

"But I wish I would've been there to see it!" She said with excited eyes. "Or better yet, film it!"

"Next time I get a rat-infested corpse, I'll call you in to assist. Okay?"

She giggled at him again. "But that'll take the surprise out of it. I want to hear you scream. . ."

"Like a girl. Yeah, I know," he finished for her, then reached down and positioned himself as he slid inside her velvety sheath. "Now I want to year "you" scream"

"Ohh, Gil," she breathed against his ear as he rolled on top of her.

"Or moan," he told her as he started moving his hips slowly, his erection growing harder with each stroke. "Moaning is always a good sign."

He lowered his arms as he slid them under her knees, drawing them up and opening her widely as he held himself up with his hands on either side of her. His hips moved in a more powerful rhythm as he watched her face. She had the most amazing way of staring at him as she slid her hands along his arms until they reached his shoulders, then back down again. Her gaze would go to his chest and she would reach between them, running fingertips down from his nipples clear to where their bodies joined. And when she looked at his face, her mouth would open enough that he could see the small gap between her teeth, sometimes slipping her tongue out to moisten dry lips. He usually read what she wanted, like now, as she looked at him and arched her back slightly as she gently pulled on his shoulders. He lowered himself until his lips covered hers, sliding his tongue over her lower lip, nipping it slightly before thrusting inside to feel that separation between her central incisors. He touched her tongue with his own, slid along it, tasted it and sucked it into his mouth before letting her do the same. He could feel her breathing alter as her hands moved over his back until they stopped on his backside, squeezing it, pulling it against her with each stroke.

He looked down at her, her moaning increased as she slid her feet down the backs of his thighs and calves and her hands slid over his back and arms.

"God, you feel amazing," she told him as he moved lower and spread kisses across her chest, feasting on them until she started moaning again. "Gil. . ."

His hips moved faster as he felt himself nearing his completion and could tell from the sounds that she was making that she was nearly there as well. He moved his hand down between them, sliding his finger between her folds as he moved within her and circled her hardened nub, causing her to thrust her head back against the pillows. He strummed her, bringing them both so close.

"Sara, baby, come for me," he breathed against her jaw line, and almost upon his suggestion, he felt her walls clamping down around him in spasms that made him grit his teeth in an attempt to hold out just a little longer, but when the sounds erupted from her throat, announcing her immense pleasure, he couldn't stop and came in a shuddering explosion.

He lay on top of her, catching his breath as he lazily ran his fingers over her upper arm, then slid them up her shoulder until he touched her jaw and turned her face toward him to receive his gentle kisses.

"You do that sooooo well," she told him then chuckled when he merely gave her a tiny smile.

"I try my best." He rolled onto his back as he pulled her against him in a tight embrace.


	86. Chapter 86

Chapter Eighty-Six

Sara lay on her stomach watching as Grissom got out of bed. The sight of his bare ass brought a tiny smile to her. He had a gorgeous ass, but didn't like to be complimented on it. She let her eyes travel up his back and then down over his legs. Hell, there wasn't a thing about him that she would change. They had just finished making love an hour earlier and spent that hour talking about their plans for the weekend, which included car shopping on Saturday and, of course, their planned breakfast on Sunday morning.

She knew she had to get up and get ready for work, too, but at the moment she was enjoying the view of her lover getting clean clothes from his dresser.

"Have you seen my brown shirt?" He rifled through the drawer and when she didn't answer immediately, he turned to look at her. "You know, the one with the high collar–button up the front?"

"Probably still in the dryer," she said as she slowly got up from the bed and sauntered across the room until she stood directly in front of him and asked lazily, "Would you like me to get it for you?"

She watched as his eyes traveled over her body as if in indecision, then after a barely audible groan, started walking toward the bathroom. "Could you, please? You can have the shower after I'm done."

She watched him disappear behind the bathroom door, then pulled on a pair of panties and her tee-shirt. She retrieved his shirt and placed it on his pile of clothing he took into the bathroom with him, then she came back out and went about preparing herself a bowl of cereal, adding some strawberries and half a banana to it. When he came out, fresh from his shower he stopped in front of her and looked at the food she was eating. She smiled as she got a spoonful and lifted it to his mouth where he gratefully ate it. She finished it while he pulled on his socks and shoes, then went for his keys before coming back and kissing her. As was their usual custom lately, she would take a quick shower, then follow him, arriving approximately half an hour after him.

They had been at the lab nearly half their shift; she, sorting through some evidence left over by day shift, and he, doing paperwork in his office. On nights like this, when everyone else was out in the field or off, they had the freedom to take their breaks together and she found it comforting as they would each get coffee in the break room and either she would read as he worked on crosswords, or they would discuss their cases they were working on, or some nights, they simply sat quietly on the far side of the table and had the opportunity to hold hands or sit with a hand on a thigh. Tonight as they ate their lunch, they sat side-by-side, then once they were finished, he reached down and lifted her legs onto his lap, gently stroking the skin he could reach up her pant leg and massaging her calves. She watched as his cell went off and he answered it, getting the information he needed before hanging up and looking at her.

"There's a DB that I need to go to," he told her as he continued stroking her leg, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made her curious.

"And. . .you need help?"

"I–yeah, it wouldn't hurt. . .but you may not want to go. It's at the Sugar Cane Ranch."

"The–Sugar Cane Ranch," she said as she eyed him. "And this is? What?"

"Um, well, it's a . . ."

"Must be pretty bad if you can't get it out. Are you trying to say it's a whorehouse?"

"Well, I would've called it a brothel. . .but yeah, that's where it is. I can understand if you don't want to go along."

"Like hell," she said as she dropped her feet to the floor and stood up, ready to go. "Like I'm going to let you go to a whorehouse without me being there to keep an eye on you!"

She could hear him chuckling as he followed her out of the break room. They got their coats and a kit then headed for the Denali where Grissom got behind the wheel and started out toward the desert. They were just leaving the city lights behind when Sara turned toward him and watched his profile. He glanced over at her and smiled slightly.

"You really didn't have to come along to babysit me. You know that, don't you?" He asked.

"Actually, I'm sitting here wondering if we shouldn't stop along the way so I can take care of you. That way, you'll be all satiated and won't notice all those young, firm, bodies quite so quickly."

"And just where do you intend me to stop? I think they'd notice if we were half an hour late. Anyway, you already took care of me tonight. I'm quite satisfied, thank you."

"Well," she teased as she sat back in her seat again. "It's your loss. If you're not interested in a mind-boggling blow job. . ."

"Jesus," he said under his breath and pulled the Denali off to the side of the road, making her sit up and look at him in surprise.

"Gil! God! I was joking!"

He looked straight ahead and whined like a child. "Don't joke about something like that! That's not something to joke about! Jesus!"

She started to smile at his discomfort and watched as he pulled out onto the road again.

"Are you saying you "wanted" a mind-boggling blow job?" She chuckled at him.

"That's rather a lame question, don't ya think?" He glanced sideways at her.

"Then pull over again."

"No. Too late now. You're laughing at me. You killed the mood."

She unhooked her seat belt and leaned very close to him as she put her hand on his coat-covered chest and blew into his ear.

"Come on, honey," she whispered in a sultry voice. "You know I can do it."

"I know," he chuckled as he put his hand on hers and held onto it. "I know very well that you are more than capable of doing it. That's why I won't be able to look at you the rest of the morning without thinking about it. So, if you see me walking around with a hard-on, just know its from having dirty little thoughts of your lovely mouth."

This time she laughed openly at him as she moved back into her seat and re-fastened her seatbelt. "That's a crock, and "you" know it. Once you start seeing these young things prancing around, you won't even realize I'm with you."

"Honey, "you" are quite young enough for my taste. Anything younger seems like they could be my daughter–not my preference by any means."

"Really? Does that mean that the next time we have sex, I don't get to dress up as the naughty little school girl to your big bad teacher?"

"No."

She chuckled as she settled into her seat again and prepared for the long ride ahead of them.

Sara thought she knew what to expect when they arrived, but the walk to the DB was a bit much to take in. Statues and pillars lined the walkway as if she were in Ancient Rome. She wondered if they could get any tackier. They barely had time to look at the body before a half-naked young lady approached them and she noticed Gil had no problems "looking" at the girl. They examined the body and upon finding that the temperature of the pool water was like bath water, she was educated further by the good Dr. Grissom. He explained that establishments like this, kept the water warm on purpose to "encourage the girls to swim topless." This time she couldn't stop herself as she looked at him and her eyebrow automatically raised. She didn't know how else to describe the expression that covered his face other than shock at his stupidity for alerting her that he knew about this. He quickly covered it with a "So they tell me."

By the time the sun came up, Nick, Greg and Brass joined their investigation. As Nick worked with her by the pool, Grissom joined Greg inside to collect DNA samples. She didn't even want to "think" about what was going on inside that building. Her imagination could run rampant, so she kept her mind on the work she and Nick were doing. She did find it a bit odd, though, the way Greg looked at her as he came out and took his evidence to his vehicle. She couldn't tell if he was angry, or had hurt feelings as he looked at her, then dropped his gaze and loaded up. She would've gone to ask if he was alright, but Grissom exited the building long enough to call her to join him. She looked at how Greg glanced back at Grissom and she knew that whatever happened, involved the older man. She'd make sure she got to the bottom of it later.

"Twenty-five people here last night and nobody sees anything," Grissom tells her as they walked toward the building the victim stayed in.

Sara's mind wasn't on the victim though. After seeing Greg's reaction to Grissom, other thoughts were starting to surface. "So–uh–you've been to a place like this before?"

"I worked a murder-suicide at the Naughty Kitty once."

"No-no. Come on, you know what I mean."

"As a customer?" He asked in what appeared to be shock. "No."

"You've never paid for sex?"

"I have not. I find the whole idea very–bleak."

"Really? How come?"

"Sex should provide the opportunity for human connection, but paid sex does the opposite of that. To me–sex without love is–pointless. It makes you sad."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad," she smiled at him.

"No. You make me happy."

She worked the rest of the morning with Nick before she went back to the lab and Grissom sent her home. They had all the evidence they needed at this point and she had already put in fourteen hours. He told her he hoped to be home soon.

She stayed awake as long as she could, but gave up by three o'clock and went to bed. Although he was there with her when she woke at nine that evening, she barely had time to talk to him as he slept until he only had enough time to get ready for work. The night was a replica of the night before and she really hadn't given much thought to Greg until she saw him in the hall toward quitting time, but before she had a chance to talk to him, he made it out the exit. She left that morning with wonderful expectations of the next two nights she was to have off, but as was the case lately, she and Grissom were called in late that afternoon. He only used her for several hours, then sent her home, and what was even more surprising was that he actually came home in the middle of a case.

They started watching Godzilla in the bedroom as she ate a snack of yogurt. When she expressed her sympathy for the creature, Grissom advised her to turn off the movie before they destroyed "poor thing." He got up and left her, taking Hank with him as he headed for his office. Sara reached for the remote control on her night stand, noticing the books that she had sat there two days earlier and still weren't put away. But this time, she noticed the envelop stuffed between the pages of the top book. She pulled it out, seeing her name across the front of it and recognized Grissom's writing immediately. She glanced in the direction he had gone, wondering if she should actually open it, or would be better off putting it back in case it was something she didn't want to know; something he had written and not had the nerve to give her.

Her curiosity won out and she opened the envelop and began reading words that were melodic and full of sentiment; quite clearly having been written nearly three months ago while on sabbatical. She let the emotion of his phrases wash over her and it became somewhat overwhelming. The beauty of his words; borrowed by another, flowed almost as a melody. She finished reading and glanced back toward the hallway, not knowing what to do. She couldn't help but wonder just what kept him from sending it to her; something that kept him from wanting her to read it; something that perhaps made him change his mind. She slipped the letter back into its envelop and put it back in the book.

When Sara woke the next morning, Grissom had already gone back to work on the case that needed wrapped up from the day before. She wasn't needed and since it was her day off, she lounged around the apartment until it was time to go in for her depo injection. She entered her gynecologist's office, and waited, somewhat impatiently, for her doctor to come into the examining room with her. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was only about twenty minutes, a woman entered the room and went to the laptop on the desk.

"Good afternoon, Sara."

Sara nodded her acknowledgment, wanting to simply receive her shot and leave. "Dr. Lewis."

The woman pulled up Sara's records on the laptop, and looked up her. "It looks like we haven't seen you for awhile."

Sara gave a tiny shrug. "Three months–the same as usual."

Dr. Lewis pulled her chair back and looked at Sara. "Sara, you haven't been here for six months. This is the first time you've missed an appointment since I started seeing you."

"What do you mean?" Sara thought the doctor was being absurd. She was always here every three months, like clockwork. "That's impossible."

"Impossible or not, you never showed up for your appointment in January."

"Of course I did. . ." Sara began, thinking back to January and what exactly she had been doing. With some quick calculations, she realized that January was when Grissom was gone and Keppner was working with them. January was when she, Warrick, Nick and Greg were so involved in the possibility of something dirty going on that they had no time to think of anything else. She was so consumed by work and missing Grissom that she didn't even think about her doctor's appointment. She looked blankly at the older woman. "I–I forgot."

"Don't look so concerned, Sara," Dr. Lewis smiled at her. "We'll just get a pregnancy test and then get your shots started again."

"Pregnancy test?" Sara asked as if in a daze.

"Yes, we don't want to put you on depo-provera if you're pregnant. But the chances of that are slim. Simply a precaution."

Suddenly Sara was feeling a bit lightheaded. Memories of symptoms came flooding back to her like a tidal wave. How could this have happened? She was a woman in her mid-thirties for Christ's sake! It wasn't like she was some feather-brained teenager. She was responsible! Words started spilling from Sara's mouth, relaying symptoms she's had for the past two months or so, and before she realized it, there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Dr. Lewis got to her feet and handed Sara a tissue as she patted her hand compassionately. A quick urine test was completed and Sara knew the reason behind all her "stress-related" illnesses these past weeks. A physical examination followed by an ultrasound told Sara that she was twelve weeks pregnant.

Dr. Lewis was as caring as she could be, asked questions that needed to be asked, and then started setting up appointments for tests that needed to be done. After more than two hours in her office, Sara was walking outside, into the spring sunshine. She was numb and didn't know what to do–so she just walked.

She was going to have a baby–Grissom's baby. Would he be angry? Would he be accepting? They had never discussed the possibility of children, other than to ask if she was on birth control. She must have walked for over an hour before she came to a mall and found her way inside. She slowly made her way down through the center, noticing children now more than she ever had before. She paused when she came to Tiny Tots Clothing Store and stared at the racks of pant-sets. She saw one side of the small store had the blues and greens with puppy dogs and footballs in their pattern, while the other side was in the pinks and yellows with many flowers and ducks. Toward the center was the beige clothes with a lot of teddy bears. Then she saw her reflection in the glass and saw the roundness of her stomach. How could she have been so ignorant of the signs that were flashing before her very eyes? Somehow her hand found her stomach, lying protectively over the bump and what was inside. She looked back inside the store and wondered if she would be buying blue or pink, or going the middle of the road with beige.

"When are you due?" A woman who looked as if she were ready to pop asked as she paused to stand next to her.

"I–I. . ." Sara tried to get out, but the reality of saying it was a bit difficult. "The doctor just told me I'm due October twenty-sixth."

"A Halloween baby," the woman smiled at her as she rubbed her extended abdomen. "I'm due any day now. If you're looking for clothes for yourself, I've got to recommend Great Expectations–it's just down there. Their prices are great, and the quality is wonderful."

"I–I'll do that. Thank you."

Sara watched as the woman went into Tiny Tots and looked at some onsies, then moved on to some receiving blankets. Great Expectations made her curious as she walked down a few stores, and she was surprised to find clothes that "she" would feel comfortable in. Her pants have been getting tight, and really, her tee-shirts have been a bit snug, as well. It wouldn't hurt to get a few things, she thought, and before she knew it she was walking back to her car with two blouses and two pairs of pants.

She had a lot of time to think about her new set of circumstances and although she was a bit nervous about telling Grissom, she decided that she would wait until the breakfast they had planned the following morning. It would be in a private, relaxed atmosphere, and hopefully, with a full stomach, it might make the news easier to give, as well as receive.

Sara pulled into her parking spot at Grissom's apartment at almost seven. She carried her bag with one hand, while subconsciously holding her abdomen with her other. The silence of the apartment alerted her that Grissom was gone, then upon finding his note on the table, she saw that he got called into work early because day shift was short again. She wasn't to worry because he expected to be back by midnight and they could carry on with their plans for making breakfast the following morning.

Sighing, Sara went to the refrigerator and opened it; looking at its contents with new eyes.

"Well, little one, what would "you" like me to eat? An apple? Coming right up," she actually giggled as she grabbed the red fruit and went to the sofa where she chomped into its crispness and rubbed her stomach. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna work out fine. I think you and I are gonna be really good friends."

It was two hours later that she got a call from Catherine. She needed help at a theme park. A woman had been strangled, but at this point was still alive. She needed help collecting evidence in what looked to be a town out of the old west.

Sara grabbed her jacket and went to meet Catherine at the address she had given her.


	87. Chapter 87

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Thoughts of a newborn raced through Sara's mind as she drove to the scene and she knew Grissom would have no choice but to fall in love with the child. She smiled when she thought of the possibilities; with his curly hair and hers that tended to turn to waves in humidity, she could only imagine what their child would end up with. And its eyes–it had to have its father's eyes; a blue so intoxicating that it will be able to charm its way out of any situation. Oh–and its father's teeth. She loved how they were a little crooked on the bottom–much better than growing up with the gap-toothed smile she had to endure as a child. The teasing was endless. But, she thought with a sigh, blue eyes or brown, gapped top teeth or crooked bottom teeth, it was going to be perfect–and its hers.

She never imagined she could fall in love with anything as quickly as she was falling in love with this child. Well, look who its father is–evidently it has picked up on his charisma already. She was wondering whose personality it was going to have as she stepped out of her vehicle and automatically covered her stomach with her hand. She saw Brass about ten yards away and when he turned to look at her, he seemed startled and immediately came toward her.

"Sara! Who called you to come here?" Brass asked as he looked at her closely.

"Catherine," she chuckled. "Why?"

But instead of answering he seemed to look at her even more closely. "What that. . ."

She couldn't have been more surprised when he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the back of her car where they could talk in private. "Jim! What are you doing?"

"What's got you so happy all of a sudden? And protective?" Brass asked.

"What? I'm not supposed to be happy?" She couldn't seem to stop smiling at him. "And I don't know what you mean–protective."

He continued to watch her a moment, then shook his head before giving a small smile of his own. "I guess congratulations are in order."

"What?" She looked at him through wide eyes.

"You're pregnant–right?"

"What? Why would you say such a thing?" She asked dumbly, but seeing that there was no fooling him, she gave up. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. Not until I saw you looking higher than a kite with euphoria and holding your stomach like any pregnant woman tends to do. So, what's Grissom think? He must either be in seventh heaven or in the middle of a panic attack."

"He doesn't know yet. We're having an Easter breakfast tomorrow morning to make up for the one we missed last week. I thought I'd tell him then. Actually, I only found out about it today. I guess I thought it wasn't possible–but it snuck up on me."

Brass smiled at her and took her hand in his. "Ah, an accident. Some of the most loved children were accidents. You're lookin' at one of them."

"Well, this one has a pretty good start already. I didn't think I'd be as excited as I am. It was like once I got past the fright of the situation, it started to actually sink in–and the idea's becoming more and more appealing."

"That's great. I know you'll be a wonderful mother, Sara. You've got that maternal instinct down already."

"I don't know about that," she said with embarrassment as she dropped her gaze to the ground, then looked back up at him. "So, what's this case all about? I hope it isn't going to interfere with my breakfast tomorrow."

She watched as Brass's face sobered immediately as he released her hand. "Sara, I don't know why Catherine would've called you in on this one. You had to have been her last choice."

"Okay," Sara said slowly. "Why?"

"It's Heather Kessler," he said simply. "She's still alive and has been taken to the hospital."

"Is she going to survive?"

"It looks that way. Look–Sara–why don't you call in to Grissom and tell him to send Greg out to assist Catherine."

"No," Sara sighed as she started walking toward the scene of the attack with Jim walking next to her. "It's my job. I'm fine."

"Sara. . ." Brass looked at her, knowing what that phrase meant when said by Sara Sidle.

"No–really, Brass. It'll be alright. I have no reason to feel threatened by her anymore. Grissom told me last year that he'd never see her again. I'm sure he'll stay away from this case. Anyway–I've got his baby! How can I let her upset me when I've got a gift like this?"

"Be careful, Sara. She's bad news, and you're in her way."

"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him again.

"Just be careful, that's all I'm asking."

Sara nodded her head and went in the direction of the simulated saloon where she found Catherine. She immediately went to work as she took pictures of the area.

"This is a family theme park," she said as she took a photo of a broken wine bottle. "I'm assuming that they don't actually serve alcohol here. Must've brought their own." She picks up part of it and looks at the label. "Single malt. Thirty years old."

"S and M is a rich man's sport. Kinda like hockey. A lot of equipment."

"How much do you think a night like this would cost?"

"Heather told me, five years ago," Catherine said with what appeared to be awe. "She was clearing twenty grand a week, and that was before Lady Heather dot com."

Sara had to know, from a different perspective, how people saw the woman. "What is she like?"

"Beautiful–smart–intense–charming. The only woman I've ever seen rattle Grissom. I mean, he kinda liked that forensic anthropologist–Terri Miller–remember her?"

"Yeah," Sara told her, suddenly not quite as eager to hear the answers she was seeking.

"But, she wasn't enough of a challenge for him. Heather, on the other hand, uninhibited, "and" can beat him at mental chess. They had chemistry and he "is" a scientist." Catherine got up from where she had been collecting evidence and approached Sara who suddenly felt a numbing sensation rolling over her. "I have no proof and I know he'd never tell me, but I'm certain they spent the night together. Wonder which one wore the chaps."

"Coins and toothpicks." Sara tried to change the subject as Catherine's last comment was so frighteningly disturbing that Sara wasn't sure if she were going to be sick or not. "They don't sweep under here."

"I mean, more power to him, really, to find somebody outside of work. Ya start fishing from the company pier and you're asking for trouble."

"I got a shot glass," Sara told her as she picked the object up. "It looks like there's some lipstick around the rim."

"My fantasy does not include costumes–or pain–and certainly not saw dust." Catherine wiped some of the dust from her pants. "You?"

Sara didn't answer. She couldn't answer. The images that Catherine brought up hurt her deeply. The thought of Grissom doing such things with Heather was making her stomach churn. He certainly didn't display any of those quirks when he was with her and the thought that he would seek someone out to do so was beginning to become a bit more than her mind could adjust to. She had to get away from Catherine and soon. The woman was taking glory in gossiping about Grissom's sexual fetishes and Sara couldn't listen any more.

Sara was sent to the hospital to take photos of Heather. She knew she could do this. Like she had told Brass, Heather was just another victim. She would try to be as polite as possible and get through this, after all, the woman could do nothing to hurt her. Grissom "did" swear to never see her again–and he knew the importance of this to their relationship. He wouldn't compromise her trust in him. And, she thought with a smile, she was carrying his baby. No, Heather could do nothing to take away her happiness anymore.

She entered the woman's hospital room and found Brass there, interviewing the woman. "Hi. I'm with the crime lab. Sara Sidle." She tried to be friendly, she really did, but she couldn't even hold eye contact with the woman. Damn! She hated feeling like this! "I'm here to collect your clothes and trace evidence from your body."

"Can I say no?" Heather said in her sultry voice that never changed its inflection.

"Why would you want to?" Sara asked, then looked at Brass. "Did the nurse forget to collect an SEA kit?"

"Not necessary," Heather voiced.

"You don't want help," Brass broke in, obviously irritated with the woman. "That's okay with me. Just don't waste my time. I've got a lot of cases on my desk that need my attention. So when you come out of your haze–give me a call."

Sara tried to be inconspicuous as she glanced up to see him leave the room.

"I don't respond well to men who judge me based solely on my profession," Heather told Sara, and she wondered if she even remembered whom she was. She certainly showed no recognition.

"I get that a lot too," Sara gave her a small smile of encouragement. "Law enforcement." She received a minuscule attempt of a smile in return. "May I move your hair?" She gave her a nod and allowed Sara to push her hair away from her bruised neck and begin taking pictures of her. "These look like rope marks on your neck."

Sara watched as Heather's eyes widened in recognition and gasped, "Grissom."

Sara felt the chill begin to spread throughout her body even before she completely turned to see the man standing in the doorway, obviously having been rushing inside only to stop suddenly upon site of Sara.

"I'll be done in a minute." Sara told him calmly as her hands started to tremble.

He didn't respond, only moved his eyes from her to Heather and back again. Sara couldn't help but notice how his expression moved just as rapidly as his eyes, and she felt her nausea surge through her again. The fact that he was traveling between extreme guilt and something she had to place as higher than compassion haunted her. He gave a single nod and turned and walked away.

What Sara "didn't" notice was how, when she was feeling the most threatened, her hand moved to her abdomen in an instinctual attempt to protect. Nor did she notice how her breaking heart showed in her every move, every gesture, as she turned back to Heather. The woman still held the same expression of complete devotion as she watched Grissom move away from them.

"You didn't have to do that," Heather said as her eyes moved over Sara. "It's isn't as if he hasn't seen me in much less than this."

"Um," Sara took more photos as she swallowed with difficulty. "I'm sure that's none of my business. But I need to complete my job and he would be in the way."

"He is the only person I want to be in here. He's the only person who I would grant the right to be in here."

"I see," Sara put a fake smile on her face as she finished her photos and loaded the camera back into her case. "Then I hope he returns soon."

"I'm sure he will."

_Heather watched as Sara left the room, going in the opposite direction as Grissom. As soon as she saw Grissom, she knew she had won him back. And the fact that the person standing next to her bed saw that, pleased her. She could see it in Grissom's eyes. Yes, she saw the guilt when he looked at that "thing" that actually calls herself a woman–but he saw the "love" in his eyes when he looked at her. She had won–this she was sure. Now, the only obstacle was the fact that this "thing" was carrying his child. Oh, yes–she picked up on that immediately. Every gesture the bitch made showed her state; from her hands going to her abdomen, to the protrusion of her stomach. There was no denying she had managed to get herself pregnant. But that was an obstacle Heather would just have to deal with._

Sara finished her shift without seeing Grissom again. She sat in the locker room, thinking about just what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go, she heard Greg enter the room, speaking to Warrick. Neither of them saw her from the other row of lockers.

"So, you're saying he was trying to pick up the madam at the Sugar Cane?" Warrick asked with disbelief. "Right there, in front of everybody?"

"I don't know how far he planned to take it, but he sure was trying to charm the socks off of her. You shouldda seen him. He specifically had to collect "her" DNA. He went up to her and took her cigarette out of her mouth and practically gushed at her. I thought he was going to crawl into her mouth when he swabbed her," Greg said with obvious distaste.

"Well, well," Warrick answered. "It looks like our supervisor has a taste for the underworld, after all. The madam of the Sugar Cane and now Lady Heather again."

"What do ya mean, Lady Heather again?" Greg asked, obviously not having heard about it yet as he was just coming on day shift as per Grissom's orders.

"He spent most of the night with her in the hospital. No secret about that. Ask anybody. Judy says that after she sent a call back to him from Catherine, he practically ran out of his office. That was when she called and told him Heather was in the hospital."

"What a fuckin' idiot!" Greg said uncharacteristically as their voices moved back out of the locker room and down the hall.

Sara remained seated on the bench as she held her hands together in front of her. The first tear splattered onto the floor, then the second. Okay–so what does she have to deal with here? He was flirting with the woman from the Sugar Cane Ranch. Okay–she didn't like it–but it wasn't as if he actually did anything physically with her. But, God, the humiliation and pain of knowing that he wanted to wracked through her. And now, there's Heather. No, there was no disguising the anxiousness in him as he tried to enter her room. There was no getting around the fact that he spent "most" of the night with her either.

She slowly got to her feet and made her way to her car. She had to go back to Grissom's apartment and take Hank out for his morning walk. When she walked inside, she glanced at the food sitting on the kitchen counter, ready to be made for their "special" breakfast. Instead, she was here alone, while he was refusing to leave work until this case was solved. She hooked Hank up and walked him around the block, then put him back in his cage. Then she went to the bedroom and got work clothes for that night. She got into bed and never felt smaller in her life as she curled herself around the only thing she could hold onto at the moment. Her child.

She slept through almost twelve hours, not wishing to wake up and face the events going on around her, and she noticed the darkness surrounding her. Clearly, Grissom hadn't returned home, and there had been no calls. Not surprising, really. She took a shower and went to work.

Evidence. There was evidence that needed to be gone through, so she set her mind to getting it finished. She was comparing hairs on a microscope when Grissom's voice brought her attention to him standing across the table from her. She looked at him and could still see the guilt written there. This time it wasn't quite as obvious as before, but she could see it. She took a deep breath. Maybe–just maybe, it wasn't as bad as she was making it.

"Any results on Heather Kessler?" Grissom asked.

"Well, so far, all the prints come back to her. Piano, whiskey bottle, shot glass. There was some lipstick around the rim." Sara picked up the shot glass that was in an evidence bag, looked at it, then held it up for him to see. "I haven't had a chance to test it. Do you think it's her shade?"

For some reason she got a bit of satisfaction out of her little barb as he stared at her, but the satisfaction quickly diminished.

"Heather's not supposed to drink, because of her diabetes. Which could explain the hypoglycemia and shock," he said and Sara noticed that he wasn't even looking at her, almost as if she didn't exist, as he was so consumed with Heather.

"Catherine found a pair of men's underwear in the toilet. Any evidence on them would've been washed away." She told him, finding the need to try anything she could to diminish the status of the woman in his mind. But she also found seminal fluid in a tissue on the floor nearby."

"She was sexually assaulted?" He asked and the pain in his voice was enough to show Sara that her attempt was useless.

When she spoke, it was almost as if he had taken all of her strength from her. "She refused an SEA kit, so we'll never know. There were no defensive wounds. No skin or rope fibers under her nails. At first blush I figured he might have ambushed her except that I noted "three" separate strangulation attempts on her neck." She handed a photo of Heather's neck and wounds to Grissom. "She had time to fight back."

"This makes no sense," he said, so much more to himself than to her. Sara did not exist at that moment. "She's very strong. And as tough as nails. Why didn't she fight?"

Sara didn't answer–she couldn't answer. He stared at her, as if he fully expected her empathy, but she could only look back. She picked up the photos and put them into the file she had and by the time she looked up again–he was gone

Sara had a chance to go home that night. She was sitting alone in the dark when she heard the Grissom's home phone ring. She looked at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number, so let the machine pick it up. The sound of Heather's voice filled the room.

"Gilbert, I–wanted to tell you how much you have meant to me. I really don't know what I would have done without you that night we spent together before you left for Massachusetts. It meant so much to me to be held in your arms and be loved as only you can love me. And, as you fully know, the roses on Valentine's Day were my expression of that love. Your call to thank me for them made me realize that our connection can never be broken. I'll be waiting for you, dear."


	88. Chapter 88

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Sara couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. He had lied to her all this time. He lied. . .not once, but twice? Or how many times? She wasn't sure anymore. She was tortured by the knowledge that he was still involved with that woman–so much more than she had ever imagined. She got up and pressed the erase button on the answering machine. She never wanted to have the opportunity to listen to that filth again. As she stepped away from the phone, she felt the first twinges of pain run through her abdomen, but didn't seem to recognize it as real pain due to the emotional trauma she was feeling. She grabbed onto the counter top to steady herself, then picked up her cell. Within seconds, Grissom's cell phone was ringing, but it continued to ring until finally, she gave up.

She went to the door and drove back to the lab. She had to speak to him, but she quickly found that his car wasn't in the garage. Almost without emotion, she got out of her car but grunted when she felt another, more severe twinge of pain rip through her. She stopped a moment but it soon passed, and she went on her way. She didn't know where Heather lived, but she would soon find out. A quick visit into Grissom's office and she found a file in his desk drawer that had Heather's address inside. She drove almost as if in a trance and when she finally arrived at her destination, she couldn't even say she was surprised when she saw his car parked in Heather's driveway. She picked up her cell again and speed dialed him, but still no answer. She couldn't stop herself as she got out of the car and moved closer until she could see in the window. Grissom was standing with his back to her as Heather was facing him. The woman approached him and he put his arms around her, but that was the last Sara could see as Heather reached for the pull cord to the curtain and drew it closed.

Sara got back into her car and tried one more time to reach him, at this point, almost willing to beg him to come home–but still, he refused to answer.

_Heather had heard Grissom's cell going off, but she wasn't concerned. After all, she worked very hard to get it out of his jacket pocket and put it in her desk drawer. She looked up at the doorway to the hall again to make sure he was still in the restroom when she opened the drawer and saw Sara Sidle's ID. This was working out even better than she had anticipated. With a few words spoken to her maid, she gave the girl Grissom's phone and had her move their little "party" to the sitting room closest to the front street. She opened the curtains and made sure she had a perfect view out the window toward the street lamp. Now, all she had to do was keep Grissom facing the opposite direction and things should go even smoother. _

_Almost as if scripted, her maid paused in the open doorway and signaled to Heather that Sara had called a second time. This turned her attention out the window where she saw the woman standing in the semi-darkness, looking in at them. With her most agonized expression she could muster, Heather showed her grief over her grandchild once again and walked into Grissom's arms, then reached around them and closed the curtains. He released her after a moment and went back to his cup of tea, but that was alright. Heather had accomplished what she set out to do._

Sara drove back to the lab. She slept on a cot that night. She didn't know how she managed to get up the next morning and join Catherine as she went to the theme park again. She could only put the blame on needing to do something, anything, so she wouldn't be there when he returned.

When she finally got back, she found that she needn't have worried. Grissom still hadn't returned. It was then that she decided to turn herself off; a trick she learned early in foster care. When she take anymore, she simply zoned out. She needed to keep busy, and that was what she intended to do as she continued on with the case. The list of suspects was narrowing down and she wondered what she would do once the case was solved. She stopped, refusing to think about that right now. She'd deal with it when it the time came.

In the layout room, Catherine, Sara and Wendy shared information before receiving a text from Mandy. The new information sent Catherine and Wendy out of the room with the intention of calling Brass with the new tidbits, leaving Sara to pick up the photos and papers spread on the layout table before her.

"Sara will fill you in," Catherine said as she left the room, turning Sara's attention to the man who walked inside with her.

She watched as Grissom stood on the other side of the table looking toward her but not at her, and she couldn't meet his eyes, either. Instead, she spoke, and although she disguised it well, it didn't stop the catch in her voice.

"We may have a suspect."

He didn't answer as she collected the paperwork from the table, then, finally he spoke.

"I'm the only one Heather trusts."

Sara stared at him, thinking, "well good for fuckin' Heather! I'm so glad "she" can trust you!" But instead, she raised her hands in defeat and everything about her body language told him to back the fuck off; that he had said enough already.

"I get it." She needed to get out of there. She needed to get away from him.

He continued to watch her hands as they put her papers together.

"Sara," he managed to get out as he raised his gaze to look at her face.

She looked back. "Yeah?" But when he wouldn't say anything, "couldn't" say anything, she understood the truth. She had no control anymore. "It's fine. Do what ya need to do."

And she left.

Her shift was finished and she had no desire to stay there so she made her way to the locker room where she reached for her jacket, but the moment she lifted her arm she felt the pain again, ripping through her and making her double over, just as Nick was entering the room.

"Sara!" Nick caught her from behind and eased her back onto the bench. "Are you alright?"

Sara took a deep breath and tried to smile at him but another pain shot down through her back, bringing a long groan from her as she grabbed onto Nick's hands.

"Oh, my God!" She breathed as she realized what was happening to her. She lifted her head and looked at Nick in a panic. "I have to go! I have to get to a hospital!"

"What's wrong?" He asked with frightened eyes.

"Just get me to a hospital, Nick! But not Desert Palms!"

He helped her to her feet and she felt the first sensation of wetness forming in her panties. Not wanting to be seen by anyone, she hurried toward the garage door, not allowing Nick to touch her again until they were nearly at his truck.

"Sara! What's wrong? Shouldn't I be letting someone know about this?"

"No!" She moaned with another pain. "Just get me to a hospital–but not. . ."

"Not Desert Palms–yeah, I know." He pulled out of the garage and sped down the street. "Now, for Christ's sake–tell me what's going on!"

"You can't tell anyone, Nick! Do you understand me?" She hugged her arms around herself, as if trying to hold onto the precious individual she had already come to love.

"Why? What the hell's going on?"

"Promise me! No one can know, especially from work!"

"Fine! I won't tell a soul! Now what's going on?"

"I'm losing my baby," she said in a sob, and suddenly two days worth of distress burst from her as she cried.

"Your baby? Christ, Sara. I didn't even know you were pregnant." He looked back and forth from her to the streets ahead of him and reached over and put his hand on her back, trying to calm her. "How far?"

"Three months."

They arrived at the small obstetrics clinic/hospital within fifteen minutes and he moved around to help her out of his truck immediately. As she got to her feet, she felt another pain shred her, making her grab onto Nick for support. He wasted no time picking her up and carrying her into the emergency department where chaos ensued.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sara was in a bed and Nick was sitting in a chair next to her, holding her hand as the doctor spoke.

"There's always a chance, and if we keep you in bed, perhaps we can stop this from progressing any farther. But I must be honest with you and make you aware that as of now, the chances are likely that you're going to abort the fetus."

"But there is hope?" She asked as she wiped at her eye.

The doctor looked at her with sympathy, then turned and left. She leaned her head back against the pillow and looked out the window at the buildings of the city.

"Sara?"

"Yes, Nick?" She whispered.

"We're gonna have to let someone know. You're probably gonna be in here for awhile. We need to let work know."

"I don't want anyone knowing what's going on. Only Ecklie–and its got to be completely confidential! You've got to make him understand that!"

"Okay. Okay. Calm down. I'll call him right now." Nick picked up her cell and dialed the lab, then asked for Conrad Ecklie. "Ecklie, this is Nick Stokes. We've got a bit of an emergency here. I brought Sara Sidle to the hospital and she's admitted. Yes. She can speak."

"Conrad," Sara said into the phone.

"What's going on Sidle? You're admitted to the hospital. Why?" He asked with irritability.

"Conrad," she tried again, a bit more forcefully this time although it barely made it past passive. "I need this to be kept completely confidential. Not even my supervisors are to know. Is that possible?"

"Probably not. They're going to want to know why you're not showing up for work. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Tell them I'm on a leave of absence–no more than that."

"Do "I" get to know, at least?" He asked sarcastically.

"I'm–I'm being treated for a miscarriage."

She heard silence over the phone for several seconds, then a short cough and shuffling of paper.

"You'll keep me informed of your condition, won't you, Sidle?"

"As much as I can."

"Just take your time. This will go no farther down the line than me. I'll see to it."

"Thank you."

"And, Sara? Get better–the both of you."

Sara simply nodded as she listened to him hang up.

"Okay, so we have that end of it taken care of. Now, what about the baby's father? Don't you think you should contact him?"

She looked back out the window, but slowly nodded her head yes. She dialed Grissom's number. It seemed to ring forever before it was picked up and she recognized Heather's voice.

"Yes? May I help you?"

Sara nearly hung up, but an almost imperceptible amount of faith in what she thought their relationship had been sprung forward.

"I need to talk to the person who owns this phone," she managed to get out between small sobs, trying her best to keep Grissom's identity from Nick.

I'm sorry, but he's indisposed right now. Could you give me your name and when we're through, I'll give him the message."

"Heather?" Grissom's voice came from nearby.

Sara hung up the phone. She closed her eyes as she felt her abdomen go into another spasm and then the expulsion of her child.

"Nick!" She cried as she pushed the sheets back to see the pool of blood between her legs.

Nick was out the door in an instant, calling for aid.

"No! No! No! No!" She repeated over and over. She didn't know if she were actually saying it or thinking it.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara was lying on the bed in Nick's extra bedroom as she heard him in the kitchen cooking some soup for them to eat. They had confirmed that she had expelled her baby, and even went so far as to inform her that she had lost a son. They cleaned her and made certain that she had what was known as a "complete" miscarriage, then gave her padding and said she could be released to go home. There was really nothing more they could do for her that couldn't be done there.

Sara numbly accepted this as she walked, with Nick's assistance, to his truck. She didn't speak as he drove, and barely noticed that he went directly to his place. She didn't have the strength to argue the point as he walked her inside and made her wait until he got some lounge pants and tee-shirt from his dresser, then came back and helped her change from her dirty jeans and shirt. She couldn't seem to think straight as she watched the clock on the wall. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to sleep.

When she woke, it was to find Nick sitting on the edge of the bed next to her as he held onto a bowl of what looked to contain tomato soup, and a spoon.

"Come on, Sunshine. You need to get fluids into ya, or I'll have to take you back for an IV."

"I don't want to go back." Sara looked up at him.

"Then sit up. Come on, I can help."

She moved until she was in a sitting position and leaned back against some pillows. He lifted the spoon to her lips but she only looked at him. A tear spilled onto her cheek and Nick grimaced as he put the spoon back into the bowl.

"I–I guess I'm not very hungry."

Nick stared at her a long moment then put the bowl on the night stand before standing up and pacing back and forth as he ran his hand nervously through his hair. "This is that dirt ball from a few weeks ago, isn't it? You shouldda let me take care of him when I had the chance. So, tell me–what happened when you called him? A woman answered, didn't she?"

Sara closed her eyes at the memory and he came to sit next to her again. "I don't want to deal with him anymore."

"Then you're staying here with me. Because I know his type–he's out with another woman but once he finds out you're giving up on him, he'll be hounding after you so bad you'd think he was a flea on a dog."

"I can't stay here, Nick. That's asking a bit much, don't you think?"

"You're staying here and I don't want to hear any argument about it. I'm tellin' ya–it won't be safe for you to go back to your apartment. That is–if you're positive you don't want this jerk back into your life."

"I'm positive," she said weakly with another threat of tears.

"Look, Sara. I know everything seems to be turned upside down right now–but you're gonna make it through this. I'm gonna be here to help you every step of the way."

"But, Nick," she whispered. "Can you help me get my baby back?"

"Ah, Sara." He pulled her into his arms as he sat next to her. "I wish I could."

He held her for another ten minutes before she moved out of his embrace and lay down again. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here, Nick. No one–that means not one soul at work. For all we know, he could call into the office and get your address before we could stop him. This way, if no one knows, then there's no way for him to find me."

"No one's gonna find you. Just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you. I can drive to your place and get your clothes and personal items, if you want."

"They're not there. They're at his place. It'll have to wait until I can drive. Then I'll go when I know he's not there." She looked up at him. "I know that sounds rather cowardice, not facing him. . .but I just can't. Not yet."

"Honey, I don't care if you "never" face him again. There's really no need to. And if you want, once you're feeling better, we'll look for another place for you to move to, and he'll never know where you went. How does that sound?"

"It sounds fine," she whispered. "I'm really tired now, Nick. I think I want to get some sleep."

"Just take a few spoons of the soup, then I'll let you alone–I promise."

She looked at him an nodded her head, then lifted herself as he gave her three spoons of the orangish-red liquid. Then she lay down and closed her eyes until she heard him leave the room. And then her dreams took her away from the reality of a world she couldn't bear to be in at that moment.

It was another several hours before Nick came back in and woke her.

"I'd really like it if you'd eat something, Sara," he said from the chair next to the bed.

"I'm not hungry right now, Nick," she said quietly. "Please don't feel like you have to wait on me."

"Someone's got to take care of you, kid. Now, are you going to eat for me, or not?"

She slowly lifted herself and settled against her pillows then took the tray of food he had prepared for her. She smiled gently at him in appreciation, then tore a bit of her cheese sandwich off and placed it in her mouth. Slowly, she got some warm tomato soup into herself as well. He watched as she ate, until she had half of it down and handed the tray back to him.

"Thanks, Nick. But I think that's all I can handle right now." She looked at the clock then back to him. "Aren't you going in to work tonight?"

"I'm leaving in a few minutes. I wanted to make sure you were settled in. I have the remote control to the TV out on the coffee table, feel free to go out and put on anything you like. If you get hungry and want anything–get it, as long as you're not overdoing it. Let's see–is there anything I'm missing?"

"Where are my things? My dirty clothes? My cell phone and wallet?"

Your clothes are right there. I washed and dried them. Cell phone and wallet are in this drawer, right here." He pointed to the night stand. "I'll call if I have to work late, okay?"

"Okay." She started to lower herself back down on the bed and watched as he walked out of the room. "Thanks, Nick."

The next time she woke it was when she heard her cell phone ringing. She looked at the clock and saw that Nick didn't even have time to get to work yet. It was another half hour before the beginning of the shift. She got her phone from the drawer and looked at it to see Grissom's name. She closed her eyes and let it ring until it went to voice mail, but it started again, almost immediately. She listened to it and the more it rang, the more she felt like screaming and pulling her hair out. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer and answered it.

"Sidle," she answered curtly. "Can I help you?"

"Well, at least I know you're alive. I got the message from Ecklie that you won't be at work tonight. Can you explain why you didn't let "me" know, and you went above my head?"

"I tried calling you today–you didn't answer your phone, and the woman who did, said you were unavailable."

There was a long pause. "Heather gave the phone to me immediately. You just hung up before I could answer it."

"And you wanted to talk to me so badly that you didn't bother calling back."

"I was in the middle of something, Sara. I didn't think it would matter if I waited until I was through."

Now she remained quiet for a moment. "I guess you were right. It didn't matter if you waited."

"I was getting Heather's granddaughter back for her, Sara. I know you don't understand what its like to lose a child like Heather did–it traumatized her. So, when I found the opportunity to help her get her granddaughter, I had to do it."

Sara's eyes closed as she pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to find relief from what he was telling her. "You helped her get her child back."

"Yes, Sara. I couldn't let her alone in her time of need. Now, are you coming in to work tonight? I know you're upset because I helped her. . ."

"You spent two days with her."

"Are you coming in to work?"

"No, Grissom. I can't do that."

"This is ridiculous. You can't just decide to take a damned vacation because I irritated you."

"You irritated me?" She looked at the sheet that was covering her, wondering if he would ever realize that by getting Heather's grandchild back to her, he sacrificed his own child. She doubted he'd care anymore. "Um, I really have to go now. I need to get some sleep."

"I'll be home in the morning and we'll discuss this."

The fact that he thought she was at his apartment informed her that he hadn't been home all day. "Grissom, when did you get back to the lab?"

Another long hesitation. "About half an hour ago. I had to make sure Heather was alright. And if you can't understand that, Sara, then. . ."

"Then, what, Grissom? I think it would be best if I hang up now. And, please don't call back tonight. I really do need some sleep. Oh, and Griss, evidently Ecklie didn't inform you of the whole situation. I'm on a "leave of absence." I won't be back for several weeks."

"Several weeks? You can't take several weeks off! We're short-handed as it is!"

"I've got to go, Grissom," she whispered.

"Do you "at least" know "how many" weeks you're planning on being home?"

"No. I don't know right now." Her voice caught and she thought she covered it half-way decently. "I really need to go to sleep now, Grissom."

"Fine. I'll talk to you when I get home."

She clicked the phone closed, then turned over onto her side, curling herself around her abdomen, wishing her child was still there. She drifted off to sleep again with visions of Heather Kessler surrounded by her granddaughter as well as Grissom. "It's jut as well," Sara thought as she floated on the edges of sleep. "It's just as well."


	89. Chapter 89

Chapter Eighty-Nine

_Sara could see her son playing on the floor before her. He was about three years old, with blondish-brown curls and eyes as blue as the sky on a hot summer day. He turned and smiled at her, such a familiar smile, such a charming smile–he's going to be a real heartbreaker when he gets older, of this, she was positive. He got up from the floor and came to her and she knelt down to him and wrapped her arms around him, receiving such warmth, such security as he hugged her back, but a noise turned them both toward the opposite side of the room. The boy excitedly started to run to the man standing in the doorway. He clutched at Grissom's pants, almost as if trying to climb up his legs so he could be held, but Grissom simply looked past him at Sara._

"_You just don't get it, do you? You'll never understand what it's like to lose a child," he told her._

_Grissom turned away from the two of them and lifted a little girl, similar in size to their son, and handed her to the dark-haired woman who walked up to him. Heather took the child and smiled at Grissom with adoration, then looked back at Sara. Her smile changed to that of humor and contempt, before turning away. Grissom put his hand on Heather's back and walked down the hallway, away from the room with her, leaving their son behind as he started to whimper. Sara ran for the little boy, wanting to cuddle him and make him feel better, but just as she reached him, he disappeared into thin air–and her heart exploded._

Sara sat up in Nick's bed so quickly that it hurt. Her breathing was labored, as if she had run a marathon. She looked at the clock and saw that it was only eleven o'clock–she had only been sleeping for about fifteen minutes. She had to get up. She had things that needed to be done–now!

Sara got dressed in her clothing as quickly as she could manage, then called a cab. Within another half hour, she was being dropped off at the lab, making sure no one was watching as she slid through the darkness to get to her car. As quickly as she could, she exited the garage and went to Grissom's apartment. She saw Hank's sorry state as he waited in his cage, but in her condition, she knew she needed every bit of her strength just to complete what she came there for. So, she simply added water and food to his dish, before proceeding to pack her clothing. After each box she loaded, she took it down to the car, then would come back and pack another one. Four boxes later, she was becoming exhausted, but pure determination pushed her to go to the bathroom and pack her personal items, then to the closet where she looked at the things she had stored there. She looked at the ladybug on the shelf, then at other mementoes she had saved from her relationship with Grissom. She turned and walked away, leaving it all in the closet. She had everything she needed and wanted. There was nothing left that she couldn't replace. She was going to just walk out of the apartment, but she thought of Nick's cheese sandwich and tomato soup, and although it was very adequate, she had an idea that his knowledge on a vegetarian's diet was rather limited. She went to the refrigerator and gathered as much of her food as she could and took the bags to the door to wait for her exit. Her next step brought her back to look at the food on the counter, waiting to be made for that "special" breakfast. Another broken promise. Another lie. She picked up the items and one–by-one opened them and poured the contents into the trash can before putting their empty containers in the sink.

She was almost ready to walk out the door for the final time when she recognized the bag lying on the sofa from Great Expectations. She grabbed it and took it with her, then when she was down by her car, she took it to the dumpster and threw it inside with the other garbage.

Sara managed to drive to her own apartment, knowing there wasn't a lot of things there, but wanting to get everything out that she possibly could. She looked around the rooms and really only came up with about two boxes of things she wanted. Everything else she would leave for the next tenants. She was about to leave when her cell went off again. This time when she looked at the caller ID it read Nick.

"Hey," she breathed into the phone as she walked to her car.

"You're out of breath–what are you doing?"

"I "was" packing–but I'm finished now. I'm heading back to your place."

"You're what?" Nick asked with alarm. "You're supposed to be lying flat! You know what the doctor said. For God's sake, Sara–what if you begin to hemorrhage?"

"Then I lie down and take it easy–or go back to the hospital and get a transfusion. But I "had" to get my things "now," before he figures out I'm gone. I've done that. I can rest easy now."

"Where are you–exactly?"

"I'm putting a box in my car at my apartment."

"Drive straight home and don't you try to get one box from that car. I'll unload it when I get there! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Dad!"

"Dad, nothin'! Anyone with sense would tell you that! I'm coming home. I'll be there in twenty minutes!"

"No! You can't just leave like that, Nick! Please! Everyone will know. They'll put it together that I'm at your place. I'll go straight back to bed–I promise. I won't get up again until you get home tomorrow morning–and if you have to work a double–I won't get up until then." She was almost frantic in her attempt to keep her location from becoming common knowledge at the lab, thus getting back to Grissom in no time.

"Do you promise me that you'll go straight to bed?" He asked very strictly.

"Yes. I promise!"

The fact was, that she felt ready to collapse and she knew she had to be extremely careful on her drive back to Nick's. She only grabbed the bags of food and took them up where she put everything in the refrigerator and as she stood up from her kneeled position before the large appliance, she felt her world begin to spin. She reached out for anything to hold onto then everything faded to black.

When she woke up, she was back in the bed with Nick sitting beside her, holding her hand, looking at her with more concern than she had ever seen pointed in her direction before. As she stirred, his hand tightened and he moved closer in his seat.

"What happened?" She asked groggily, her mouth feeling very dry.

"I found you lying on the floor when I got home. I didn't clean anything up yet, I didn't want to leave you. I hope you don't mind, I didn't change your clothes this time, but I did make sure you're laying on extra sheets. If you want, I can get your things the hospital gave you and you can take a shower and put some pajamas or something on."

Sara moved her legs and felt the warm pool of blood she was lying on. She lifted the sheet and looked to see the stained stack of sheets under her and knew that her jeans were probably ruined this time. She looked up at Nick as she re-covered herself, both embarrassment and fright filling her.

"I'm–I'm so sorry, Nick."

"Ah, don't be. What do you have to be sorry about? Fallin' in love with a disaster? Nobody can control who they fall in love with." He glanced at her with a smile that didn't travel to his eyes. "We're just gonna have to tape ya to the bed and make sure ya don't get up again until your bleeding slows down."

She returned the same smile. "I don't think you have to tape me this time. I've leaned my lesson."

"Good. Do you need help into the bathroom? Or do you think you can make it yourself?"

He stood up next to the bed and watched her. She tried to get up, but felt a bit lightheaded again, so he put his arm around her waist and walked with her out of the bedroom, through the living room and into the bathroom where he turned on the shower. She looked at him again showing her discomfort at having him see her like this.

"I think I can manage from here."

Nick nodded his head and slowly released her. "I'll tell ya what, I'm gonna go get the things the hospital sent home with you while you get in the shower. I'll put the stuff on the counter here for when you're done. Then I'll go down to your car and get some of your clothes. I've got a big old robe you can wear back out to the bedroom and then you can pick what clothes you want to put on."

She slowly nodded her head and he tentatively watched as she stood without holding onto the counter, as if he wanted to make sure she wasn't going to drop to the floor the second he left her. She watched him leave, then she slowly removed her top and bra. Her shoes had already been removed, evidently by Nick, so she pulled off her socks, then peeled her blood-saturated pants off of her legs. She looked around the bathroom, not wanting to make a mess on anything, then found the waste can and she pulled the garbage bag from it and put the pants inside. She repeated the gesture with her panties, and the protective pads the hospital had provided. She stepped into the water and closed her eyes as she felt occasional gushes of heat flow down her thighs. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about where she was or why she was there.

"Sara?" Nick's voice came from outside the bathroom. "Are you alright?"

"Y–yes," she answered him with a shiver. "I–I don't have my shampoo or anything."

"You can use mine if you want–then on your next shower, I'll have your shampoo up here for you. I'd rather you just get finished and we can put you back to bed–okay?"

"O-okay. But I'm going to need some underclothes before I get out."

"But I have the robe."

"I–I'll need something to hold the pad in place," she explained.

"Oh–right. Okay, I'll look for some and bring them in."

She looked around the shower stall and found his shampoo. She had to smile a bit and wondered how anyone would react if they smelled a man's shampoo on her. Oh well, it smelled nice, although she doubted she could ever smell it again without being reminded of this nightmare. She washed her hair, then soaped up the washcloth that was hanging there. She washed her face, her neck and ears, her arms, then moved onto her breasts which she found to still be a bit sore. When she moved onto her stomach, she became obsessed with running the soapy cloth over it; just rubbing gently as her tears began to flow again. She tried to snap out of it, and moved on to clean the rest of her, then let the warmth of the water rinse her and flow over her back.

"Everything's here. Just do what you need to do, and call me so you're not walking back to the bedroom by yourself–okay?"

"Yes. I'll only be a minute."

After putting the protection on under her panties, she pulled on the big robe Nick had promised and she wrapped the towel around her hair. As she opened the door, she saw Nick coming from the bedroom she was staying in with a pile of sheets in his arms.

"No–just stay right there until I put these in the washer. I'll be right there to get you," he ordered and she waited until he came back and took her to the room she was occupying. "Here, sit in the chair for a minute until I get new sheets on."

She watched him, feeling a bit guilty as he spread a clean sheet on the mattress, then got a large piece of protective padding that he spread out over an area of about three square feet, before putting on the top sheet and a light blanket. He reached for her hand, although she felt it was completely unnecessary, but she took it anyway and pivoted onto the mattress and waited for him to bring her a box of clothes. She looked through it and grabbed an oversized football jersey and sweat pants then looked up at him.

"You're gonna make someone a great husband someday, Nick."

"Me?" He smiled at her. "Eh–who knows. We'll see what happens down the road. Right now I'm too busy to get myself a wife."

"You're not too busy to take care of me."

"No," he looked at her seriously. "I'm not. And don't you forget that. Like I said, we're gonna make it through this, kiddo."

"Did I ever tell you that you "do" make an excellent big brother?" She asked as she began to tear up again.

He knelt down and put his arms around her and patted her on the back. "Yeah–yeah–that's what they all say."

She sniffed and gave a small laugh at his attempt to cheer her, then watched as he stood up and left her to her privacy so she could dress. She found the whole ordeal of cleaning herself and going from bedroom to bathroom and back again was rather exhausting, so when she finally lay down on the bed, she felt her whole body go into a relaxed mode. She felt her fear and anxiety tugging at her, but she also felt safe for the first time in days.

_The little boy stood just outside the doorway and smiled at her; she really couldn't get over what a beautiful smile he had–even if he did have a little gap between his front teeth. And those golden brown curls!_

"_Hello," Sara said as she smiled down at him. "What are you doing here? Are you lost?"_

_He shook his head negatively as he held up what seemed to be a little branch with what almost looked to have some small leaves growing on it, but was too dry to really be called leaves at all. She smiled questioningly as she looked back at the child. When the boy spoke, it almost echoed into her ears._

"_You need me."_

_Sara looked at him and felt such an overwhelming sense of yearning that she could do nothing but nod her head affirmatively, knowing that she needed him desperately. She reached for him, but the door slammed with a tremendous bang that separated them._

"_NO!"_

The continuous ringing woke Sara with a start. Again, her breathing was ragged as she looked at the bedroom doorway to be certain there wasn't really a little boy standing there, but she could only see the edges of Nick's livingroom, and hear him in the kitchen again. She reached for her phone, too preoccupied with the complete sense of emptiness that was soaring through her chest to think about who was on the other end as she opened it.

"Um–yeah. Sidle."

"Where–are–you?"

Grissom's voice chilled her and she couldn't think straight as she mumbled back a reply.

"I'm–I'm in bed."

"You're in bed," he said very slowly. "Would you care to be more explicit? Because I know you're not in "our" bed–nor are you in the bed you left at "your" apartment. Whose bed do you happen to be in?"

"No–no one's. It doesn't belong to anybody," she stammered defensively, before a bit of defiance shot through her. "I'm not the one who climbs into bed with whomever happens to be handy or happens to get paid to tie you up and spank you!"

"That's completely uncalled for, and you know it." His voice would have sounded calm to anyone else, but Sara recognized the fury beneath the calm. She refused to answer him as her jaw began to tremble. "What I share with Heather is something you evidently will "never" understand. So, I suggest you get "out" of "nobody's" bed and get home."

She breathed heavily as she stared at the wall. "Or what, Grissom? You'll find someone else to take my place? Find someone else to do your laundry or your dishes? How about mopping your kitchen floor? Somehow I don't see Heather being capable of getting her hands dirty enough to do such menial labor. Now, getting herself strangled for a cool million–that's more her style, isn't it?"

"She was doing it for her granddaughter!" He almost shouted.

"She was doing it for herself! If she couldn't control her in life–then she was going to control the kid from the grave! She'd always be grateful to the grand Lady Heather–prostitute to the rich and famous–wouldn't she? You're just so blind that you can't see anything other than what she wants to show you."

"When are you going to try to understand what she went through? You have no idea what its like to lose a child! You have no idea what it means to be a mother! How can you even come close to comprehending what she's going through?"

"Griss?" She swallowed as her tears spilled over her cheeks for what seemed like the thousandth time since she found him rushing into Heather's hospital room. "Since I don't understand what it is to lose a child; and I don't understand what it is to be a mother. . .but, you, on the other hand seem to be such an expert–I suggest you go back to Heather and share in her misery as much as you can." She closed her phone and turned it off, then pressed her face into her pillow to hide the sound of the sobs that shook her.


	90. Chapter 90

Chapter Ninety

She had slept almost all day, Tuesday. Each time she would wake up, she would roll over and force herself back to sleep until she was all slept out by nine that night. When she attempted to get up to go to the bathroom, she found that her footing was much more steady than the day before and her bleeding wasn't as severe. Evening came and she and Nick shared a pot of vegetable soup and bruschetta on French bread slices, then he set up the sofa so it was comfortable for her to watch television through the night while he was at work. She listened to Nick's small talk and responded occasionally, but her mind was clearly on what was happening all around her.

He left for work and was gone only half an hour before her cell went off again. She looked at it, hoping it was Nick, saying he was only checking up on her, or maybe had forgotten something; but it was Grissom. She had a mental war with herself over whether to answer it or not, then simply turned off the phone and went back to watching the evening news, then flipped back and forth between Letterman and Leno. She quickly found them both unsatisfying and spent the next hour flipping through channels until she finally gave up and started looking at Nick's DVDs, deciding on John Travolta and Nicholas Cage in Face Off. By the time she saw John Travolta's son get shot while on the merry-go-round, she abruptly gave up on that as well.. By three in the morning she managed to get herself something to eat again, and by morning she was fully dressed again and doing the dishes for Nick.

She had a lot of time by herself to think; sometimes not wanting to do so, but as the time went on, she knew she had to deal with what life had given her and what it had taken away. At this point, she felt as if the grieving would never end concerning her lost baby, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had simply gone to the doctor's office on Saturday, then not answered Catherine's phone call that night–simply not have been involved with the whole Kessler case–would she still be carrying their child. The doctor did say he had a good, healthy heartbeat. She even watched it on the ultrasound screen. Then, her body betrayed her.

She took a deep breath and wondered about that. Just where did the betraying begin? Was it Catherine as she pulled her into the case and filled her head with disgusting details of Grissom's and Heather's relationship? Was it Catherine again, who sent her to photograph Heather in the hospital? It couldn't be denied that it was Grissom, the moment he supposedly "ran" out of his office in search of Heather. But then, according to Heather's message, the betrayal never actually stopped. He had been with her before he left on sabbatical; something he refused to discuss with her at the time. So she decided to let it go–not push him on it. She thought–how bad can it be? Well, now she knew. He was still seeing that tramp while swearing to Sara his fidelity the whole time. The roses at Valentine's Day–a big puzzle to them both, was actually another interaction between them that couldn't be denied anymore. She wondered just how he had thanked Heather for the romantic gift. He had plenty of opportunity on the nights that she worked on "his days off." And just what had he done to "deserve" the flowers in the first place? She shook her head as if to try to clear it. Even if he had been faithful to her physically, Sara felt he was completely unfaithful emotionally.

The whispers and dropped gazes that she endured as she walked the halls of the lab during that weekend humiliated her beyond belief. Even if, as they all believed, she and Grissom hadn't been in a relationship for nearly two years, they all knew that she was in love with him and he, once again, ignored her very presence in favor of Heather Kessler. Yes, Sara knew she was the object of much speculation right now–but that was just one more betrayal that Grissom had served to her–so he could make "Heather" feel better.

As the night wore on into the early morning hours, she realized that she had to keep the television or stereo on. It was without them, in the silence, that she would hear Grissom's voice, over and over, telling her that she didn't know what it was to lose a child–what it was to be a mother. When it wasn't his voice, it was Catherine's, explaining to her that the man she had been making love to for the past two years actually preferred dressing up in costumes and being beaten. She avoided the darkness, too, because it was in the darkness that she could see Heather's eyes–cold, calculating and evil eyes that bored holes straight through her. So, her time was spent in Nick's well-lit living room and kitchen. She listened to her cell go off twice more throughout the night; both times with Grissom's name listed as the caller, and both times she let it ring until it went to voice mail. In the end, she loaded Nick's X-box and played the games that she could master until she heard Nick coming home that morning.

Nick refused to allow her to leave the house that day, stating he would be much more comfortable if she would simply get one more day's rest, then she could run rampant if she wanted to. After they each slept in their own rooms, she awoke to find him at the kitchen table with some take-out that included onion rings, chocolate milk and eggplant parmesan subs. They spent the rest of the evening playing Burnout Revenge on X-Box, and College Hoops. It wasn't exactly as intellectual as her evening activities used to be with Grissom, but Nick was being a savior as he kept her busy and entertained. This time, though, the calls started by nine o'clock while she was sitting with Nick on the sofa. She looked at the ID and as suspected, Grissom flashed across the small screen.

"Is it him?" Nick asked as he shot the basketball, then looked over at her.

"Is it "who?" She asked, blanching at the thought that he knew it was Grissom.

"Who else? The dick head who got you into trouble."

"That" wasn't the trouble, Nick," she said quietly as she took her turn with the controls. "That" would've been the best part."

"Yeah–well, you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she agreed quietly as the ringing stopped and they went on with their game, but within two minutes it rang again.

"Are you going to get that?" Nick asked, looking at her again.

"No."

"Then give it to me. I'll tell the son-of-a-bitch what I think of him."

"No, Nick!" She objected. "He'll stop calling soon."

"Yeah, it sounds it," he said then a moment later the ringing stopped. This time five minutes passed before it started again. "At least answer it and tell him not to call anymore."

"I tried that already," she whispered.

"Then, turn–it–off," he said as if speaking to a child and tried to reach for it, but she grabbed it quickly and in so doing, cracked the phone open without realizing it.

"No–don't. Just sit back and enjoy yourself, because in about two minutes, you can shoot again. Okay? There–see? He hung up."

Nick merely grunted in response as he went back to the game. Sara put the phone down closer to her, and was unaware that the person on the other end had heard her before the click of it closing again.

"Why don't you just turn it off–and he can't get through and you won't have to listen to it ringing all the time."

"I did turn it off–but then I figured if you wanted to call, "you" couldn't get through. So, I turned it back on. I'll turn it off again until after you leave." She finished her turn at shooting hoops. "This would all be much easier if you had a land line."

"What do I need a land line for when I have my cell?"

Sara was relieved that the phone didn't ring after she turned it back on around eleven, but by two o'clock that morning, he was trying again. This time she picked it up, realizing he wasn't going to give up.

"Please–stop calling," she pleaded into the phone.

"Who are you with, Sara?" Grissom's voice was cold and sharp.

"Actually, I'm by myself. Although it really isn't any of your business anymore."

He hesitated. "So, this is it? It kind of looks like you've had someone all along and was just waiting for the chance to get our of our. . ." He hesitated again.

"Our. . .what, Grissom?" He didn't answer. "See–you can't even say it. So DON'T you dare turn this around on me! Grissom! You have no idea what you put me through these past few days! You're so self-absorbed that you can only see what you want to see! And you "wanted" to see Kessler this week! Not me!"

"What" is wrong with helping a friend in need?" He asked in what sounded like desperation.

"What" is wrong with helping–"me?" She rubbed her hand through her hair in frustration. "You made your choices, Grissom! Last year when I left you, you had to have me come back–and you promised me–you "swore" you'd never see that bitch again! But you lied!"

"I didn't lie," he said more quietly. "I didn't see her. But when she was attacked–what choice did I have but to go and see how she was–if she needed help?"

"You're still lying!"

"I'm not."

"No? How about the night you never came home before you went on sabbatical? Or how about the Valentine's Day roses?"

"I–I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I suggest you go ask your tramp, because she left a very loving message on your answering machine, describing your night together and the fact that you thoroughly thanked her for the roses," she said with bitterness and heard only silence. She continued on a calmer note. "Even if you hadn't lied about those two incidents. Even if you hadn't spent the night with her four or five months ago. . .you still went to her so quickly this week that I'm a laughing stock at work; the poor woman who will never be noticed by the big science man because he's so much in love with the town tramp."

"I'm not in love with her."

"Then what would you call it?"

"We're friends–good friends."

"Really? And does she make you happy?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's simple. Does she make you feel good when you're with her–you know–happy."

"Yes, of course, otherwise we wouldn't be friends."

She sniffed sarcastically. "Well, "this" friend–who you recently told made you "happy" is telling you that the "happiness" is gone."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"You might not have meant it now–but it doesn't stop it from being the truth. Ask Catherine–because I got the low down from her. She was so anxious to let me know how Heather is such a "genius" and the only woman "who can beat you at mental chess." Please–give me a break. The only brains that bitch has is knowing how to manipulate people. Then Catherine went on to explain that you enjoyed dressing up in chaps for Heather–and being the submissive."

"So would it make it better if I wore chaps and was submissive to you?" He asked, just as sarcastically as she.

"You–make–me–sick," she growled at him.

"Oh–now I make you sick! Wasn't it only a few days ago that you swore you loved me? How can someone go from loving someone one day to being sickened by them the next?"

"It's easy when you're cheating, and even easier when your fetishes are flashed in front of my face."

"I never cheated on you!" He tried. "I only had sex with her before I started seeing you!"

"And yet you just told me that you don't have sex with anyone unless you love them." The admission that he had sex with Heather while she was working there, right under his nose a few years ago, stabbed her through the heart. "Out of answers, Grissom?"

He remained silent then spoke up quickly. "Why can't you understand how she felt. . ."

"Don't you DARE say it! I swear to God, if you use that "lost child" card on me one more time, I'm going to hang up and you'll "never" find me again. I'll leave Nevada so fast you'll never know what hit ya! And if you think for one moment that I don't know what it is to have something so precious that it can never be replaced "ripped" from you–then you're a fuckin' idiot!

"But she. . ."

"She lost a daughter that she "alienated" by choice! "She's" the one that made that happen–to herself!"

"Sara–I swear to God, I never laid a hand on her–I haven't touched her in years."

"It looked like you had more than your hands on her the other night when you had your arms around her. And yes, I was there–I saw it. I knew you where you spent the night before anyone else had the luxury of finding you in that pig's house, sipping "tea" as if you were some kind of damned pansy-boy, just waiting for your bitch mistress to tell you when to jump and how high. Since when do you drink "fucking" tea!"

"It was coffee!"

"You're a goddamned liar! She thinks she so goddamned refined because she drinks imported tea–but its so goddamned plastic that it's nothing but a huge joke!" She went to take a step toward the kitchen and felt warm liquid flow from her body. "I–I have to go. I can't talk to you anymore."

"Why? Is "he" there? This works both ways, Sara!"

"I–I gotta go. Don't call back."

She snapped her phone closed and turned it off as she went to the sofa and lay down, hoping to slow the bleeding again. Goddamned him! She was starting to heal, even if it was only physically, and he even had to take that away from her. She decided that if Nick wanted to contact her–it would have to wait until he got home from work. She closed her eyes in attempt to try to calm herself but quickly fell under sleep's spell.

By the time Nick got home it was almost ten o'clock and he looked beat. She watched as he attempted to be sociable but she put her hand on his and gave him a smile.

"Go to bed, Nick. I'll be fine. Actually, I was thinking of going out and getting a new car today. I could use a nice change."

"You're only doing it so "he" doesn't find you when you go back to work–aren't you? There are laws against stalking, ya know."

"No–I'm not. Well, that's not the only reason. I've been shopping for a new car for weeks. Now's my chance to get it done without having to hurry off to work."

He grabbed his jacket and started back toward the door. "Well, then I'm going with you. I'm not letting you drive by yourself yet."

"Nick! You don't have to. You should be getting some sleep."

"I can sleep in the car."

She sighed, then grabbed her keys and wallet and followed him.

The shopping went rather well for Sara. It only reminded her of previous car-shopping trips with Grissom about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent, Nick kept her occupied with his antics and opinions. When she finally decided on a car, then went into the salesman's office to do the paperwork. They sat side-by-side as the gentleman kept looking up at them as he typed his information into the computer.

"Ya know, I generally don't comment on the people I sell to–but I really don't think I've ever seen a couple who seemed to fit together so well. You seem like a perfect couple. I'm sure you'll enjoy this car together for many years."

Nick laughed and Sara's mouth opened in shocked surprise.

"We're not a couple," Nick told him with a laugh. "She's my dumb little sister."

This time, Sara turned and looked at him with the open-mouthed expression. "I am not dumb!"

"Sure ya are. You shouldda seen her as a kid–I'd always have to stop her from peeling the paint off the walls and trying to eat it."

"Nick!"

"Then, the older she got, the worse she got. I don't know how many times I had to explain to her that she couldn't get in the house because she was always pushing on a door that opened out."

The gentleman looked at Sara with compassion, then back to Nick.

"Oh, I understand–I have a brother like that." Then he lowered his voice. "But is she capable of making this decision by herself?"

"Legally–yeah–it's okay. But morally? That's why I'm here with her."

"Well, as long as you're sure."

"Oh, yeah," Nick waved his hand at the man. "Go ahead–everything's fine."

Sara could only stare at them and when it came time for her to sign the paperwork, she glanced over at Nick. "Ya sure I'm okay to do this?"

"Of course ya are, Sara. Just have faith in yourself."

"Uh-huh."

When they went to the new vehicle and the salesman was about to hand Sara the keys, he gave a questioning look at Nick as if to ask if it was really okay to let her drive, to which Nick gave him a thumbs up as he got into the passenger's seat. Sara pulled out, onto the street and proceeded to drive away, then promptly gave Nick a sharp jab to his upper arm.

"Ow!" He laughed at her.

"What the hell was "that" back there? The poor guy thinks he just sold a car to a mental deficit!"

"Well, he was a jerk, saying he never says things like that to the people he sells to–hell, its probably his tag line. And when he said we were the perfect couple. Jeez, we barely like each other." This earned him another jab which he laughed at. "Okay–so I find you tolerable. But I don't think I want to spend the rest of this car's life as a member of a "perfect couple" with you."

"Yeah," she gave him a small smile as she glanced over at him. "I know who you'd much rather go buy a car with."

"Everyone thinks they know all about my personal life. But tell me, did you hear me getting any calls while you've been at my place? No! Because there hasn't been any."

"That's because you talk to her when you go to the lab," she teased. "You're not fooling anyone–except maybe Mandy, herself."

"What makes you so sure you're right about this? Don't forget–you're only my "dumb little sister who eats paint chips off the walls."

"Yeah, and can't open my own front door. I," she explained as she turned onto a much busier street in the direction of Nick's apartment. "know I'm right, because she's the only one you sing to in order to get your evidence back."

"That doesn't mean a thing," he argued with a smile. "I could sing to you, too–that doesn't mean I want to go out with ya. Here. . ._you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_. . ."

"Alright–alright. You don't have to sing to me. My heart isn't the one you're trying to win."

He just looked at her and chuckled, then leaned back in his seat to slip into some much needed sleep.


	91. Chapter 91

A/N: This is a re-post of my original Chapter 91. Although I saw nothing horribly forceful about Grissom, there were one or two negative reviews about his and Sara's behavior. I'm still a strong believer that she shouldn't give in to him quickly, so that's why I'll tell you all that it will be about three weeks before he finds out about the baby, and they can try to start working toward a reconciliation. Sara's been betrayed by the people she loved almost all her life–I think this is a sore that has never healed, and the scab has just been ripped off again.

So, please, let me know if you are in favor of this chapter or not, and I'll go from there. Until then, I'll be waiting for the comparative votes.

Thank you all. : )

Chapter Ninety-One

Over the next four days, Sara's bleeding slowed immensely, but her heart still ached every time she'd pass a stroller on the street. She now had the overwhelming curiosity to look inside these contraptions that she barely noticed before. Sometimes she would let herself do just that and take in the sights of tiny fingers and toes; sometimes she would force herself to look in the other direction. She thought of Grissom often. She'd think of what could have been if he had only been whom she thought he was, and not the man whose secrets plummeted her into a nightmarish world of twisted sex that he evidently preferred. As soon as she would start to think of why she could never see this about him; why there were never any signs of this side of him during their lovemaking, she'd immediately become physically active as she'd try to force her thoughts onto whatever job she was doing. She spent a lot of time dusting Nick's apartment and doing laundry–anything to get her mind off of Grissom.

When Nick worked, she split her time between her housework regimen and going for a drive in her new car; usually to the local video rental where she'd gone through most of the new releases that had come out over the past three weeks. Then, when Nick would return in the morning, she'd usually make them breakfast before they went to their separate rooms. They'd wake up individually and eventually meet up again for a late dinner.

The weekend was busy for Nick as he was called in to work both nights, leaving Sara to entertain herself, which would quite often lead to a bout of tears that she would release. Sometimes, when Nick returned, he'd walk in on her with a box of tissues in hand, and simply come over and give her a hug or hold her hand until that session of tears would end.

Monday was especially difficult. The one-week anniversary of losing her baby struck her nonstop throughout the day. Nick evidently recognized this as he tried to pull her out of her nonresponsiveness, and sometimes it would work, but for the most part, she was closed to him emotionally all day. She sat on the sofa as Nick was preparing to leave for work that night, hoping that an old rerun of Time Tunnel would keep her attention. He was barely gone fifteen minutes when she heard the knock on the door. She slowly got up and went to look through the hole and saw Brass standing on the other side.

"C'mon, Cookie," Brass called to her. "I know you're in there."

"What do you want, Jim?" She called through the door as she stood with her hand on the knob.

"If you open up, I'll tell ya." When she didn't respond, he added. "Open up, Sara. There's no one else with me. I promise, I'm alone."

She sighed deeply, then slowly pulled the door in, looking down the hallways before allowing him to enter.

"Sit down." She moved to the sofa and he walked with her but remained standing.

"You were double-checking to see if I brought him along, weren't you?" Brass asked.

"I didn't know what to expect. How'd you know I was here?"

"It wasn't hard. Not after I actually found out you were missing."

"I'm not missing. I'm right here."

"Catherine told me you took a leave of absence. She, of course, figures its because Grissom spent the night at Heather's again."

"I imagine she had some colorful words regarding that."

"Yeah, well–Catherine "can" be rather colorful at times." He moved to stand closer to her. "So, would you like to tell me, does this have anything to do with what you were so happy about last week?"

"Happy has left the building," she smirked, trying to maintain a false smile.

"As in. . ."

"I lost the baby, Jim." She dropped her eyes from him and the smile faded as she stared at the coffee table. Nothing was said until she looked back up at him and saw how he was watching her with clear sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Sara. Did they say anything about it being high risk when they found out you were pregnant?"

"They said it was fine. I saw his heart beating on the ultrasound monitor. He was growing perfectly." She looked up at him again and the tears resurfaced. "He was perfect."

Jim sat next to her and put his arm around her as she tried to maintain control of a heart that was breaking for what seemed like the millionth time this week.

"Does Griss know?"

"No! He doesn't even know I was pregnant."

"And this is because. . .?"

"Think about it, Jim. At the time we were supposed to be having this glorious breakfast together and I was going to break the news to him–he was with Heather Kessler with no interest in where I was or what I was doing."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Well, you don't have to worry about me telling him much of anything. We haven't spoken much since he got back from Kessler's place last Monday night."

She felt him stiffen next to her. "It's alright, I already know he was there. Hell, they were practically inseparable since she was in the hospital Saturday night."

"So, you've talked to him–and he told you he was there?"

"I saw him Sunday night."

"You went to her house?"

"I had to find out. He's been lying to me for months. He spent the night with her before he went to Massachusetts." When there was no response, she turned her head and looked at him again. "You already knew it?"

"Yeah. I knew it. But he swore nothing happened."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes were wide with distress.

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt. There was nothing I could do about it when I found out, other than try to keep you from getting hurt by it." He rubbed her shoulder briskly in an attempt to try to comfort her.

"You haven't spoken to him much since Monday morning?" She asked. "Then how did you know I wasn't with him?"

"For one thing, you weren't at work all week. And another, I've been getting voice mails telling me to find you."

"So what are your plans, now that you've found me?"

"That depends. What are "your" plans?"

"I don't have plans anymore. I finally learned last week that plans don't work out for me."

"Okay–then I'll put it this way–what do you "want" to do? Are you going back to work?"

"Yeah, I have to. I don't have a job anywhere else."

"When are you going back?"

"I don't know. When I stop crying, I guess. That might be a good time."

"Well, all I can say about that is, the little one's worth crying over. Grissom's an old fool and isn't worth even one of your tears."

"I try to think that way–but it doesn't seem to want to cooperate."

"No, I suppose not. So, what do you want me to do? If you want him to know where you are–I can get a message to him without anyone else knowing. If you don't. Then I won't say a word."

"I don't even want to think about him right now, let alone look at him. And when we "have" spoken on the telephone, it's only been a disaster. Nothing good comes of it, other than more hurt feelings."

"Then, as far as he knows, I never got his messages–or I didn't do anything about them. So, does this mean Nick's aware of everything?"

"Nick was there when I was leaving work Monday. He took me to the hospital and stayed with me while I lost the baby. He knows "what" happened, and he says if he ever gets hold of the baby's father, he's going to beat him to a pulp. But he has no idea "who" it is."

"And he's keeping this from everyone at work. That's quite an accomplishment for him. It's a wonder Catherine hasn't seen right through him and gotten the information out of him by now."

"I told him not to let anyone know where I am just in case the baby's father might call the lab and get the information somehow. He knows how things travel through the grapevine there."

"I wish there was something I could do to make this all go away, Cookie. God, you don't know how much I wish I could've been there for you and prevented this from happening. If anyone deserves an even break, it's you. Is there anything I "can" do?"

"I don't know," she gave a pained laugh. "How are you at blackening someone's eye?"

"I–um–well, actually. . ."

Sara looked at him in disbelief. "Are you saying. . ."

"I didn't give him a black eye, but he, well. . ."

"What did you do, Jim?"

"I smacked him one in the chops. I didn't mean to–at least I don't think I meant to. It happened yesterday when I was heading out to a scene. I saw he was in his office. He called for me to go in, but I just kept going. When he caught up with me I was getting into my car. And, well, I sort of opened the door too fast and it caught him in the chin. I really couldn't help it if he was leaning down to talk to me when I opened the door. . .forcefully."

She stared at him for a moment, mulling it over in her brain. "But. . .why was he leaning down if you were standing there, about to get into the car?"

Brass looked at the wall and the ceiling, then back to the wall again. "I–um–wasn't standing there. I was sitting in the car already."

"You did it on purpose!"

"No–not completely! I wanted to drive away–and he tried to open my door to stop me. So, I sort of helped him with the door–when he didn't expect it."

"Is he hurt?"

"Look, I don't know. It bled for awhile–so I don't know how he's feelin' right now. All I know is if someone pisses ya the hell off, they have no right to chase ya down and force you into a conversation you don't want to have any part of."

"And what was that conversation about?"

"He–wanted to see if I heard anything from you. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about and–well–he just looked at me as he held onto his chin then went back inside."

"I know I'll have to face him some time–at least until I can get a transfer to another shift. But, I'm not ready yet. Give me a few days, Jim. They you won't have to keep hiding things from everybody. At least no more than usual."

"So, you're going to tell him about the baby?"

"No," she said bitterly. "I tried to tell him while I was still pregnant, but he preferred being with Kessler. Then I tried to call him and let him know while I was losing him, and he was at her place again. If he wants to associate with children, he can go back to Kessler's and play with her granddaughter."

"Sara," Brass said sadly. "Even "I" wouldn't wish that on him. But if that's the way you want it–then its your choice."

"That's the way its got to be."

He got to his feet and she followed him to the door. "Then that's the way it'll be. Do you want Nick to know that I was here? Or do you want him to think no one knows where you are?"

"I don't think it would hurt if he knew you found me. He trusts you not to spread it around where you found me."

Sara stood at the door and watched as he paused and kissed her cheek, then started down the hall. She went back to the kitchen and started putting her dinner dishes into the dishwasher when she head the knock on the door again, and she wondered what Brass could have forgotten. As she went through the living room she looked at the coffee table and found a pack of gum, so she picked it up on her way to the door.

"Forget something?" She smiled as she swung the door open, but her smile faded instantly upon finding Grissom standing on the other side. Her hand instinctively moved to cover her abdomen in protection; a movement she still hadn't gotten out of the habit of. "What are you doing here?"

"That's a rather popular question right now, wouldn't you say?" He walked past her before she had time to react to his unexpected visit and when she remained at the door, holding onto the knob as she stared at him, he pushed it closed and grabbed her arm to pull her away from it.

Sara couldn't respond. She didn't know how he had the audacity to show his face, let alone barge right in and start pushing his will on her. She immediately yanked out of his grasp.

"How did you. . ."

"Find you? I "am" the supervisor of crime scene investigators. I have a little pull and can open doors other people can't."

"You've got to leave–now," she told him. "Nick . . ."

"I don't give a damn what Nick will do! That little shit's been panting after you almost as obviously as Greg has–I see it finally worked. I don't know why I didn't think of his place earlier, other than the fact that he's been coming to work night after night and talking to me straight in the face without letting on that he knew where you were."

"Did you ask him?" She asked sarcastically.

"Of course not!" He said as if it were perfectly obvious that to do so would expose their two-year relationship.

"Then why would he tell you? He hasn't even mentioned you since he took me in last week. And for that matter, I "really" haven't mentioned you, either." She took another step back toward the door. "After all, you're only a supervisor I once had an infatuation with; nothing compared to the loser who I broke up with last week."

"You didn't break up with me, Sara." He stepped closer to her. "You got angry, and ran away. That doesn't constitute a break-up."

"Well, then, news flash–Grissom! It's rather obvious that we're no longer a couple–if we ever were!" She moved to the door. "Now, again–you've got to leave."

"We were "always" a couple, Sara," he said in the voice that used to weaken her at her knees as he walked up to her until he had her pressed against the door and pushed a strand of her hair back from her face. "We've been a couple since the day you walked into my lecture in San Francisco."

"Really?" She looked back at him with frigid coldness. "And during this time that we've been a "couple," how many women have you fucked?"

He looked at her as if she had slapped him; as if he were seriously considering the fact that perhaps "this" was the end, but he closed his eyes and looked at her again. "Do I get to ask the same question? It doesn't matter what the answer is, Sara. Only what the answer "will" be. We'll start out fresh and move on from here. I won't hold this against you. I know you were upset, and I know Nick's had a thing for you and. . ."

This time, she did hit him. Her hand met with his cheek in a slap that echoed throughout the room and his eyes widened as he showed his shock. She would have swung again, but he grabbed her arms and pushed her back against the door.

"You won't hold it against me! You know I was upset! You don't care that I've been with Nick! Who in the hell says this is about what "you" think? You stand there, so superior, so–so–untouchable, with your mother's Rosary beads stashed in your desk and your Catholic church that you hide behind when you feel the urge–and you speak to me with the morals of a pig! Those words came directly from Heather Kessler's mouth. Well, guess what! I'm not interested in a goddamned thing that insane bitch has to say, because she takes the truth, she takes the goodness in a human and twists it and turns it to make them sound like there's something wrong with "them!" She turns everything around in that little monotone noise that you like to call her voice, and makes selfishness, greed, and perverseness sound like virtues! This is not a game, Grissom! Wake the hell up! Come out of that Halloween house you've jumped into and see the real world! Life isn't in a psychology manual–it really isn't. Life is emotion–life is commitment–life is giving–not taking all the time!"

"I'll give to you! What the hell do you want? I'll give it to you!" He moved closer and leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face, so he moved onto her neck.

She felt her pulse race immediately, she felt her knees begin to weaken and she actually started to relax as she leaned back against the door, but as his hands slid down her arms and he pressed against her, coming in contact with her abdomen, her desire died as much as her child had died the week before. She turned to stone.

"Get–your–filthy hands off of me," she almost growled. He released her and she moved out from between him and the door, but kept her hold on the handle. "I want you to leave now. And just for the record, Nick has been a perfect gentleman this week. He has shown more concern for my well-being than you have in the past six months. So, I wouldn't go rushing into confronting him about any "thing" you might imagine we're having, because right now he doesn't know who the man is that made me go on leave of absence and want to hide away in his home. But he does know that if he should ever meet up with this "man" he's going to show him exactly what he thinks of him."

"Oh, come off it, Sara. I'm certainly not afraid of Nick Stokes."

She looked at him with a raised brow. She knew Grissom and she knew Nick. There was no doubt who would walk away the victor if they ever challenged one another with physical contact.

"Then, be afraid of me. Because if you try to lay your contaminated fingers on me again, they might not be attached to your hand when you get them back."

He looked at her with indecision as she pulled the door open and gestured for him to leave. "Fine. I'll go now. But I'll be back. And this conversation isn't over. I know you, Sara. I know your temper. But I also know your passion. This is definitely not over."

She watched him walk through the doorway and she closed and locked it immediately. She felt as if her heart were going to explode, but she knew she had to move. She went to the extra room she had been staying in and started gathering her things together and putting them back in the boxes she brought them in.


	92. Chapter 92

Chapter Ninety-Two

Sarah put her boxes in her car, finishing by almost one in the morning. She emailed Nick at work, letting him know that she was fine and would get in touch with him once she was settled. Just where she was going to settle was beyond her. The thought of a motel struck her and she went to the edges of town where she checked into a single room. This would suffice until she could find another apartment.

The place wasn't extremely run down. It was clean and quiet, and right now, that was all she was concerned with. The cable stunk but she didn't feel like watching television anyway. Instead, she brought back numerous newspapers and started going through the classifieds for new living arrangements. By the time the sun came up, she had collected quite a list and by nine o'clock she started making inquiries. She managed to get fifteen promising prospects to look into over the next few days. She paid for a week at the motel, using cash so Grissom couldn't track down her credit card, then called Nick and let him know her plans. At night she drove to the locations she had listed and gave them a drive-by inspection, easily narrowing the apartments down by five. Now, she only had ten to look at. Finally, by Thursday morning, she arrived back at the motel and went to have breakfast in the diner across the street. She had tried not to over-think anything for the past two days since she spoke with Grissom, but now as things were finally slowing down and she could almost relax, she had the extra moments that took her mind back to him. She knew she would have to face him soon, but she wanted to keep it on a professional level. She was sure that if she arrived at work, announcing that she would be ready to start back the following Monday, he wouldn't have the opportunity to discuss what used to be their relationship. And, she thought as she drank from her coffee, she had to take her paperwork through Ecklie anyway, so she might as well just go in sometime today between appointments for the apartments and let him know when to expect her back to work.

The meeting with Ecklie went much smoother than anticipated and his sympathy for her showed in his eyes, if not in his words, which he kept very business-like. It was official, after nearly two weeks off of work, she would be returning on the final day of April. She heard a variety of greetings from various technicians and receptionists, everything from actually being glad to see her back, to those who looked at her with compassion, clearly knowing what had happened with Grissom and Heather.

"You're back," the voice sounded as if the wind had been knocked out of him and she turned to looked at Greg standing in the doorway to the break room.

"Not yet," she smiled gently at him. "I'll be back on Monday."

He gave a quick look to the left and right, then nodded toward the garage door. "Did you eat yet today? I was on my way to Frank's for some lunch. Will you come along?"

She looked at his puppy-dog expression and couldn't refuse. Anyway, she hadn't eaten anything since around six that morning. She could go for one of Frank's lunch specials about right now. She followed him to the diner, then after a thorough inspection of her new car, walked in with him and took a booth at the rear of the restaurant.

"Where have you been?" He asked as started drinking from his coffee.

"I'd been staying with someone, and now I'm alone. I'm looking for a new apartment, though. I'm hoping to find something by the end of the week."

"So–where are you–now?"

"I'm in a motel for a few days. Please, don't let this information go any farther."

"You're hiding from Grissom, aren't ya? That's why you came in during day shift."

She just smiled, not wanting to answer that question. "Speaking of which–what are you doing here this time of day?"

"Grissom lent me out to day shift–again. He's been doing that lately. Ever since. . .well, let's just say him and I aren't exactly seeing eye to eye these days."

"Don't jeopardize your job because of me, Greg. Just let it go. I intend to"

"And how are you going to do that? You'll be working for him everyday. There's no way that'll work out."

"I'll just have to adjust. I'll go to work–do my job–and go home."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen. Face it, you're stone cold in love with the jerk."

"Not anymore." She said with a grimace.

Greg stared at her a moment as if he was going to argue the point, then decided not to. "So–uh, instead of spending your money on a motel–you could always come and stay with me until you find a place."

The waitress put a sandwich and fries in front of Sara. "Thank you," she smiled at the woman then turned back to Greg. "I've already paid for the motel."

"You could cancel the rest of the days. If you give them notice, they should refund most of your money." The waitress put Greg's burger and fries in front of him.

"I–don't think that would be a good idea, Greg. I'm able to take care of myself now. . ." She started, then stopped when she realized what she was about to say. "I mean. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Anyway, how long would it be before he'd find out I was there?"

"Not long," he agreed. "Did he find you at the other place? Is that why you're in a motel now?"

Sara simply nodded her head once. "Two nights ago."

"Hmm–that makes sense. Catherine told me as she was leaving this morning, that Grissom's been so cranky the past few days that she was ready to hit him over the head with his damned butterfly collection."

"And did she happen to speculate "why" he would be so cranky?"

"Yeah, but you don't want to hear about that. Do you want your pickles?" He asked as he reached for the green chips lying close to her sandwich, to which she promptly slapped his hand.

"Yes, I want my pickles! Get back to what Catherine thinks is pissing Grissom off," she told him and when he hesitated she went on. "Come on, Greggo, you're the one who started it. Now finish what you were saying."

"You know, Catherine. Most of the time she can't see her hand in front of her face. She talks before she thinks. It isn't important what she said."

"Greg!"

"Okay–okay," he sighed. "She says he's upset because Heather won't see him anymore."

"What?" Sara asked, choking a bit on her food. "What are you talking about? Is he still trying to see her?"

"Not likely," he snorted. "I" know what's up his ass–Catherine just "thinks" she knows. And, as far as I know, he hasn't made any contact with Heather since the day he got her granddaughter for her. No, he's been a bit edgy since you left–but the last two days he's been rather short-tempered. Nick says he's been riding him harder than a bull rider at a rodeo."

"What's he been doing to Nick?" She asked with concern.

"Nothing big, just being a general pain in the ass, so I gather." He took another sip of his coffee. "So, how long until he finds you this time? You can't live out of a motel for the week or so, until you can get into an apartment."

"I'm fine," she smiled at him. "It really isn't that bad."

"Right," he gave a small laugh. "Well, lets hope you find your dream home and the tenants moved out early–so you can move in right away."

They finished eating their lunch and Greg went back to work as she went to her next appointment to look at an apartment. She planned on home-hunting for the next three days, and it would fill her time and not allow her to dwell on too much.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

As Sara waited for her assignment that Sunday night, she felt as if her skin was about ready to crawl off her bones. She smiled politely at Warrick and Catherine, received a welcoming hug from Nick and encouraging pat on the back from Greg. Finally the moment of truth approached as Grissom came down the hall with their orders.

"Catherine and Nick, three DBs over at the Palermo, Greg car-fire with two vics, Warrick robbery with two vics." Grissom turned and started back out of the break room.

"Hey!" Warrick called but Grissom continued like he didn't hear him. "Gris!"

"Yes?" He turned and looked at the other man.

"I think you're forgetting about someone here."

Catherine and Nick looked at Sara in confusion, but Greg rolled his eyes with distaste at Grissom's "accidental" exclusion.

"Oh–Sara. I didn't see you there. I guess you have to go with me."

"Couldn't she come with me to the car-fire? I think I might need the help," Greg spoke up.

"No, I think you can handle it by yourself tonight, Greg." He looked at the young man with significance. "She can come with me. I'm gonna be busy tonight. I could use the help."

Slowly, they turned and left the room to go on their assigned jobs, leaving Sara alone. She really hoped he wouldn't do something like this, especially on her first night back, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she should have expected as much. She waited a moment longer then took a deep breath and got to her feet. She moved down to where she could see him standing in his office. She slowly approached his doorway, as he was standing with his back to her, reading something from the top of his desk.

"I'll meet you at the Denali," he said without turning to actually acknowledge her.

She went to the garage and waited, feeling chilled by the night air as she stood alone in the dim lighting. She thought she heard a noise from a few cars down and when she turned to look, she saw a girl getting out of her car. She knew she had seen her before, but didn't have much time to think more about it as Grissom entered the garage and unlocked the doors. Sara got into the passenger's seat as he was coming around the front of the vehicle. When he got in, he put the key in the ignition but didn't start the truck. He sat quite still and when she glanced over at him, she could see the tension in his facial features as he stared out the windshield. She looked to see if there was "something" disturbing that he was seeing outside, but there was nothing. She tried not to be obvious as she glanced back at him again and saw that his breathing was a bit on the deep side, slow and deep. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again as he continued to stare in front of them. Finally, he reached for the keys and turned the ignition, then pulled out of the parking area and started to their scene.

They traveled nearly five miles without speaking, before Sara finally spoke up. "I don't want this to interfere with work."

"This?" He asked as he kept his vision out the windshield. "And what exactly would "this" be? Are you talking about the two-week leave of absence you took when we were short-handed to begin with, and for God only knows what reason, because it's "confidential" and I–"your supervisor" am not allowed to know what it says? Or are you talking about the fact that you moved out of our home to live with another man for over a week before disappearing into thin air for days?"

She could hear his temper that was being kept just beneath the surface, so she paused for a moment before answering him. "I was referring to our breakup."

"We did–not–break up. You left."

"I don't think it's wise for us to discuss this right now." She looked back out the windshield in time to see him go through a red light. She immediately grabbed onto the dashboard and turned to glare at him. "Didn't you see that?"

"See what?" He asked tersely.

"Nothing. Never mind. And forget I said anything. I shouldn't have brought it up." She turned back to the front again.

"It's already forgotten," he said under his breath and continued to their destination in silence.

When they arrived, they were directed inside a suburban home where they found Brass standing outside a bedroom with an elderly couple lying inside. He turned and saw Grissom, then saw Sara walking a step behind him.

"Hey," he said with a bit more excitement and joy than was appropriate at the scene of what looked to be a double homicide. "You're back!"

"Yeah," she said quietly with a small smile to him. "I'm back."

"Is everything–okay?" He asked with raised brows.

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh," Brass voiced his understanding that things weren't exactly as they should be, but he'd wait until later for the details.

"What do we got here?" Grissom asked, almost as if he wasn't sure Brass was even going to answer him, but the detective explained the findings and what they suspected it to be up to that point.

It was done succinctly and then he turned back to Sara. "When you're done taking pictures, I need to talk to you. Capiche?

"Yeah," she nodded briefly before entering the room. "Sure."

She noticed the way Grissom watched the two of them converse with irritation, so she went about the scene, taking photos as he went about collecting his evidence. It took another hour and a half of taking prints and collecting objects to take back to the lab before they left the room and started for the Denali again. On the way, she saw Brass waiting at his car and speaking to another police officer. When he saw her, he turned and waited for her to approach him.

"So, I see you're working together. Does that mean he knows?"

"He doesn't know anything."

"You're going to have to tell him sometime, Sara."

"Why?" She asked blankly. "What possible good would it do now?"

"He has the right to know."

"But does he have the desire to know? I don't think it would matter to him, Jim. So, instead of telling him and watching his apathy or his bitterness for it having happened at all, I'd rather just go on and deal with it myself. I don't need the added stress of his apathy."

Brass stared at her a moment as if considering her answer and didn't seem to be able to find an argument against her logic. At the sound of Grissom's voice, they both looked over at where he stood at the door to the Denali.

"Is she riding back to the lab with you?"

Brass let out a short sarcastic laugh, then looked at Sara with empathy. "I don't know. She might."

"Then I'll see you there–if she decides to come back to work and not go on another vacation."

Grissom got into the vehicle and started the motor but when he tried to back out of the driveway, he slammed on the brakes when he spotted Brass moving up directly behind him. Sara watched with wide eyes as the older detective continued to walk along the side of the Denali until he got to the driver's door. When she saw Brass grab the door handle and yank it open, she hurried toward them.

"Vacation? What are you–an idiot? Let me tell ya what kind of a fuckin' vacation she had. . ." Brass started but Sara grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Grissom.

"Jim! Stop it!" She whispered harshly at him. "I don't need this kind of shit. You should know that–so why antagonize the situation?"

"You looking to "accidently" hit me in the face with a car door again, Jim?" Grissom asked as he looked at him.

"No," Sara spoke up. "He isn't. And if you wait, I'll get in the truck and ride back with you."

Grissom had no choice but to wait for her to get in the vehicle as Brass continued to stand next to him, holding his door open. Once Sara was strapped inside, Brass tossed the door closed and stepped back. Grissom backed out of the driveway, then turned down the street on their way to the lab.

"Well, you certainly have your fair share of galloping knights in shining armor, don't you?" Grissom said dryly. "Let's see–Nick takes you into his home for. . .how many days? Then Warrick jumps to your aid because he feels you're being neglected. Greg would rather you work with him, so you don't have to put up with the insensitive monster you have for a supervisor. And you have our good Detective Brass ready to drag me out of my vehicle to fight for your virtue. Is there "any" man who wouldn't assist our fair maiden?"

"Yeah. I can think of one." She half-whispered snidely.

"Don't give me that! Just because I helped a woman I'm very fond of, who was in desperate need, instead of running home and jumping into bed with you–does not make me . . ."

"Enough!" She hissed at him. "I told you–I don't want this to come between me and my job! But I will say one thing that's striking me as rather ironic! Stop and think of every one of those "men" who were ready to defend me–and then compare their affection toward me to what they feel toward your "lady-love." It's all a matter of taste–and your taste ran to the dark side two weeks ago–and five months ago–and a year ago–and God only knows how many times. So it's done–it's over with! So move on."

"It is not done!"

"It "is" done! If you want someone to keep you warm at night–go back to Heather! I'm sure she'll accept you back with open arms and open legs!" (I want to thank Starbuckjade for the use of this line!)

"Is that what you want?" He asked as he looked over at her, but she refused to answer. He swung the truck into a store parking lot then came to an abrupt stop. She looked at him through huge eyes as he put the vehicle into Park then unhooked his seat belt. When she saw him start to turn toward her, she quickly unhooked her own seatbelt and blindly reached for her door handle but couldn't find it in the dark. Instead his hands clasped onto her upper arms and turned her to face him. "Is that what you want, Sara? You want me to go to her"

She could only stare at him. How could she answer such a question. She pushed at his chest and tried to wrench his hands from her arms. "Let go."

"I want an answer, Sara." This time he pulled her closer, so their faces were only inches apart. "Do you want me to start with her where I ended it?"

"But you didn't end it–did you?" She whispered as she watched him.

"Yes," he hissed through his teeth. "I ended it. I ended it a long time ago. How much clearer do I need to make this."

She closed her eyes in complete frustration, then opened them and smiled without humor. "I guess, clear enough for you to be able to see it. But you can't. You run back to her every time she crooks her finger at you–and then when she's had her taste of you, she spits you back out until next time. So–you ask if I "want" you to go back? It isn't about what I "want." I'm so used to "not" getting what I want that it's never going to be about that. It's about what will happen again and again. You sit there, so pompous, trying to turn this whole facade on to me–well, I'm through taking the blame! It's time for you to wake up and realize what you've done. You've destroyed something–destroyed something that'll never come back."

"I've destroyed nothing."

"It wasn't "nothing," she said as a single tear spilled onto her cheek. "It was something unique and amazing. It's just too bad that you didn't want to see it."

"I saw it," he said as he released her and she moved back into her seat. "You teased me with it–then took it away."

"No, Griss, you tossed it away." She knew he had no idea that she was referring to their child, but she didn't care. At this point she was too tired and emotionally drained to fill him in on the real reason she was off work. "The moment you ran from my bed to that woman–you threw everything away."

"Sara! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I want to go back to the lab now." She turned toward the front of the vehicle, so tired from all of this that she could barely breathe. "We need to go over this evidence."


	93. Chapter 93

Chapter Ninety-Three

Sara worked with Hodges and Wendy throughout the rest of her first night and by morning she was certain she could close the case, she just needed to compare notes with Grissom, which, after the silence of the last half of their ride back to the lab, she wasn't looking forward to. But, she had decided she could come back to work, now she had to prove she could do it.

"Grissom?" She said from the doorway to his office as he sat at his desk, reading over some reports. He looked up at her and removed his glasses. "I've finished the Marshall's case."

"Murder-suicide?" He asked.

"Yeah. She had GSR all over. Doc Robbins found cancer spread through her lungs, and with Mr. Marshall in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's, it's believed she didn't want to leave him alone after she died. So she took him with her."

"How generous of her," he said as he watched her.

"I think she did it because she loved him. I think she felt if she wasn't there to take care of him, he would live out his life with the possibly being mistreated. So, she terminated that risk the only way she could."

"You find that acceptable?" He asked quietly, his gentleness bringing her a step closer to him.

"I don't know. I've never thought much about it. I couldn't really tell you what I would've done in her situation."

"And what about him? Do you think he deserved to die, just because she thought that's the way it should be?"

"I don't think he knew the difference–do you?"

"If he had lived without her? Who knows? Now that he's dead, perhaps he's grateful for being released from the boundaries his diseased mind had set for him."

"So, you think she set him free?"

He leaned back in his chair and watched her take another step into his office. "I don't know."

"Come on, your catholic upbringing must have you pointed in one direction or the other."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, it isn't condoned. But as a scientist I'm not sure. Perhaps he would've lived another twenty or thirty years being trapped inside a healthy body without even being aware of it. But then, there's always the possibility that in ten or fifteen years they would find a cure and he'd have come back to the life he'd left."

"But look what he'd have woken up to. His wife is dead for fifteen years and he didn't even get to grieve for her yet–and instead of being, say, sixty-five, the age that he developed the Alzheimer's; he wakes up and he's an eighty-year-old."

"But if you look at it that way, then you're saying to pull the plug on coma patients, as well."

"I'm not saying they should pull the plug on anyone. I'm just weighing the pros and cons, and I'm not sure I'd like to get my mind back after living in my body for fifteen years and not knowing what's going on around met."

"And losing friends and family during those years without knowing it. Can you imagine the grieving that would take place? At that age, a fifteen year span could take away the spouse, numerous siblings, parents if they had survived into their eighties, and possibly even children. Then instead of having to deal with them one at a time, as they occurred, they'd all hit you at once. Not a very appealing outcome, is it?"

"No. I suppose not." She turned and started toward the hall again. "I–uh–have to go home now."

"Is the Silver Dove really worth going home to?" He asked, stopping her as she turned to look back at him.

"You know where I'm staying," she asked and he shrugged as he got up from his desk and picked up his keys, preparing to leave, as well. "It's home for now."

"It doesn't have to be."

She turned and left, not wishing to get into another heated discussion. She was exhausted and wanted to go back to the motel and get some rest before she went for her last appointment for her new apartment.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara had made a decision. It was a two-bedroom condo with one and a half baths. Not that she needed the extra bedroom or half a bath, but it was added space that she never had as she was growing up. It seemed appealing to her. The only problem was that it wouldn't be empty until May fifteenth.

She had started to become accustomed to working with Grissom again. She didn't know if it was professional or personal, but he seemed determined to assign her with him every other night for the rest of her first week. Still, trying to make it not too obvious to the others, she reminded herself on the one hand, but on the other she was grateful for the opportunity to work with Warrick Monday night through Tuesday morning and Greg Wednesday night through Thursday morning. Tuesday night and Thursday night she spent with Grissom.

By shortly after midnight, Friday morning, she, at least, wasn't feeling as panicked as she had at the beginning of the week. She still kept somewhat distanced from him, not able to break through the cold barrier that had enveloped her these past weeks, but at least she was functioning in a somewhat capable condition. She took her photos, she gave her opinion on the scenes, she fingerprinted–whatever was needed to get the case done–she did it.

They had just finished working a scene near Lake Mead and were heading back to town as she sat in the passenger's seat and loaded a new memory card into one of her cameras. She felt Grissom glance over at her, more than actually saw it. He hesitated, almost as if he didn't know how to phrase what he was going to ask, then she looked over at him.

"Did you want something?" She asked.

He snapped his mouth closed, then looked back at her. "Are you. . .have you. . ."

"Have I what?"

"Has there been any visitors since you've been staying at the Silver Dove?" He blurted out.

"Yeah," she said irritably. "I charge a sawbuck a pop."

"Sara," he tried again.

"No. There have been no "visitors" at the Silver Dove. Have there been any visitors at your place? I'd think your place is much larger than a room at the Silver Dove."

"I've got the woman-hater at my apartment–remember?" He tried to smile at her. "Any woman who even speaks near my front door is met with vicious snaps and growls that immediately chases them away."

"Well, you really do need to control that temper of yours, Gris," she said automatically, not quite knowing where the desire to tease him came from, but couldn't stop the small smile that crossed her lips as she looked at him and saw him chuckle. "So, how is Hank? Are you keeping him fed? You're not neglecting him, are you?"

"As if that's possible. The only thing he seems to be missing is you."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said solemnly as she looked back out the front of the windshield, then grabbed onto the dash in reflex to the sight coming from the right side of the road. "Gil!"

But it was too late and the deer slammed into the fender, nearly overturning the Denali with its force before the truck bounced back onto its disabled tires and screeched to a halt. Sara felt a trickle of something warm running down her cheek, but when she tried to look at her surroundings, everything seemed to be swimming before her eyes.

"Sara? Sara–are you alright?" Grissom's voice sounded through to her.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically as looked at him.

She felt his hand touching her face, then heard him unsnapping his seatbelt and leaving the vehicle. She was till trying to gather her bearings when she felt Grissom's hands on her, turning her toward her door. Then the sound struck her–the wailing–crying. It was a baby's cry, in agony. She focused in on Grissom's face as he grabbed some gauze from the first aid kit he had brought to her seat with him and pressed it to her temple.

"You're bleeding," he whispered. "It isn't bad, though."

He looked at her as she looked into those intense blue eyes. Then the baby cried again and again–and again.

"Do you hear it?" She whispered.

Grissom looked to the rear of the car and nodded his head. "It's going to die. There's nothing that can be done to prevent it now."

Another screech and Sara winced. "Make it stop, Gil! Make it stop crying!"

"I–I don't know. . ."

"Make it stop!"

She covered her ears with her hands and he looked at her, then back to the rear of the Denali again.

"Alright."

He reached past her and walked toward the bawling and within seconds a blast roared through the darkness and startled Sara so badly she nearly screamed. When Grissom came back with the gun in hand she stared at him with huge eyes.

"What did you do?" She almost yelled at him.

"I put it out of its misery," he explained, but she continued to stare at him, he continued. "Sara–you wanted the deer to stop bawling."

"A deer? It was a deer?" She was shocked! The sounds that had come from it sounded like a newborn's cry. She got up from her seat and tried to walk toward it, but Grissom stopped her.

"Sara, you don't want to see it."

But she continued walking until she looked down at the animal with obvious fractures to at least three of its limbs and a gaping hole in its chest. Then she looked at its face and its eyes that seemed as gentle as any soul she had ever seen. She turned away from it and directly into Grissom's chest. It was only a millimeter of a second before he had his arms around her, comforting her as he walked her to the back end of the Denali which was opened up. He sat her on the floor of the hatch as she unconsciously grasped onto his jacket. She felt his hands moving to her hair, stroking it in a comforting manner as she stared out into the darkness.

"We've got to get back to the lab," she said to him, although she still hadn't moved from where he had seated her with her head lying against his chest as he stood before her.

"We can't," he explained. "We'll need someone to pick us up and bring a tow-truck. The whole front passenger's side is crimped up against the tire."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell and called the lab, reporting the accident and their location and the fact that, no, they didn't need medical treatment at that time. He moved until he was sitting next to her, yet kept his arm around her, and when he tilted her head more toward him so he could look at her laceration again, she caught that expression in his eyes that weakened her already depleted senses. She pulled her face away from his fingers and pressed it against his shoulder, turning more fully against him.

"I thought it was a baby," she whispered, almost ashamed of the illogical thoughts that had run through her. She was feeling cold with thoughts of crying babies and mutiliated deer.

"They sound like babies. It's no wonder. But you saw for yourself, it was a doe."

She nodded her head yes against him, her lips brushing against his throat as he held her. She felt the change in his posture, and when she felt him pull away from her slightly, she groaned her disapproval and leaned into him again. She wanted to absorb his warmth to chase away the coldness. She didn't even stop to think of what message she was conveying, until he was leaning her onto her back and he was looking down at her. She watched the stress cover his face, but she couldn't seem to get past the intense blue of his eyes.

"Sara," he whispered and his lips met hers.

They were tender and gently tugging them with his, encouraging her to respond, but she remained passive. He brushed his lips across hers as his hands moved to hold her head steady. She seemed frozen beneath him, watching as if a bystander, until he turned his body toward hers and she felt the significant hardness jutting from him as it touched her thigh. She jumped as if she were burnt.

"Stop," she insisted as she turned her head away and put her hands on his chest.

"Sara, don't do this," he pleaded in a whisper.

"I'm sorry–I'm sorry." She moved beneath him, trying to escape but he held her there as he looked at her. "I can't–I can't. You–you can't do this anymore. You weren't there. You–you corrupted it–you desecrated it."

"What?" He asked with knit brows as he allowed her to get out of the Denali.

"I can't talk about it now." She waved him off as she took a few steps into the darkness.

"You "can't?" Or you "won't?"

"I "won't." You had your chance to talk and she wouldn't let you. Talking is over." She walked toward the front of the vehicle and suddenly wished she had a drink.

"What are you talking about?" He insisted as he followed her.

"It doesn't matter, anymore." She turned and looked at him. "I said I was sorry for making you think I wanted . . .I'm just sorry."

Grissom watched as she wrapped her arms around herself, then slowly he removed his jacket and put it on her shoulders. She appreciated its warmth, but the smell of him infiltrated her senses, so after a minute or two, she took it back off and handed it back to him.

"Wear it. You seem to be in shock–you need to stay warm." He took her arm and guided her to the driver's seat, then moved to lean against the back door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

They remained silent for the next twenty minutes until they saw the lights of a tow-truck and Warrick arrived in an extra SUV. Grissom got into the front with Warrick while Sara got into the back seat and listened to the two men discussing the damage to the Denali and whether they thought Sara should go to the hospital to be checked out for her laceration. Grissom explained that it was only a slight cut and he had bandaged it. Within a few days they'd never even know it was there because it was along her hairline.

Once they were inside the lab, Grissom told her to wait for him in his office. She needed to sign forms regarding her injury but when she started to protest, it only took a single look from him to know he was in no mood to butt heads. She only had to wait five minutes before he joined her as she sat in front of his desk. He went to his computer, opened a few windows then printed out some papers. He brought them over for her to sign, declaring she refused treatment for her injuries, which she did, then passed them back to him. When he didn't say anything, she looked up at him.

"Is that it?" She asked.

"I don't know–you tell me. Is it?"

She dropped her gaze and got to her feet. "Yeah. I guess it is."

She left his office and returned to the Silver Dove.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara was called in to work Saturday evening and she worked with Greg and Grissom on an explosion that occurred near an elementary school. They assisted day shift in the gathering of evidence and although they didn't stay more than one shift, they were kept quite busy. Sara noted that while working with that third person, the edge seemed to be taken off of them and she was relieved to feel that possibly Grissom was backing away from her. Maybe now she could get on with her life and try to re-group and start over. It wasn't until she was ready to leave the following morning that anything remotely personal came up.

"Not quite the car we had decided on, is it?"

Grissom's voice came from behind her as she was preparing to leave. She turned and saw that he was on his way to his car also.

"No," she answered. "I decided on something else."

"When did you do this? While on vacation?"

"Yeah, Grissom," she sighed as she opened her door. "While I was on vacation."

"I'm not giving up–you do realize that–don't you?"

She looked at him and dropped her gaze, then sat on her seat before driving off. "I'm sorry to hear that."

That night she didn't even make it to the lab before her cell went off and Brass was asking for her assistance for a DB at an apartment building. They suspected it was another miniature killing who evidently had been dead for some time. As she entered the crime scene to find Grissom kneeling at the bathroom's doorway, talking to David Phillips as he examined the body, she heard them discussing the fact that it could have been anywhere from several days to several weeks. The extreme coldness of the apartment would have delayed degeneration. She moved up to stand slightly beside and behind Grissom as she flashed her light in at the male body wearing white scrubs.

"Miniature killer?" She asked.

Grissom recognized her voice and got to his feet immediately. "It's hard to say. We haven't found a miniature of the scene yet. Just this." She looked down at the tiny figurine he held in an evidence bag; a replica of the body on the floor. "The clothes match. The vic's a PT nurse. There's no blood on the doll and it's not posed like the body."

"Bleach at the scene, just like the others," Sara observed. "Maybe, this one wasn't planned. The killer has to make the miniature after the fact. That's why it's so cold in here; to preserve the body."

"I don't think we can rule anything out." He shrugged and turned toward her, then before walking away, added, "It's all yours, my dear."


	94. Chapter 94

Chapter Ninety-Four

Grissom thought he was so close to reaching her. God knows why he still wanted her. She's been fighting him every step of the way for over three weeks. And why? Just because he went to see Heather in the damned hospital. If it had been "Nick" or "Greg," he thought bitterly, then that would have been considered different. So damned what? So he liked another woman–he had a history with another woman. Could he help it if tragedy always seemed to befall the poor girl? Jesus, what the hell did she do to deserve all this catastrophe? So he went to help her. Big fuckin' deal!

Sara had no right to turn on him like she did. Sara didn't have a clue what it was to be in dire need of a friend the way Heather was. Sara "has her friends." Plenty of them, by the looks of it. Heather only had him. And if Sara felt "neglected" simply because he stayed away for a night, then she had better open her eyes and look at the facts. He didn't do anything wrong–he didn't cheat on her, per se. So, he held Heather, he stroked her back as she cried, he sat with her on the sofa and let her cry on his shoulder as she explained her heartache over the loss of her granddaughter. And when she was cried out, she tried to change the topic from herself to show interest in him and what he was doing with his life. His personal life. She was concerned that he was leading the life that he wanted, and wasn't being coerced into a life of tranquil serenity when he could have excitement and danger if he so desired.

But then, that was where it started to go bad with Heather. It was after Brass and Catherine found him at Heather's, that he and Heather returned to the sitting room and she curled up into his arms again. Things may have gotten a little out of hand when he allowed her to kiss him, but he could understand her desperation for some human kindness. It was when he refused to take it any farther that she looked at him as if he had abandoned her just like everyone else. He tried to explain that he wanted to be her friend; that she was a wonderful woman–but he was in a monogamous relationship with Sara. It was shortly after that, that she asked him to leave and not come back. She didn't need his kind of help anymore. He should just go back to what he was used to–what he felt "safe" with–someone he could share his boring little fetishes with and not live out the needs that she knew he truly desired. He remembered when Heather said this, he knew it was because she was under duress, but even then, he found it odd, considering anything he had ever shared with Heather had been rather conventional–whereas Sara was his excitement, Sara was his joy and laughter. Sara was his Sara!

So, he left her house that morning, knowing he would be back, knowing he wouldn't rest until he saw that she had her granddaughter within easy reach. She deserved the child, and he wasn't going to give up until she had her.

When he returned to the lab that day, he saw the looks and heard the whispers that were circulating as soon as he entered. He heard muffled sounds that included Sara's name and the pity they felt for her. "Such a nice woman, she shouldn't waste her time waiting for that bastard–she could do so much better than being in love with a whoremonger." He really didn't recognize the voice, but when he turned the corner he found a group of technicians gathered, including Hodges,Wendy, Mandy and Arch. There were several others, but when they saw him, they dispersed in different directions, down various hallways. When he passed Judy and several of her friends, he heard someone mention the fact that if they'd actually be married to someone like that, it would be an easy ticket to a sizable alimony check. Another woman suggested that she'd forfeit the alimony in favor of a sharp knife and a "Get Out of Jail Free" card for after she cut his penis off. And then there were those who commented on Sara's dignity in the face of such a filthy betrayal, even if he was too high and mighty to acknowledge her presence–she behaved like a saint. "Saint, my ass," he thought to himself. "What "saint" could pack a wallop like she could? And she certainly doesn't have the language of any saint he's ever heard of."

It was almost an hour later that he entered the layout room where Catherine and Wendy were just exiting (and he could've sworn Wendy was throwing daggers at him with her intense glare before looking back to her papers and going on her way). He tried to explain to Sara what had happened. He just couldn't think of how to put it. And then she told him to do what he needed to do. Okay, so he did it. He "needed" to see that Heather got the child. He "needed" to see that Heather was happy again. He "needed" to see that he and Heather were friends again.

What he didn't need was to go to work that night and have a message from Conrad Ecklie informing him that Sara wouldn't be coming in. He didn't need to go home the next morning and find a good portion of her things missing. He didn't need to find a fortune in food tossed in the garbage. And he didn't need to be informed later by Ecklie that Sara was actually on a leave of absence for an undetermined length of time, and no–Ecklie couldn't tell him why. It was a confidential matter. Confidential to who? Everyone at the lab knew she was taking off because he went to help Heather Kessler–it certainly was no secret.

Grissom sighed as he followed Brass into the apartment building. The fact was that the past three weeks were exhausting. He had received several calls from Heather, expressing her gratitude for uniting her with her granddaughter. But the one person that he wanted to receive a call from, refused. Finding her at Nick's apartment after the first week unnerved him. He didn't confront Nick simply because he had to see it to make sure it was true. When she opened the door to his apartment he was overcome with a strange sense of despair that made him say things he never would have thought could come from his mouth. He was desperate, knowing that if it came down to it, he'd be in the fight of his life against Nick Stokes to get Sara back. And the odd thing was, (although when he stopped to consider it was Nick that he was dealing with) Nick had no idea who the villain in this tragedy was. As far as Grissom knew, Nick was still looking for this phantom boyfriend who treated Sara so badly. He didn't know just when he realized that Sara hadn't done anything intimate with Nick. Maybe it was the slap in the face; maybe it was the fury in her eyes or the tears of frustration. But he'd be a liar if he didn't say that he was relieved to no end.

He recalled how she told him she knew about his and Heather's time spent together before he went to Massachusetts as well as the gift she had sent him on Valentine's Day, and how he had thanked her for the flowers. He still felt a cold chill run down his spine over that one. He didn't lie very often, but on occasions like these, he felt it would be better if she didn't know about the events that took place. It would serve her no purpose other than to make her angry. When she caught him in an out-and-out lie it rendered him speechless. He was not a good liar, and that was why he rarely attempted it. All he could do was stammer and sputter as he tried to answer her. But still, she had to understand that he neglected to tell her these things for her own good!

And, well, the fact that Heather had actually called and said those things could easily be put off as the distress she was under. When he next had the opportunity to speak to her and he asked about the message she had left, she felt thoroughly embarrassed and guilt-ridden, stating that she never stopped to imagine that Sara would listen in on his private messages.

So, when Sara came back to work last week, he knew no other way to open their lines of communication than by forcing her to work with him. After that first night of total frustration and feuding, he decided it would get to be a bit much, rehashing the same old lines day after day, so cut their co-working back to every other day. But Friday, morning, when he had hit that deer; that shrieking, bawling deer that sounded more like a child than a wild animal, he thought he was getting close to his goal with Sara. His first concern was seeing that she was alright and after a quick inspection of her laceration, he saw that it was only superficial. But the noises that were coming from the rear of the Denali seemed to upset her as much as they were getting to him. Why couldn't the damn thing just die? If there was anything he hated, it was being put in a position where he had to watch an animal suffer, and this deer wasn't going out quietly. When he shot it, it was all he could do not to look away as he fired, because as those huge brown eyes stared at him, he could have sworn for an instant that it had a humanity to it, almost childlike. But he pulled the trigger and it was silenced.

He intended only to comfort Sara as he put her into the back of the Denali, but something happened. Three weeks without her is what happened, he thought sarcastically. Christ, he was a man, after all. What did she expect as she curled herself up against him and looked at him with eyes, even more chocolate than those of the deer a few yards away; the wanting; the need in those eyes–he couldn't help but kiss her. After that, it was a lost cause, because over the years he has found that kissing Sara Sidle is like going up the high side of any roller coaster he had ever attempted to ride. The anticipation of what is to come, seconds away, makes his heart beat faster, his breathing increase, and with Sara, it all rushes to one spot because he knows she can thrill him beyond compare. So if she was shocked when he leaned into her and she felt the evidence of his anticipation, then she evidently didn't know her effect on him as clearly as he did. Jesus, but he wanted her, then and there, knowing anyone could have driven by at any moment, knowing that a tow truck was on its way, as well as another ride for them to get back to Vegas–he still wanted to risk it just to make love to her.

Then when she stopped everything and started babbling about desecration and corruption; about not being allowed to talk to him; and she wouldn't elaborate–he became angry. He became even angrier when he moved to get out of the back of the truck and had a goddamned boner like a high school teenager. He was so tired of playing games. He just wanted her to come back home. They could work things out if she'd just come home. He'd convince her that he had done nothing wrong. He'd prove that he'd be everything she wanted him to be. He'd make her want him. Again, he sighed, knowing he was fighting against the Sidle temper and that was a force to be reckoned with. If he could only get past whatever damned barrier she seemed intent on building around herself and he could reach her heart again. . .

He trudged into the apartment behind Brass. At least they were on "speaking" terms. Granted, it was only regarding work, then Brass would clam up again and leave, but at least he was speaking. He knew he was going to face difficulties when he was at Heather's and he walked out to face Brass and Catherine. What he didn't count on was the silent treatment. His old friend completely shut down on him. He didn't give him any chances to explain himself, and whenever he tried, he was more or less told, in so many words, to take his perversities elsewhere. And when he tried to defend himself against that logic, he was informed that his sense of loyalty was perverse enough, if he decided to take it inside "the dark madam's" bedroom, then so be it. And he would walk away, making it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with him. But when Sara returned to work, Brass seemed to be opening up–a little.

Grissom started to follow Brass through the room, looking for one of Ernie Dell's foster children, but the sight on a nearby shelf stopped him. A miniature, wearing white scrubs, caught his attention and the discovery of the man, lying in the bathroom, opened the case to immediate overdrive. The main person he wanted brought into the case; the person with the most knowledge of the past cases; was barely on speaking terms with him. But she was the one he needed.

He had Brass call her for assistance and as he was kneeling on the floor, discussing the body with David Phillips as the younger man examined the body, he could almost feel her move up to stand close to him.

"Miniature killer?" She asked.

Grissom raised to stand next to her immediately. "It's hard to say. We haven't found a miniature of the scene yet. Just this." He showed her the figurine. "The clothes match. The vic's a PT nurse. There's no blood on the doll and it's not posed like the body."

"Bleach at the scene, just like the others," Sara observed, standing so close, he could smell her body lotion; lotion that up until several weeks ago, he had the privilege of rubbing on her body. "Maybe, this one wasn't planned. The killer has to make the miniature after the fact. That's why it's so cold in here; to preserve the body."

"I don't think we can rule anything out." His intense curiosity of the case was certainly in the forefront, but he just couldn't seem to ignore the fact that she was looking at him a bit more than she had been lately. He certainly was going to look further into this when they next had the opportunity. In the meantime, he was taking that miniature back to the lab and giving it a much closer examination. While he was gone, though, he didn't want there to be any doubt in her mind–he was not going to give up his mission to win her back. If he sounded a bit flippant, then at least he hoped he got her attention. "It's all yours, my dear."

The next he saw of Sara was at the conference table with Nick and Warrick. They were running through everything they had come up with regarding the newest murder. He had found a fingerprint on the miniature this time–he was getting close and he knew it. If he stuck with this case, pushed forward without any interruptions, he was sure they would have their killer. Regrettably, by the time he finished going over information with the three of them, Catherine had joined them and his opportunity of talking to Sara alone was slim. The night stretched on and by morning, they were on the trail of a Natalie Davis which lead him through the foster care system.

He got back to the lab by early afternoon and sat at his desk. He was beyond exhausted but he refused to let this go until he saw that Brass had Natalie Davis in custody. I

_t was the need for sleep, pure and simple, that made him close his eyes for only a moment but it was during this moment that light seemed to explode through his head and a flash of a child standing in the brightness stilled his every movement. Slowly, the back light faded and he could begin to see curly golden-brown hair on a boy no older than five or six years old. He had eyes as blue as the ocean and when he smiled, he seemed to radiate warmth. Grissom barely noticed the small gap between the boy's front teeth, so overwhelming was the joy emanating from the youth. _

"_Who are you?" Grissom asked with astonishment, completely in awe of this child's beauty and charisma._

_The boy giggled, then took a step toward him. "Christopher."_

"_Christopher," Grissom sounded out, never looking away from him. "What are you doing here?"_

_Christopher stepped toward him again, this time reaching a hand toward him. "Keep her with you."_

"_What. . ." Grissom began to question the boy as he felt a need so strong that he couldn't help but reach back and touch the tips of the small fingers but upon impact the electricity that shot through him had the force of a bomb._

Grissom woke with a start and looked around the office. A dream; only a dream. He got up from his seat and went through the halls again, quickly moving onto matters more important than a nightmare about the golden-haired youth.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

He listened as her cell rang, wanting to meet her back at the lab as soon as possible to help pick up the pieces he had just been given.

"Hello, Gilbert," she said lightly, but he subconsciously recalled that she only called him that when she was angry. He'd deal with that later, but now he wanted her with him because he had a feeling everything was falling into place and it was going to happen in a hurry.

"Hey, we've got an ID on the miniature killer. Her name's Natalie Davis."

"One of Ernie Dell's fosters?"

"Yeah. Catherine and I just spoke to the biological father; says he put Natalie up for adoption after she shoved her kid sister out of a tree house."

"Does he know where she's at?"

"No. But with the name its only a matter of time."

"Alright. I'll be right there. I'll meet you at the lab."

He wished he could get a small break–a breather, just to get a fill-up of the energy that the rest his body was seeking. Maybe once inside his office, he could catch a tiny power nap until Sara arrived, although his last attempt at such a thing proved rather fruitless. He was barely through his door when he saw it. He had to be mistaken–how could it possibly be another miniature? Right here in his office! He couldn't look away from it; a morbid fascination taking over as he examined the desert scene with an overturned red Mustang. Upon closer inspection he saw the arm moving from beneath the vehicle. He used a tissue to lift the car and found the miniature of a brunette CSI agent lying in the sand. Recognition was immediate.

He called for what had to be the tenth time, wanting Sara to pick up her cell, needing her to pick up for his own sanity.

"Come on, Sara–pick up," he begged as he stormed through the lab's hallway. "Please, pick up."

But there was no answer; just what he feared; just what he had expected.

He joined the rest of his crew in the layout room where they were already working on finding Sara. "Her name is Natalie Davis and she works for our janitorial service."

"Here?" Catherine couldn't believe it. "In the lab?"

"For over a month. She's never been arrested so there's nothing to flag on a security check. She used Ernie Dell's address on her work form. She has no home phone and no driver's license."

"Okay, I got it," Greg spoke up from the laptop he was searching on. "A two thousand seven red Mustang, totaled outside the Trip Wire Bar six weeks ago. Driver fatality, DWI, the car went to scrap. Lead CSI on the case, Sara Sidle."

"Pull up the case photos," Grissom ordered. Greg enlarged a photo of Grissom and Sara and he immediately recognized Natalie Davis in the background. "Oh my God. She was at the crime scene."

"She salvages the car," Nick starts, clearly not understanding. "And gets it out to the desert–grabs Sara and puts her under it?"

"I don't get it," Warrick said. "What does Sara have to do with bleach?"

"This just feels different," Catherine half-whispers.

"It is different," Grissom begins while memories of the scene of the accident roll over him. He was with Sara and he needed the camera she was carrying. It was just another one of their hidden gestures, "sneaking a caress," they used to call it, and feel as if they were fooling the world. It was only a touch; something he needed to do; no more than a touch. He could remember the sensation of her silky skin beneath his fingertips as he slid his hand down her arm, and he recalled the look she had given him in return. What he would give to have her look at him with such love and devotion now. They thought they had it so well hidden–but it took a psychopath to see it; to take something so good; so pure; and use it against them. "This girl holds me responsible for the death of Ernie Dell. I took away the only person she ever loved. So she's going to do the same thing to me."

He didn't notice the look of disbelief that crossed Catherine's face, not so much disbelief that he loved her, as it was that he finally admitted it and she wondered if she heard him correctly. He didn't see the realization that came over Warrick's expression, or the searching gaze Greg gave the others as an admission was finally given to something he had known for nearly two years. And he didn't notice the sight of Nick catching onto his meaning with numerous thoughts racing through his head as he realized who the father of Sara's child possibly could be.

"It's not about a psychotic reaction to bleach, or some dead sister, or the doll. Not your little bisque doll."

Grissom recalled the username and immediately left them. A quick check on his computer and he found what he was searching for. He didn't care what anyone thought back in the layout room; really didn't take a single thought about it–his only concern now was finding this person who took Sara, and then he was going to get his the most important person in his life back.

A/N: As you see, I've posted two chapters today. I'm going to try to finish up two more this evening and maybe post them tomorrow. I "will" get to the part everyone is waiting for. Grissom "will" find out about the baby very soon. I promise the best is yet to come. (Oh, and if there are any mistakes in this chapter, I was on my way out the door when I stopped to post these, so if you find anything blatant–I'll fix it after I get home tonight.)


	95. Chapter 95

Chapter Ninety-Five

"Hello, Gilbert," Sara answered her cell as she rode the elevator on her way up to get her car.

"Hey, we've got an ID on the miniature killer. Her name's Natalie Davis."

"One of Ernie Dell's fosters?"

"Yeah. Catherine and I just spoke to the biological father; says he put Natalie up for adoption after she shoved her kid sister out of a tree house."

"Does he know where she's at?"

"No. But with the name its only a matter of time."

"Alright. I'll be right there. I'll meet you at the lab." Sara walked to the rear of her car, unlocked it and lifted the hatch to put her case inside when she heard someone call to her from the shadows.

"Sara."

The jolt that went through Sara knocked her to the ground. Several things flashed through her mind; a lonely girl watching as she and Grissom kissed at a restaurant's dark parking lot; a girl mopping the floor outside Grissom's office as he wiped her tears and walked her out of the building; and a girl who was waiting by her vehicle in the lab's parking garage several days before. She had put the image of the girl into the back of her mind each time, not connecting the incidents until now, and she knew immediately, it was Natalie Davis.

Sara woke several times over the next hours, each time facing different horrors. She fought for her survival, but this small girl, had a physical strength that surpassed what was expected. Sara could only chalk it up to complete insanity that had the girl so charged with adrenaline that her strength was almost superhuman. Sara was defeated at every turn. When Sara was subdued again and tried to communicate with the girl, she found that it was her connection to Grissom that had her in this predicament, but she soon was losing touch with reality as she realized that she had been drugged. She didn't come to until she was lying beneath a mass of metal that was being lowered onto her.

She could still feel the effects of the drugs weighing heavily on her as the pain seared through her and the torrential rains began. She knew the potential of drowning beneath the car was eminent. She had to free herself but nothing would give. She was grabbing whatever she could find to try to break away and still she was held securely.

"Pull harder," came the voice that sounded to be next to Sara's ear. She jumped with startled surprise as she looked around in the darkness, seeing no one there, but hearing the child's encouraging voice. "Pull!"

The sound gave Sara a strength that she didn't think she was capable of. She felt, as well as heard the bones snap in her arm. She worked for what seemed like forever, but still her broken appendage wasn't free. Then, when she was gasping for air within the diminishing air pocket, she heard it again, but this time it wasn't words. It was a child's giggle and then the shifting of the car as it released its deadly hold on her arm. She took another deep breath and swam beneath some of the mangled steel, then out to her freedom. Her mind was racing as she kept searching the area around her, but she saw no one; heard nothing but the pounding rain. Then she realized the drugs Natalie had given her had worked in her favor, giving her the auditory hallucinations that she needed to free herself. Still, the haunting sounds of a child's laughter wouldn't release her as she made her way from the steel trap. She repeatedly paused and looked back to where she had heard the voice, wondering. . .wondering if. . .

Her mind had been spinning over the past hours, trying to think of possible ways to escape from Natalie; trying to figure out how to get herself out from beneath a mass of metal and flood waters; how to move onto the next step to survival, but now, her mind began to slow down. A calmness moved over her as she carried the mirror she had broken off the car and started off through the rain.

The sweltering heat of the sun prompted her to construct some kind of protection for her head as she wrapped some cloth over it, and with the rest of her torn shirt, she braced her injured arm against her body as best she could. The higher the sun rose above her, the more her thoughts of home consumed her. What started as fantasies of going back to the Silver Dove and taking a hot shower, then collapsing into bed, were starting to blur with thoughts of Grissom's bathtub, lit candles and fragrant oils, then crawling up on the large mattress to snuggle against a large body that would hold her against him. She would shake her head to clear it, knowing the latter was impossible anymore as she would try to concentrate on her new apartment she would be moving into the following week, but soon, even those thoughts were being dissolved as she looked around the blazing heat with no idea which way to turn.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

If he had been aware of what was going on around him, Grissom might have seen how each of his CSIs were watching him to see what exactly his next move was; each seeming to stand back as they watched the fury and desperation drive him. Nick came across the number of the towing company that Natalie had used to have the car towed, and Brass briskly and effectively threatened the owner of the towing service to get the location of the totaled red Mustang. Grissom's mind was only on getting to Ice Box Canyon as Nick rode in the passenger's seat next to him. He really wasn't paying attention to the man as he would stare out the window in search of the red car, then often look back at the driver.

"Griss. . ." Nick finally managed to get out, receiving a quick glance in his direction before Grissom turned back to the terrain before them. "I–uh. . .well, I need to know. . .if you and Sara were. . .uh. . ."

"Spit it out, Nick," Grissom said with annoyance. "Or keep it to yourself until we find her."

Nick nodded his head as he looked back out in the desert to locate the woman they were searching for. "I guess it can wait."

Greg's voice came over the radio, announcing that he had located the car, sending the barrage of police vehicles in the direction he conveyed. Whatever Nick felt was so important, would have to wait until Grissom was in a mind-set to actually hear him. He had more urgent matters to deal with right now than dealing with Nick's confusion over Sara's relationship with him.

As they pulled close, they both jumped from the vehicle and raced to the Mustang that was almost completely buried by the sand that the rains had driven up against it. Together they dug as if their very beings depended on it, Grissom endlessly calling Sara's name until Nick pulled the black CSI vest from the ground with Sidle stitched across the front of it. Both men looked at one another and felt their hearts turn cold.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

For awhile she pushed herself with the idea that if she kept moving, she'd run into "something." So she did what she was taught in her survival classes, kept leaving marks that she had been there. Stones–three stones on top of one another. There was an endless supply of those rocks, and the stacking of them should alert anyone who came across them that they were done by a human passing through. She pushed herself farther, and found a map with the words written "you are here." Her mind screamed "where?" Then she moved up to the top of the hill, hoping to find a direction to head toward; anything that could be a focal point for her. But there was nothing but more desert, more sand, more bushes and more debilitating heat. Her spirit broke as she slipped into a sitting position on the ground. She was never going to get out of this hell. There was nothing to get up for; nothing to see; nothing! But she "did" see something in the distance. The heat of the desert floor was rising and making the image wavy as it stood only about fifty yards ahead of her. And then she recognized the shape, the color, the figure, as a little boy she had seen several times in her dreams. She maneuvered herself up onto her feet again, but when she looked back, he was gone. Mirage? She headed in that direction. It was as good as any. She headed down the hill again, stumbling and falling nearly the whole way, but she heard him; felt his breath in her ear as he said, "Get up." She listened. It was the only thing she had to hold onto right now; it was as real to her as any memory she ever had in her overheated mind, so she went where it was telling her to go.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom and Catherine were following the stone trail, slowly advancing from one miniature mountain to the next. He vaguely heard Catherine's response of "good girl" as she picked up the latest rock and looked around for more. He used his binoculars, searching the distance for any signs of more rock hills. Instead, he saw a boot sticking up from the sand, alerting him that the majority of the body was buried by the desert's wrath. He ran for it, needing to get to it. Thoughts were racing through his mind, apologies that needed to be said, promises that needed to be kept, and the new beginning he had been so sure he was going to have with her. She owed him that new beginning! She couldn't be dead in the middle of the goddamned desert! She owed him!

He knew if his God would only grant him this miracle, he would do things differently. He would beg Sara's forgiveness for ever hurting her in the past; he would swear to whatever she holds holy that he would never repeat any of his mistakes. And he would be there for her always. He dropped to his knees, despair washing over him as he started pushing the sand away from the body. He just wanted her back! Was that so goddamned much to ask for? Jesus Christ, he just wanted her back!

He pulled the body over until it was facing the sky and Catherine brushed the dirt from the face.

"It's not her."

The words echoed through to him.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sights and sounds were incoherent to her now. Direction was nonexistent and nothing but a blur.

"Just keep going," the voice rang in her ear. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

She repeated it word for word.

"Think!" It shouted and the only thing she could come up with was multiplication. "Keep talking! Think. Don't stop thinking."

She moved on, trudging forward as she was told, but her legs gave out and she thumped to the ground.

"Get up!" She pushed herself to obey the child. If she could only find him, maybe they could both get out of this damned inferno. "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

There! There he is! She could see him now. The earth was beginning to spin around her, but she could see him. He had that dried branch that he held out to her. She took it from him and he pointed to the bush he had removed it from, then to the thinnest of shadows it cast upon the sand.

"Here," he told her. "Lie here. It's cool here. I'll keep you cool here."

She fell to the ground and closed her eyes for just a second. When she opened them she saw that he had crawled up to sit next to her and was holding her hand. He was right, he felt cool, almost as if he were taking the heat out of her abused body. She had no more strength to talk to him, to thank him for being there for her. So she silently watched as he lay on the ground next to her and pressed his back against her as he aligned with her as much as his smaller frame would allow. The thought occurred to her for a fraction of a second that it was almost as if she were holding him in her lap. She felt his coolness spreading throughout her as he disappeared within her. Then a final suggestion and she knew he was gone. "Now you can go with him."

OoOoOoOoOoOo

He was out of the Denali in an instant. He wasn't even sure if he had put it in park before he was running toward the small crowd gathered near a dried bush. Then he saw her, crumbled and broken, and not moving. "Nick! Thank God Nick's there," flashed through his brain even though he didn't have time to process it. "If she'll respond to anyone, it'll be Nick!" He moved as close as he could possibly get without interfering with the medics who were valiantly trying to save her life. He heard the words "there's no response," and terror seized his heart. Just for a moment, he caught sight of the branches she was lying beneath and a picture of a little boy named Christopher flashed through his mind, Christopher, who was handing him a dried branch. He looked back at Sara as the men were working to save her and his throat constricted. "Dear God, what had I done to her?" screamed through his brain.

Finally, they had her stable enough to move her, taking her to the helicopter as Grissom walked next to her and Nick carried the IV bag.

"GRISS!" Nick yelled over the sounds of the helicopter, but Grissom couldn't tear his eyes away from Sara's features. "Griss! You gotta listen!"

Still, he refused to acknowledge the younger man. If he had anything to say, he would hear him later. Now, he was too focused on getting Sara out of there.

"Where are you taking her?" Catherine called in to the medic as they put Sara inside the copter.

"Desert Palms," he yelled back.

"Move over, I'm going with her!" Grissom ordered and climbed in with them. He barely had time to see Nick's look of complete frustration as he closed the doors between them, but he did read his lips when the younger man swore, "Damn!"

OoOoOoOoOoOo

The noises were coming slowly to her, loud and rumbling as she felt herself being lifted and slammed into place. She felt the cool breeze of fresh air against her face but seemed unable to move anything below her neck. That noise, drowning out the sounds of rapid-fire conversation around her; orders that were given in quick succession. She was cooler now, so much cooler and she remembered the child's last words before she lost contact with him. "Now. You can go with him." She pushed with all her strength to open her eyes and she saw the black vest in front of her with the word sewn across its front. Grissom. She raised her line of vision and saw his ocean blue eyes watching her with such concern. She looked at the curls that lay on his forehead, pressed down by the brim of his hat and knew that they had once been a beautiful golden-brown.


	96. Chapter 96

Chapter Ninety-Six

Grissom held onto Sara's hand, watching her beautiful chocolate eyes open and feeling as if he were going to cry with relief. His breathing was shallow as he held onto her long digits. She was alive and he had her in his grasp. She watched him a few moments, then closed her eyes again, as her mouth moved. It was a huge effort on her part to say the words, and the noise of the helicopter made it impossible to hear, but he read her lips as she mouthed, "he said to go with you now." Then she re-opened her eyes and looked at him, seemingly searching for a response from him, he didn't know what to say.

"Just rest. We'll talk later."

"He saved me. He cooled me." Her eyes bored straight into him.

"Nick?" Grissom asked, knowing that it was Nick who initially was trying to get her temperature down by spraying water over her. "Nick cooled you."

Very weakly, she shook her head no as she continued to watch him, then she closed her eyes again, as if in disappointment that he couldn't understand.

Once at the hospital, Grissom was separated from her while they triaged her and did their initial examinations. He waited in the hallway outside her room until a resident approached him, wearing the name tag of "Steven Richards, three-R.".

"You came in with Mrs. Sidle?" Dr. Richards asked.

"Miss" Sidle," Grissom corrected. "Yes. I'm with her."

"Are you, uh. . ." He looked down at the file he was holding in his hand. "Nick Stokes?"

"No," Grissom said stiffly. "I am not."

"Okay," the resident tried again. "How about Gilbert Grissom?"

"Yes."

"Good. You evidently were listed as her emergency medical contact, but she added Nick Stokes several weeks ago. Would you like to come in while we ask some questions?"

Grissom gave a single nod, then entered the room where Sara lay, stripped of her clothes as she lay in a hospital gown. Two bags of IV fluids were attached to her arms and she was wearing a nasal cannula for her oxygen. At least that was a step down from the mask she had been wearing, he thought. The doctor gestured for him to take a seat as he started going over her files again, but he remained standing.

"So, Sara is listed as having no medical allergies. Is this correct?"

"I–I don't think so."

"Do you know about any medications she's taking? Has anything changed within the past three weeks?"

"Not really. I don't think she's taking anything."

"Not even the prenatal vitamins?" The doctor looked more closely at his papers. "She should still be on her prenatal vitamins until she builds her strength back up. We usually like to continue them for at least a month after they miscarry. Now that she's gone through this trauma, it wouldn't be a bad idea for her to keep taking them until she's back on her feet."

"No," Grissom objected. "That's not right. She's never been pregnant."

The doctor's head snapped up to look at Grissom then back to the blood products that were attached to the IVs, ready to start flowing through her veins.

"Sara Sidle? According to our records, she was a patient of St. Luke's Obstetrics Clinic. What's her date of birth?" The doctor asked anxiously and when Grissom answered, he asked for her address and received it. "Then we've got the correct patient, sir."

"I'm telling you, I ought to know if she was pregnant or not. We can't "get" pregnant." Grissom said harshly. "She's never been a patient of an obstetrics clinic."

"St. Luke's is an affiliate of Desert Palms. Our record system is shared. It states here that Miss Sidle was admitted into the clinic."

"No. That's impossible."

The doctor looked at him, very unsatisfied with his answer as he understood what Grissom was insinuating. He tossed the files onto the bedside tray and moved to stand over Sara's bed, leaning down until he was blaring into her face.

"Miss Sidle! Miss Sidle!"

Sara groaned as her eyelids flickered.

"I need to ask you some questions. Can you answer me?" He continued in a very loud tone.

"Yes," Sara rasped as Grissom moved to the other side of her bed and took her hand, turning her attention to him.

"It's okay, honey. Just try to answer. If he can't hear you, I'll tell him what you're saying." Grissom gently squeezed her hand. "He needs to get your records straight."

"Miss Sidle, I need to know if you were hospitalized recently!"

Sara's eyes moved from Grissom to the doctor and back again, then they welled with tears as she continued to watch the man but slowly moved her hand out of his grasp. Grissom watched the tears fall over the sides of her face.

"Miss Sidle. I need to know if you miscarried within the past month," again the doctor's voice seemed to echo through the room.

Grissom's first instinct was to tell the doctor again that it was impossible, but as he tried to take her hand again, she pulled it back with what little strength she had, then closed her eyes, and he didn't know what to think. He knew she was on the depo-provera shots, and granted, nothing is one hundred percent, but she certainly would have told him if she had been pregnant with his child.

"Sara?" He asked quietly.

"I can answer that," Brass's voice came from the doorway, turning Grissom's and the doctor's attention to him. "Yes. She miscarried a little over three weeks ago."

"And you are?" Dr. Richards asked in frustration.

"Detective Brass. A close friend of Sara's." Brass moved into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, reaching a hand to rest on her blanket-covered ankle as if needing the reassurance that she was, indeed, safely before him.

"You can verify that this is the Sara Sidle who checked into St. Luke's Obstetrics Clinic on April sixteenth and lost a twelve-week fetus?"

"I'm not sure of the date, but I know it happened around that time."

Richards looked back at Grissom in question. "I think you better get your information straight. This could've prolonged medical treatment that she needs. If you're not even sure if your. . .friend was over three months pregnant, then I suggest you find someone who can give me more accurate information."

"I can verify that she was pregnant and lost the child," Brass repeated.

"Okay," the doctor sighed. "At least now we're getting somewhere. So we know there's no chance of pregnancy right now–she can be taken to Radiology. If you're a "close friend" and you evidently think you're an "even closer" friend–who's going to sign for her to be treated?"

"That would be him," Brass pointed to Grissom, but Grissom turned back to look at Sara who continued to lie with her eyes closed and her free hand now holding onto her injured arm.

"Sara?" Grissom asked again, this time she opened her eyes and looked at him. He could see the pain and anguish in her eyes, before closing them again and turning her head away.

"Miss Sidle," the doctor spoke up as he looked at her again. "I'm going to send someone in to take you to Radiology and get that arm looked at, okay?"

Sara gave a small nod.

"Will it take long?" Brass asked as he subconsciously rubbed her leg in a paternal attempt to comfort her.

"I'll send someone in right away. The x-ray itself won't take more than half an hour to perform and then examine."

"Is it alright if we wait here?"

"That's fine. If you'll excuse me now, I'll have the nurse come in with some things to sign, and we'll be taking her for those pictures."

"Thank you, doctor," Brass said as the young man left the room but kept his gaze pointed at Grissom.

Grissom turned slowly to look at the detective. His voice was hoarse and slow. "What the hell's going on?"

"We can fill you in after you get the paperwork signed so she can get the treatment she needs."

"We?" Grissom knew at that moment, that if he had been a dog, the hair on his back would be standing erect. "Who else is involved in this "secret?"

Grissom felt something near his hand and looked down to see Sara watching him as she tried to put her good hand on his again.

"Gil," she got out. "Don't."

He pulled his hand back as if she had burned him with her touch, but when he saw the pain flash through her eyes, he tried to recapture her it. Evidently the damage was already done as she closed her eyes again and refused to look at him.

"Sara. . . I." He knew he needed to say something, anything that would not further destroy the connection they once had, but he couldn't think of anything as his emotions became a tangle of anger. How could they have kept something like this from him–and furthermore, "why" had they kept it from him. The fact that he hadn't noticed, himself, was a bit disturbing. He's a goddamned scientist for Christ's sake. He knew she was gaining a bit of weight–that in itself should have alerted him, but they weren't "trying" to conceive. Hell, they never even discussed it, other than deciding that he didn't need to use condoms since she was receiving shots every three months. He looked back down at her, a jolt of anxiety riveting through him as he wondered again, just why she had kept the information from him. "Sara. . . whose. . ."

"Hello," came an incredibly chipper voice as another young man entered the room and held up a clipboard in front of Grissom's face. "I need these two signed immediately–then I'm taking her for x-rays. Sign this one here at the X and this one down there."

"Get the. . ." Grissom looked at the light brown, curls that covered the young man's head and wanted to hit him with the damned board he thrust at him. Somehow he had miraculously stopped himself from telling him to get the fuckin' thing out of his face.

"I can sign it," Sara rasped.

"Uh-huh," the man chuckled as he looked down at Sara with large blue eyes. "You look barely strong enough to even hold the pen, let alone sign your name. This guy looks big and strong–he can handle it." He looked back at Grissom, this time not quite so happy as he eyed him with what could have been described as a bit of silent warning. "Can't ya, Pop?"

"Give it here," Grissom said briskly as he yanked the board out of the kid's hands and started to write his name. When he looked down at Sara he noticed that some of her pain seemed to be alleviated as she watched this male nurse.

"Men," the youngster said with over-exaggeration, clearly trying to humor Sara. "I bet he was out there and braved the dangers of the desert to find you; did everything humanly possible until he got you back here to safety; moved heaven and earth to get you back–and ya ask him to do a simple thing like sign a form and he acts like "he's" the one with the broken arm."

Sara weakly nodded her head as she watched the kid in amused awe, before mouthing the words, "he can be stubborn."

"Stubborn?" Brass snorted. "Is that what you like to call it."

The young man chuckled as he put his hand on Sara's face for just a moment and smiled at her. "Stubborn's fine. They tell me "I" can be stubborn, too. They say I get it from my pop. Eh–what are ya gonna do? We have to get our traits from someone, don't we?"

"It's signed," Grissom said irritably as he watched the ease at which this young man was comforting Sara.

'Thank you." The boy took the clipboard and sat it on the end of the bed, then released the brakes and started to push it toward the doorway. "I'll have her back before ya know it–and if it isn't me, then some other poor soul will have to face your cheerful demeanor, 'cause I'm going on break," he said to Grissom as he pushed her through the doorway and then in the direction of the Radiology Department, then glanced back at Brass. "Oh, and Jim–it was nice getting to know you. I think Nick's in the waiting room about right now. Later, gentlemen."

"Chris!" Called another nurse as she rushed up to help him with Sara's bed. "Wait. I can take over for you. You can go on break now."

Upon the mention of the name, Grissom moved closer to the doorway and watched as "Chris" handed the bed over to the girl, then went around to the front and covered Sara's hand with his.

"You're gonna be fine now. Okay?" Then he walked down the hall and turned the corner, out of sight.

Grissom looked over at Brass. "You know him?"

"No," Brass shrugged his shoulders. "Never seen him before."

"Then how'd he know your name?"

"That's what badges are for. For being a "supposed" genius–you're really not too bright, are ya?"

"Evidently not," Grissom ground out between his teeth. "Would you like to fill me in on this "pregnancy" no one told me about and just who the father happens to be?"

Grissom didn't quite recall how he ended up against the wall. It certainly was unexpected, but he thought he might have heard his damn skull crack as it bounced off the concrete behind him. Jesus! He damn near saw stars.

"Can't leave you guys alone for a second, can I?" Chris's voice came from directly behind Brass then the young man moved to stand between the two of them. "We can't have you two old dogs fighting like this in here. I suggest if you want to go at it, you take it somewhere no one else will have to hear you and get upset by it, not in "my" hospital. But what I really suggest is that you both take a step back and look at things through clearer eyes. You got it . . . Jim?"

"Yeah," Jim said, obviously still angered, but willing to control it while in the hospital.

"You got it. . .Griss?"

Blue eyes stared into blue eyes, an older set showing anger and defiance, the younger ones patience and tolerance.

"Yes."

"Good. Now–I can go on break, right?"

Grissom looked at Brass and they both watched him leave the room again.


	97. Chapter 97

Chapter Ninety-Seven

"Now," Brass stated as he turned back toward Grissom. "Would you like to rephrase your question?"

"You tell me, Jim! Who the hell else knows about this? Nick? Is it Nick's?"

Grissom felt more violence in the look Brass sent him than the shove he had received moments before. "Let me ask ya somethin', asshole. Just who cheated on who?"

"Evidently. . ."

"Don't say it," Brass said calmly enough but with an underlying edge to it. "You are somethin', ya know that? The whole time Sara's been in Vegas, the only time she's had any sense at all and stopped putting her life on hold for you, it turned out the guy she's interested in is almost as big a jerk as you. But, once it was over–it was finished. Other than that, for some insane reason, she's devoted herself to you so completely that she's forgiven your horseshit time after time. And just what horseshit do you suppose that was, Grissom? How about traipsing off into the arms of your precious Lady Heather. Even then, Sara was willing to take you back and live her life with you. But it wasn't enough for you. That old whore snaps her fingers and you go runnin' back to her–again. Sara even tried to overlook it this time, tried to make excuses for you, but the more she tried, the more she got shot down at every corner. She found out she was pregnant the day Heather got attacked–did you know that? She was happier than I ever saw her! I never quite knew what people were talkin' about when they said pregnancy made someone glow–but in her instance, I saw it as soon as she showed up at the crime scene that night. She was just told that she was due to have your kid around Halloween. She watched its heart beat on the sonogram, she listened to it, and she fell in love with it. I'd imagine for someone like Sara it took some getting used to. Look what all she had to consider–her age, for one; whether or not she really "wanted" to have kids; whether she could be a good mom, after her experiences as a child; whether she could raise a kid in this world after constantly coming in contact with the worst of people every day–and then there was you. What would Gilbert Grissom want to do. But, ya know what? I think she even got past that point. I think if you wouldda told her that you didn't want it–she wouldda raised it by herself, because she was already becoming that attached to it."

"Why–didn't–she–tell me?" Grissom asked, still quite annoyed with what he perceived as everyone's knowledge of the situation, except his own.

"Actually, she was rather excited about telling you. She told me all about her plan that night at the wild west faux pas, before she found out who prostituted herself out for a few bucks. She was waiting for "some breakfast" the two of you had planned. She said it would be the perfect time to share the good news. But you never had that breakfast–did ya, buddy?" When Grissom only looked at him, he added. "Why didn't ya make it to that breakfast, Gil?"

"I can't help it Heather was attacked and almost killed."

"And Sara couldn't help it that the woman put herself in that situation on purpose. And what the hell for?"

"She wanted the money for her granddaughter. You know that."

"Use your fuckin' head, Grissom! Heather is, by no means, financially strapped! She's a very wealthy woman–what did Catherine say? Five years ago she was pulling in twenty grand a week, and after that she started the internet gig which multiplied her income. How long would it take her to make a million? Hell, even at the original twenty grand–she'd have a million within a year. Now–how many million do you suppose she's accumulated over the past five years? Did you ever hear of a goddamned trust fund? Hell, the interest alone on her money would've been enough to keep the kid in riches for the rest of its life. So, don't even try to give me that crock of shit."

"At any rate–you can't blame me for the timing of Heather's attack."

"I can blame you for not going home to Sara. How long ago did you promise her that you'd never see that woman again? Instead, you dropped Sara like a hot coal so you could run off and be with her."

"You can't hold me responsible for something I had no knowledge of!"

"You knew she didn't want you around Heather. You knew Heather was bad news and could only cause trouble between you and Sara. But instead of making things easier on the one person you "claim" to love–you chose to make it easier on Kessler. I gotta say, her call to inform Sara that you were with her that night a few weeks before you left for your sabbatical was a great touch. But when she also said you went out of your way to thank her for some flowers only a few weeks ago, well, that was true talent."

"Heather thought she was leaving the message for me. She didn't realize Sara would hear it."

"How long did Sara live with you? And you can't tell me Kessler didn't know it. You explain to me what the chances are that someone "won't" hear the message when they're living right there. You're still so goddamned blinded by that bitch that you don't deserve Sara! What were ya doin' out there on the desert, Gil? Huh? I bet you were out there making all kinds of Catholic promises to God about how well you were gonna treat Sara if you'd only get her back. Well, she's back–and here you are makin' excuses for Kessler already. Let me tell ya somethin', Grissom–while you were so hell bent on making sure Kessler got that grandkid of hers, Sara was fighting to save "your" kid. Nick tells me that Sara tried to call the kid's father as she lay there bleeding, but the bastard wouldn't even take her phone calls. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize you were refusing to answer your phone because you were "otherwise engaged."

"I–I didn't have my phone. I misplaced it when I went to Heather's. It turns out I put it on her mantle after I got a call from Catherine, then left it there."

"Something as important as your cell–your link to the lab–your job–and you "left it there?" Tell me, just what had you so distracted that you would happen to do that?" Brass asked as Grissom remembered how he held Heather to stop her pain. "Yeah–that's what I thought. Nick said he was there right before she actually lost the baby. She was on the phone, trying to get through to its father, but he was busy with another woman. Nick said he heard Sara telling the woman that she needed to speak to "the person who owned the phone," and he could hear the woman saying that "that person" was occupied and couldn't be disturbed. He said it was pretty obvious what was going on–or, in Heather's case–what she wanted Sara to "think" was going on. Or was she right, Gil? Was it like Kessler wanted her to believe? Were you off getting servicing from a professional? Was your apprentice at home too safe to satisfy your baser needs?"

"Of course not! And what the hell was Nick doing there with her? It was my place to be there–not Nick's!"

"Because you were busy with Kessler!" Brass yelled, then tried to calm himself again. "And you should be grateful Nick "was" there? He was in the locker room when she almost collapsed on the floor. He just happened to be the one who was there to see that she got medical attention. He stood in for her, because the piece of shit who knocked her up wouldn't. Now, I'll ask again–if you weren't there screwing the witch–then why "were" you there–and you better think hard about this before you answer."

"I wanted to see that she was happy," Grissom said foolishly, trying to hold on to any rational reason for doing what had been done. "I wanted to see that she got her grandchild. She deserves that much."

Brass nodded his head as if it was the answer he was afraid he'd receive. "So–and before you deny it, I want you to actually stop and think–so, in order to make Heather happy, you deliberately did things you knew would make Sara absolutely miserable; in order to see that you got that woman's grandchild for her, you sacrificed your own son; and you think Kessler deserves that much. Well, I'm glad you think she does–because that's what she got. She walked away with the whole pot–just like she always does."

"Son?" Grissom's anger was fading fast. Now, he was feeling sick. "I had a son?"

"Yeah–imagine that–another male Grissom to spread his ego around the world." Brass sighed as he tried to calm his voice. "When she lost it, they told her it was a male."

"Why didn't she tell me?" He asked quietly.

"Why should she? As far as she knows–as far as Kessler wanted her to know–you ran back to her and was showering her with the everything you owe Sara."

"But–I wasn't!"

"Bullshit!" Brass looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Can you tell me, for one instant, that you didn't touch her?"

"I held her, I tried to console her."

"For hours. Don't you think that's a bit much–for anyone to believe?"

"She lived with Nick for over a week–what the hell am I supposed to think about that?"

"She just lost your kid. I imagine you can think that she was healing physically, as well as emotionally. Think that she was grieving for the child "she" lost; she was grieving for the "man" she lost; she was grieving for the "trust" she lost. And Nick? Come on, Griss–what the hell do you think Nick would actually do to her? If he's gonna do anything, it's what any big brother would do in his situation. He's gonna track ya down and knock ya around a bit–although now that he knows it's actually his boss, and the idiot actually "likes" you–it might change his mind a little."

Grissom moved to sit on a chair as his legs felt as if he weighed a ton. "I said . . .things to her. I told her she had no idea what it was to lose a child; she couldn't understand what Heather was going through."

"Now, there, you're right. She'll never understand what Heather went through–because Sara actually loved your kid, and when she lost it, it shattered her world. She'll never understand how a woman can manipulate everyone she comes in contact with, but especially the daughter she claimed to have had some kind of emotion bond with. She'll never understand how a woman can claim to have raised her kid "to be an independent woman," then when the girl does something momma doesn't like, she yanks the cord on her. Most mothers I know, are supportive if their daughters get into "trouble" like her kid did, not emphasize how the girl ruined her life by getting pregnant in the first place."

"Griss?" Nick's voice sounded from the hallway as he hurried to the door and looked in at his boss and Brass with frightened eyes. "Where is she?"

"She's getting x-rays," Brass told him.

"She's okay?" Nick asked.

"She's tough as nails," Brass explained, making Grissom flinch as he remembered saying those exact words to Sara regarding Heather Kessler. "She's gonna make it fine. How about if you and I go out to the waiting room and let everyone know what's going on."

"Yeah," Nick said quickly, but looked back at Grissom. "Griss–I have to tell you something! I tried to tell ya while we were looking for Sara but. . ."

"He already knows," Brass assured him as he guided him out the door. "We'll just keep that between ourselves until we know what they're going to do about it. No one else needs to know about the baby."

"Uh, yeah–okay." Nick walked away with Brass.

Grissom sat alone, waiting for Sara to return. His mind was a jumbled mess. Everything he thought he was doing right, turned out to be the worst possible decisions he could have ever made. His judgement was shaken to the very core. He had almost been a father of a son. And he lost his opportunity to be a part of it, because, just as Brass said, he was more concerned with seeing to Heather's needs than Sara's. He deliberately chose to disregard Sara's feelings. They weren't as important to him as Heather's. Then to magnify the injury, he verbally condemned Sara for her inability to feel what Heather was going through with the loss of a child.

He watched as the female nurse pushed Sara's bed back into the room and he looked at her damaged face. He got to his feet and reached for her, wanting to take the pain away, but as his fingers touched her cheeks, she looked at him. He saw the pain immediately, but he couldn't decipher if it was physical pain from all of her injuries, or emotional pain from dealing with the loss of their child again. She spoke with more force than she had before she left for her x-rays.

"He" couldn't take the rejection. "He" wasn't strong enough to watch you walk away from us." Then she turned her face away from him and closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could at the moment.

"Sara, I–I'm. . ."

"Excuse me, Mr. Grissom, but we need to prep Sara for surgery. You'll have to go to the waiting room with the others. We'll let you know when she's in recovery."


	98. Chapter 98

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Grissom entered the waiting area, automatically looking around at each of his CSIs who came to see that their friend was going to be alright. He could feel each of their thoughts and read their faces as they looked at him. Warrick stood close to Catherine and Brass holding a cup of coffee and Grissom could feel the disapproval rolling off of him in waves, but knew the man was too dignified to actually come out and voice it. Greg sat in a chair with his leg crossed over his knee as he chewed on his thumb nail while his eyes followed Grissom's footsteps into the room with them. Greg's devotion to Sara was no secret and right now his irritation with Grissom wasn't exactly hidden as it rumbled just beneath the surface. He looked at Nick and although he saw the concern for Sara, he didn't see the anger that he expected. Instead, he saw pity. Whether it was pity for him losing a child or pity for him failing to be there for Sara, Grissom wasn't sure. And then there was Catherine who jumped to her feet and approached him.

"How is she? What did they find on the X-rays?"

"There's–uh–a comminuted fracture of her humerus and transverse of her ulna," Grissom explained quietly as he looked at her, finding her gaze the friendliest in the room. "They're not sure but they think there was some damage of the epicondyle. They're going in and putting a plate and some screws in to align them."

"Well, at least they think she's stable enough for the surgery," Brass said.

"Yeah," Catherine agreed as she put her hand on Grissom's arm. "She's gonna be fine. You know that Sidle strength."

Grissom grunted his answer and after a moment's thought, Catherine started to smile as she looked at the rest of the guys.

"Ya know, I remember one scene we were at where this guy was being abnormally obnoxious. I mean, this guy was a real jerk–he actually started throwing garbage at us. Now, this was no little guy. He musta been six-two and weighed at least three hundred pounds. But, it didn't faze Sara. At first she asked him politely to please not do that, but almost immediately he hit her in the chest with a rotten apple. She tore off after this guy like she was a linebacker!"

Brass chuckled a bit. "Yeah? And what did the guy do?"

"I think he actually squeaked when he saw her coming then ran off with her after him. She mustta ran two blocks before turning around and stomping back before she jumped back into the dumpster to finish looking for the gun." Catherine moved to sit on a chair.

"Knowin' Sara," Warrick brought up. "She wasn't just stomping back, she probably left a trail of curses trailing after her."

"Oh, of course," Catherine smiled at him. "I really don't know which intimidated him more, her tearing down the street after him, or the things she said she was gonna do if she caught him."

Warrick laughed outright. "I know I'd hightail it if I came face-to-face with an irate Sara Sidle! She can get fierce!"

"Wait a minute," Brass smiled at Catherine. "You mean you both were already standing in the middle of a bin of garbage, and she got mad because he put "more" garbage on her?"

"I asked her about that when she got back," Catherine told him. "She said it was the principle of the thing."

Nick agreed with a tender smile. "I've been with her at scenes where kids are involved, though. She always seemed to know what to say to them, and they listened. She had a calming effect on them."

"She could do the same thing with adults. She can get right down to their level and pick them up, sort of stand them on their feet again," Greg agreed. "But then, she'd usually go over by herself afterward and have to compose herself. I've seen her. . ."

"Yeah–we know what "you've" seen, Greg," Warrick cut in.

"What? You mean our shower together?" Greg actually smiled with a bit of humor. "I didn't see a thing. I was a complete gentleman."

"Yeah," Catherine chided him. "A gentleman who got an eyeful."

"I swear," Greg actually chuckled. "Once they started taking our clothes, I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until they gave us towels. I did get to see her tattoo, though."

"Uh-huh," Nick teased. "And just where was this tattoo?"

"Above her ankle," Greg told him indignantly.

"And what "was" the tattoo?" Warrick asked.

"I don't know, I was too busy looking at her leg to stop and see what the design was."

Grissom walked the length of the room, listening as the others bantered back and forth about the strength of Sara's character. Sometimes he could hear an extra bit of emphasis in their stories, as if they were trying to convince "him" of her qualities, but not inviting him into their conversation. Finally, he went outside to get some air. He just wanted to be alone. Christ, didn't he have enough to deal with, without having to face their condemnation.

"Gil?" Catherine's voice came from behind him and he glanced at her as she joined him in the Las Vegas dusk. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered as he looked back into the distance.

"Well, that's a standard Sara Sidle answer, if ever I heard one," Catherine told him as she walked up to stand next to him. "Must be wearing off on ya."

"Must be."

"Do you wanna talk?"

"Not really."

"Then come back inside, I'll get you a coffee and something to eat."

"No thanks," he sighed. "The atmosphere is getting a bit hostile in there."

"They're talking about Sara. The conversation isn't hostile at all."

He looked back at Catherine. "I know what you're all thinking."

"Well," she started slowly. "You don't know what "I'm" thinking."

"You're a woman, so let me take a guess," he said sarcastically. "If Eddy would've ever done to you what I did to Sara you would've left him in a second."

"You mean spending the night with Heather?" She asked and received a glare in return. "Well, Eddy "did" do that to me–often. But Sara's smarter than I was when I was married to Eddy. It might not have taken a second, but yeah, I left him, didn't I? But that isn't what's on my mind. I keep remembering what "I" did wrong. Things that could've been avoided, simply because I knew that by doing them, they'd hurt Sara. Granted, I didn't know you two were "involved" when I said those things, but still, I knew, deep down, that they'd hurt her. And I almost seemed to glory in saying it to her. I don't know, maybe I "was" trying to sway her away from her infatuation with you, because I really thought she'd get hurt by your inability to share your life with anyone. But the fact remains that I said them, knowing it would hurt."

"You're talking about the "chaps" comment?" He asked as he continued to look at the street in front of them.

"Ah, so she shared this information with you, did she?" Catherine asked with the appropriate amount of embarrassment.

"Shared it?" Grissom gave a false laugh. "Much more like shot me with it, among other things."

Catherine moved closer to him and put her hand on his back. "Gil. You know she loves you. Maybe if I had loved Eddy that much, we could've survived." Then added after a thought. "Well, probably not–but we wouldda had a hell of a better chance at it. Come on, come back inside and have a coffee. We'll send Greg down to the cafeteria and bring us some food back, okay?"

"Hmph. Sending Greg, right now, might mean it'll come back poisoned."

She started walking him back inside. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that too much. We'll just switch dinners when he brings it back."

Nick accompanied Greg to bring back a little something for everyone there, and conversation flowed back and forth between the three remaining people who sat around Grissom. But Grissom's mind was filled with images of Sara; things he should have known that had shouted her state of pregnancy at him; the stomach viruses she battled; the sensitive and enlarged breasts and her increase in weight. Shivers went down his spine when he recalled how insensitive he had been, not caring if her breasts were sensitive, or growing, as he would heave himself on top of her and reach such limits of ecstacy that he couldn't stop going back to her shrine. And yet, she always accepted him with open arms and that Sidle smile that could melt his heart. God, he just wanted to be with her right now. He needed to talk to her. He needed to know things; like how did it feel, knowing she was carrying their child; how did it feel knowing they could create something as miraculous as a little boy. But then, his pulse would increase with anxiety when he remembered how alone she must have felt as she lost their baby.

He glanced around the room, seeing the containers with various amounts of food inside. Grissom's remained untouched before him, but he was working on his fourth cup of coffee. Greg went back to his original position as he watched the television that was mounted on the wall. Nick and Brass would talk from time to time, but even their conversation began to wane the longer the surgery went on. Catherine and Warrick seemed lost in their own thoughts as they were as involved in the television as much as Greg, and considering that it was an old rerun of Sherry Lewis's Lambchop, Grissom decided that none of them were actually aware of what was on the screen.

"I hope you guys are hungry," Mandy entered the waiting room carrying four boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. She looked around the room and saw the food containers and sighed. "Oh well, they're here if you want them."

Hodges and Wendy came in a few minutes later. Hodges looked around the room and started to approach Grissom, but Wendy placed her hand on his arm and when he looked at her, she shook her head negatively. Hodges gave her a look of understanding and they went to the boxes that Nick was now pulling his second donut from.

Grissom could hear them mumbling amongst themselves, but his head was beginning to thump and as he tried to look at his crew, he saw shards of glass around the edges of his line of vision. "No!" He thought to himself, knowing what was coming. "Not now! I can't deal with this now!" He got up and went to the water fountain where he pulled two tablets from his ever-ready stash of Imitrex, hoping to ward this migraine off before it actually took firm root. Right now, the aura was making it difficult for him to see as he tried to get back to his seat.

"Jesus!"

Nick's voice came out of nowhere, but Grissom couldn't tell exactly where as everything went black. He could hear Hodges's and Brass's expletives as he hit the floor. Then he didn't remember anything until he woke up in an examining room. At first he could feel the light from above him, knowing that when he opened his eyes, the ceiling lights would stab him with their brightness.

"Well, I just can't leave you for a minute. Can I?" Chris's voice was jovial as he checked Grissom's pulse. "Go ahead. You can open your eyes. I'm sure the meds kicked in by now."

Grissom slowly did as suggested and found that the young man was correct. The room was empty except for the two of them and when Chris got an adequate count of his pulse, he pulled over the blood pressure monitor and proceeded wrap Grissom's arm with its sleeve.

"How is it, I managed to get you?" Grissom asked, feeling as if he were laying in a room of fog, but wondering why, out of all the nurses, he ended up with the one nurse he seemed to have an aversion to.

"Just lucky, I guess," Chris smiled down at him. "Anyway, I was so attracted to your friendly disposition–how could I pass up the chance to take care of you?"

"Is that what you're doing?" Grissom asked a bit sarcastically. "Taking care of me?"

"I "do" try," he said, then flashed him a smile so brilliant that it made Grissom blink when he realized the man had a small gap between his front teeth. "But, for now, we'll just say I'm trying to make you feel better."

"I don't understand."

"Let's start with, how are you feeling?" Chris asked and when he received a blank stare, he added. "Are you feeling good? Are you feeling chipper? Are you feeling a little anxious? Worried over things you can't control right now?"

Grissom looked away from him. "You wouldn't possibly understand what I'm feeling."

"Ah, don't go under-estimating me, now. Give me a try."

Grissom looked back at the curly-haired youth, the familiarity becoming stronger as he recalled images of his own youth. "Who are you?" He asked through squinted his eyes.

"Griss, you ought to know that. Or do I have to mark down short-term memory loss in your records?"

"No. You're. . .Christopher."

"Christopher?" Chris chuckled. "No one's called me that since I've been a kid–a little kid. But, yeah, I'm Chris."

"What happened?" Grissom asked, still feeling the fogginess surrounding him. "Why am I in here? My head doesn't hurt. It couldn't have been a migraine."

"You're blood pressure was through the roof. Your pulse rate was running a marathon. I needed to pull you in and calm you down a bit. She isn't going to do any better if you're admitted in the next room with cardiac arrest, now is she?"

"I'm having a heart attack?"

"Not yet." Chris rolled his eyes as he pulled a stool over to the bedside and sat on it. "You're not listening. I pulled you in before it happened. So–do you want to talk?"

"No. What I've got to say is needed to be said to Sara. I need to say it in private."

"Well, I'm a private-kind of guy. Think of it as a dress rehearsal. So, what started all of this?"

"I cheated." The words came out of Grissom's lips before he knew it and shocked him as he realized just what he had said.

"You–cheated," Chris repeated. "On Sara? That was a rather stupid thing to do–wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Grissom again hid behind his sarcasm. "Stupid. That's hardly the word for it. She hates me. She said we lost our son because of what I did. "I" lost our son."

"That's taking quite a lot onto yourself–don't you think?" Chris asked, turning Grissom's attention back to him. "Rather egotistical to think that something "you" did was that significant that it caused the loss."

"I "know" it was what I did. She even told me, before she was taken to surgery, that she blamed me."

"What Sara feels. . .is something you're going to have to work with and try to heal. What you did was a betrayal to her trust."

"But I didn't "do" anything."

"You just told me, you cheated. You must feel you did something that was very wrong. Someone doesn't just blurt out that they cheated. You know, deep down, that you cheated on her mind–you cheated on her heart. Even if nothing else had come to be–even if you had only gone to the hospital to check on Heather. That very first rush–the speed at which you ran to be at her side–your "need" to be at Heather's side–was the first betrayal to your relationship to Sara. Everything seemed to snowball from there, didn't it?"

"Yes," Grissom admitted quietly.

"You dropped every other case and pushed everyone fully on the Heather Kessler case, didn't you? You spent the night with her–when you knew it would kill any chances of Sara fully trusting you again. But you didn't even stop to think about Sara–and that was a huge betrayal in her trust."

"I tried to tell her. . ."

"You mean in the layout room? Come on, Griss," Chris said with a touch of humor. "You know what you were doing. You were trying to save your ass, because by then, you realized what trouble you were in with her. You were trying to justify your betrayal. But that wasn't enough–you ran back to her again, even after you saw with your own eyes what it was doing to Sara."

"I wasn't thinking of Sara as it was happening. I could only think of being with Heather. I could only think of relieving her pain, making her feel better. She's so delicate. . ."

"I thought you told Sara she was "tough as nails?" Which is it? Delicate or tough? I don't think she's both–and you know it. You need to get past this obsessive blindness you have with this woman–or–you have to get past this obsessive need you have for Sara. Because with you playing with both women, you're not only killing everything you stand for in Sara's eyes–you're gonna kill yourself in the process."

Grissom watched the young man. "You sit there, telling me all this, you must think I'm the scum of the earth."

"I'm not judging you. If I were your son, right now, I'd be judging you so harshly that it would be just one more relationship you've managed to screw up. But, seeing as I'm "not" your son, right now, how can I judge you?"

"Then what "are" you doing?"

"Telling you to open your eyes." Chris reached out to him and playfully slapped Grissom's head, but it was enough force to push it to the side and make him close his eyes.

When Grissom opened his eyes, he was sitting in his chair in the waiting room, his head having fallen where he had been holding it in his hand.

"You okay?" Hodges was sitting on a chair adjacent to his.

Grissom looked around the room again, seeing the four boxes of Krispy Kremes.

"Yeah. I just got a little disoriented when I was coming back from the fountain a few minutes ago."

"I've been here for half an hour," Hodges told him. "You've been sleeping in that chair since I got here."


	99. Chapter 99

Chapter Ninety-Nine

"Nick Stokes?" The surgeon entered the room with the employees of the CSI Lab, still in his scrubs and foot and head coverings.

Nick got to his feet and looked nervously at Grissom, then approached the surgeon. "I'm Nick Stokes."

"Miss Sidle's out of surgery. . ." He began but was interrupted by Nick.

"Wait. You need to be telling that gentleman, over there." He pointed to where Grissom was standing, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets, but watching them both very closely.

"You "aren't" Nick Stokes?" The surgeon asked.

"I am. But he's her next of kin. He's the one who's in charge." Nick walked with the surgeon until they were standing in front of Grissom. "This is Gil Grissom. He's her. . .well, he's the one you need to be talking to."

"O-kay–Mr. Grissom, as I was telling Mr. Stokes, Sara is out of surgery. We attached the plate successfully, and some rods in her ulna. It's going to take several months to heal properly but with plenty of rest, her arm should be fine."

"What about her other injuries?" Grissom's throat seemed to have gone dry.

"We stitched up several of her lacerations while we had her under. Her face is bruised and swollen; burned from the sun exposure. As you'll see, her burns extended to her neck, chest and arms. There are areas of bruising on her shoulders, torso and legs. All-in-all, she's going to be very sore for awhile."

"What about. . ." Grissom stopped and looked at the people around him who were watching and listening. "Can you take me to her?"

"I'll send a nurse in, and as soon as she's put in her room, you'll be taken to her."

"No." Grissom stopped him from leaving. "I need to speak to you–in private."

The surgeon nodded his head and gestured for him to follow him out of the room. He walked down the hall to what, evidently, was the man's office. He removed his head covering and went to sit behind his desk.

"What do you need to know?"

"Are there any complications from her miscarriage. I mean. . ."

"She should be fine. I don't see this event doing anything in that regard. Considering she was already recovered. . .it's actually probably about the healthiest part of her body right now."

"Thank you," Grissom nodded his head in understanding then turned to walk out the door.

He returned to the waiting room, but hesitated. He really didn't want to go back in, but taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered. He was a bit taken back when he noticed that everyone was silent as they watched him, waiting for instructions.

"Um–I think since you've all heard that she's doing well, it would be safe for you to go home for the night. It would be better if she rests tonight. If you want to visit her, I think it would be best to wait until tomorrow evening, at least."

Everyone began gathering their things and started leaving. Catherine paused as she went by and gave him a hug and an encouraging smile, then went on her way. He accepted various forms of comfort as the rest of them exited the room, until Greg, Nick and Brass remained. Greg stayed seated on the other side of the room as Nick and Brass walked with Grissom to the door.

"Look–I just wanted to say I was sorry. I had no idea it was you. You shouldda been there instead of me and I feel rotten about it," Nick told him.

"Nick, this is something that only the three of us and Sara know about. I'd like to keep it that way. No one else need know about the. . .what happened a few weeks ago."

Nick eyed him a moment, then nodded his head and walked out of the room.

"More secrets?" Brass asked him. "I thought that was over."

"I'm letting Sara decide if she wants the rest of the world to know her private business."

"Alright. Are you going to stay here all night?"

"Yeah. I guess I am."

Brass nodded his head. "I'll go to the lab and get you a pair of extra clothes–okay?"

"No." Grissom handed him a key. "I'd rather you go to my place and get me some jeans, sweatshirt–stuff like that. I want out of these clothes. I probably reek."

This comment brought a bit of a smile to Brass. "Yeah, well, we all could go home and get showers. Just don't get too close to Sara until you get some deodorant, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind." He watched Brass leave, then turned and looked at Greg who hadn't moved from his chair. He walked over to him and sat in the chair opposite him.

"You can go home now, Greg. She's okay."

Greg looked at him and he knew he was in for a verbal assault.

"I just wanted to ask ya something." Greg said, and Grissom sighed and nodded his head.

"Go ahead. Ask."

"You've been with her all these years, and yet she isn't good enough. I want to know why. I want to know why you were trying to pick up Doris back at the Sugar Cane Ranch–and then what you did with Heather Kessler–I don't get it."

"My relationship with Sara is "my" business, Greg."

"But it isn't! You did those things in public. Almost as if you wanted Sara and everyone else to find out. Christ, you were flirting with Doris right there in front of everybody!"

"I'm tired, Greg. I really don't want to sit here defending myself."

"Do it anyway–make me understand."

"Ah, Christ, Greg! Doris? Are you serious? Doris? So I teased her a bit. How could you "not?" She was such a caricature of a feather-brained madam–hell, she should be the poster child for dim wits! I wasn't "flirting" with her! I was trying not to laugh in her face!"

"Were you trying not to laugh in Heather Kessler's face, too?"

Grissom looked at Greg a long time.

"I think its time you go home, Greg." He got to his feet. "I understand your friendship with Sara, so, we'll just forget that you asked that."

Greg got to his feet as well. "If you understand my friendship with Sara, then you'll know that I "can't" forget about it."

Grissom watched Greg walk out the door and leave him alone in the room. Suddenly the lack of his employees, whom he had previously wished were gone, was now overwhelming and he felt a loneliness that ate at him. He moved closer to the door and took a seat again, waiting for Sara to be brought up from the recovery room and put in a room of her own. He leaned his head back against the wall and soon his exhaustion overtook him again, this time into a dreamless sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"SARA! SARA! CAN YOU OPEN YOUR EYES?" The male nurse's voice finally seeped through the drug-induced sleep Sara had been in. There was something familiar about that voice and Sara wanted to go to it, so she used every ounce of her strength to force her eyes open. She could see the outline of a man standing at the side of her bed with the light coming over his shoulders. At first all she could make out was the shape and the curliness of his hair, then slowly she began to focus on his face. Such a handsome face–so familiar, and then she remembered him from earlier. "Good girl! How do you feel?"

"Sleepy," she managed to get out. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the emergency room?"

It took all her strength to get the words out and it came slowly, but he evidently heard her as he smiled and placed his hand on her forehead where he stroked her hair.

"I'm wherever you need me to be," he said gently. "Actually, I'm on break and I pulled a few strings. So, they let me wake you up. You're in the recovery room. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yes."

"I think someone's waiting for you to be taken to your own room. But we needed to make sure you were awake before we could move you."

"But I'm sleepy–tired."

"You can sleep. It's our job to get you up, then let you go back to sleep. Silly, huh?" She slowly nodded her head as she looked into those blue eyes. "This is it, Sara. The last time I'll get to see ya. I'm going home after I talk to you a bit."

"Okay." She was fascinated by this young man and she couldn't explain why.

"Are you ready to go to him?"

"What?" She squinted her eyes as she watched him, not sure that she heard him correctly.

"I said, are you ready to go to your room? Your own TV, there are much better shows there than what you see on these cardiac monitors." Again, she simply nodded her head. "Then I'm going to let you go. You're such a spectacularly fine lady, Sara Sidle. I just wanted to tell you its been a real pleasure to know you."

He bent down and kissed her forehead, then turned and walked away.

"SARA! SARA! IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP NOW!" This time it was a woman's voice who reached her. Sara opened her eyes and looked but couldn't see anything significant, so she simply closed her eyes. "SARA SIDLE!"

"What?" She asked angrily. This nurse was abrasive, and she didn't like abrasive people.

"Are you awake?"

"No! I'm sleeping! Leave me alone!"

"She's awake enough–take her out." The woman told someone else that Sara had no interest in and she felt the jerk of her bed, but soon fell back to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"Mr. Grissom?" A young girl entered the waiting room and smiled at him. "Miss Sidle's in her room. If you'd like, I could take you there."

He got to his feet in a hurry, then hesitated. "I–I'm expecting a friend to bring clothes back for me."

"I think he already dropped them off." She held up a small knapsack that he recognized as his own. "Is this it?"

"Yes."

He took it from her, then followed her through the hallway to the elevator. A few more twists and turns and he was entering a room with the curtain pulled, obscuring his view of the bed that was near the window. Slowly, he approached the curtain, fear overtaking his anxiousness to see her, but he pushed himself to draw the curtain back. The sight of her was no worse than what he had expected. The bruises, burns and swelling of her face were evident now, nearly swelling her eyes closed. He looked at the bruises on the arm that hadn't been broken.

Grissom glanced back at the girl who brought him there, and she simply gave him an encouraging smile, then a tiny wave, and she returned from where she had come from. He sat his knapsack on the floor and slowly moved to the side of her bed nearest the window; the side of her "good" arm. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to stroke her. But he was afraid because he didn't know where to put his fingers without causing pain. So, instead, he leaned over and gently placed his lips on hers. He stayed with her for several minutes, just looking and checking her injuries with his eyes. Then, seeing that there was no chance of her waking soon, he grabbed up the knapsack and went into her small bathroom.

He hurried as he stripped down and got into the shower, but once the heat started pounding on his back, he leaned his forearms against the wall and let the water massage work through his muscles. With the only sounds in his ears being the rushing of the water, his mind finally allowed the events of the past two days to catch up with him and he felt his throat constrict as a sob escaped him. One sob and that was it. He wouldn't allow himself more. He didn't have time to fall apart. So, he merely rested his head against his arms and let the two tears slide from his eyes because he wasn't going to allow any more.

He scrubbed his hair, getting all the sand and grit out of it that had collected while looking for Sara, then scrubbed his body and got out of the shower. Within minutes he was dressed in his jeans and tee-shirt, deciding it was a little warm for a sweatshirt. At this point, he even declined the socks and sneakers Brass had brought for him. He went back to the chair by the window and pulled it closer to the bed then sat in it, preparing himself for a long night and morning.

He very nearly fell asleep again when he heard Sara gasp and he was on his feet in an instant. He saw alarm on her face as she tried to look around, but couldn't see much.

"Sara?" He whispered to her.

"Where am I?" She asked. "What happened?"

"You're in the hospital, Sara. You've had surgery, but you're going to be fine."

"Why can't I see you?"

"Your face is swollen, but it will go down soon. You'll be able to see within the next few hours, I promise."

"You promise?" She asked with a tinge of fear.

"I do."

"Don't leave!"

"I won't. I'll be right here in the chair. I won't go anywhere."

"Hold me."

"I can't, honey. I don't want to hurt you."

"Please?" She breathed. "I need you to hold me."

Grissom looked at her, trying to decide if there was any way he could possibly get on the bed without touching a bruised area of her body. Finally, he slid onto the mattress, then maneuvered himself until he was lying next to her. He remained on his side as he faced her, and she leaned her head toward him.

"Am I hurting you? Are you alright like this?" He asked.

"I'm fine." She nearly fell back to sleep before she jerked awake again. "Did you get the boy?"

"What boy, Sara?" He soothed.

"The little boy who found me. Did you save him too? Did you get him?"

Grissom had no idea what she was talking about and decided it was the combination of surgical medications and the exposure to the sun. He kissed her forehead.

"Yes, dear. I got the boy."

He felt her relax in his arms and soon was sleeping again.

The arrival of a breakfast tray woke Grissom a few hours later. He stiffly moved himself until he was on his feet and looked at the juice, milk and tea on her tray. He had his doubts that she could tackle it quite yet and didn't have the heart to wake her to try. So, leaving for only a moment, he went to the nurse's station and retrieved a cup of coffee for himself. He returned to Sara's side and finished his drink while watching the morning news. He remained at her side, only leaving long enough to relieve himself in her little bathroom before rejoining her. He watched as the nurse changed an IV bag and injected some medication into the tubing. Any time Sara would move, she seemed to groan with pain, so he would always be there to hold onto her good hand and tell her she was doing fine, easing her back into a sound sleep.

By noon, they had replaced her tray of food with some chicken broth, more juice and tea. Again, he didn't wake her, knowing she was getting the hydration she needed through the IV fluid. He'd let her rest as long as she needed. He wasn't sure–perhaps he was afraid of what he was going to face when she woke up, but at any rate, he was relieved when she slept through the lunch hour. But by two, she was starting to come out of her sleep. He watched as she tried to turn to look around. This time, the twelve hours of rest had taken a considerable amount of the swelling out of her face, and she managed to see what she was looking at. He watched as she looked at the door to the hallway, then the wall where her closet was located. She glanced up at the television when she heard it, then toward the window. When she turned her head farther to look at him, she winced with pain.

"You've got to take it slow, honey. Don't rush your movements."

She raised her eyes again until she was looking at him. He could see something enter them that had been missing for the past twenty-four hours, and he knew she remembered things she had forgotten after the surgery. He could see her sizing him and he wasn't measuring up. She moved her hand from his and put it on the button to raise her bed. She occupied herself by looking at the drinks on her tray. When she noticed everything was in liquid form, her hand immediately went to her mouth as her fingers touched her teeth, clearly frightened that she had lost them during her trauma. She seemed relieved as her fingers moved on to her face, touching it tenderly until she came to the stitches. She looked immediately at Grissom.

"I want a mirror," she rasped with a dry throat.

"You look fine, Sara."

"Get me a mirror or I'll get up and find one myself."

Grissom pushed her bedside tray open, letting a little mirror pop up in front of her. She looked into it, then glanced back at him before pushing the mirror down and pulling the tray closed.

"See–not too bad."

"You're full of shit, Grissom," she said, then reached for her juice and drank nearly half the glass. "I look like I've been beaten and fried."

"It'll get better."

"What are you doing here, Grissom? You in the wrong room?" She looked at him again, her expression hard. "It seems to me Heather Kessler's room had the doorway on the other side of the bed–you must have overshot your destination and came in here by mistake. So, why don't you be a good boy and go find her room now? I'm tired."


	100. Chapter 100

A/N: Keep in mind everyone–"little steps" will get them there. But they "will" get there!

Chapter One-Hundred

Grissom didn't have time to react to her words as he saw the look cross her features that he had become accustomed to several weeks before. He immediately grabbed the aluminum pan sitting on her bed stand and held it in front of her where she promptly emptied the apple juice she had just swallowed. She moaned loudly at the discomfort that her spasmodic movements caused on her bruised body. She grabbed onto the bed rail and squeezed as she went into dry heaves after there was no more juice left to throw up.

"Woe!" Nick's voice came from the doorway as he entered the room. "Bad time to visit, I see."

Sara leaned back against the mattress and released Grissom's hand to grab a tissue, wiping her mouth as she breathed heavily. Her eyes searched for Nick, before reaching for him.

"Nick."

"Hey, Sunshine?" He took her hand and sat on the edge of the mattress, facing her as Grissom took the pan and emptied it in the bathroom. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"You look like you're not ready to wake up yet. So, I'm gonna make this visit real quick, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed without argument.

"I'd ask how you're feelin' but its kinda obvious."

Sara nodded her head then her eyes went to Grissom as he re-entered the room and he immediately put the pan in front of her as she lost another burst of apple juice. Nick stepped back out of the way, then waited for her to lean back on the mattress again, Grissom looked up at his worried expression.

"Reaction to the anesthesia," Grissom explained.

Nick nodded his head in understanding then reached down and put his hand on her blanket-covered leg. "Sara, I don't mean to leave you in your time of need–but I think you'd be better off with just Grissom right now. You don't want to worry about entertaining company while busy like this. I love ya, kid. We all do, but I think I'm gonna tell everyone to put off their visits for another day."

Sara closed her eyes as she leaned back against the mattress and Nick left the room. After nearly a full minute, she opened her eyes and looked at Grissom.

"You shouldn't be here," she finally got out. "You've got a lab to run."

"Catherine and Ecklie can run the lab for awhile. I'm where I should be."

"I don't want you here."

"That's not what you said earlier."

She got that look in her eyes again and he held the pan for her as she leaned forward, heaving into it and grasping onto the bed rail. There was nothing left to come up, but still her stomach went into spasms. When it finally let up, she was completely drained and Grissom helped her back against the mattress again. He picked up a wash cloth and moistened it with cool water, then came back and sat next to the bed where he gently wiped her face. She kept her eyes closed, but he continued to try to sooth the damaged areas. He watched the tears spill from between her lids and he wiped them away as well.

"Why are you doing this?" She whispered.

"Because I can't seem to force myself to leave."

"You've got a real thing about damsels in distress, huh?" She opened her eyes and looked at him accusingly and although it was quite an effort to talk, she managed to add, "I don't think Heather's gonna like the fact that you ran off to my defense like this. Please, go."

He put the cloth on the tray and moved back, but he sat in the chair. He knew he had to talk to her, tell her things, but not now. She needed to rest now. Once he heard her breathing even out, and he knew she was sleeping, he got up and cleaned the pan, replaced the cloth with a clean one, then went to the nurse's station to let them know that Sara was having trouble with nausea and that she may re-injure herself; could they give her something to curb the reaction to the anesthesia. When he returned to her room he lowered her bed again, then moved the chair closer to her and reclined it as he reached between the rails and held onto her hand.

Her moan woke him immediately, but after glancing at her, he saw that she continued to sleep as she tried to turn from her back into a more comfortable position. Finally, she made it onto her right side and seemed to settle back to sleep. Sara moaned slightly again, and he glanced toward the doorway, then got up and pulled the curtain. He moved to her left side and sat on the edge of the bed with her back facing him, then lifted the back of her gown to look at her bare skin. He wanted to be sure there was no bruising or burned skin before he touched her. From what he saw, her back seemed unharmed, so he closed the gown again and started rubbing muscles that had to be stiff and sore from laying in one position for such a long period of time. He was massaging her when a man brought in a dinner tray for Sara then took the one she had barely touched for lunch.

"Mr. Grissom?" The man inquired as he held a bag and was looking at a piece of paper taped to it. "This was delivered for you."

Grissom took the bag and read the note.

Gil,

By now you're probably so hungry you're ready to start gnawing on the pillows. So instead of feathers, Jim and I decided to send this. And ya better eat it, especially if you plan to take care of Sara–you'll need your strength, too, ya know.

Catherine

Grissom opened the bag and looked inside to see a complete burger dinner from Frank's Diner. He moved it over to the bureau on the far side of the room, then opened it. He grabbed the burger and before he realized it, it was almost gone. He had to stop and think of when he last ate–Christ, it must've been nearly two days ago. He quickly downed the coffee that was inside, then went back to sit next to Sara again. The fries would wait until later.

He watched her, noticing that the swelling was going down in her face. He wanted nothing more than to place his hands on each side of that beautiful face and kiss her senseless, then pick up the pieces of their lives and go on. But it wasn't going to be that easy. He knew he was in for a long struggle.

The bang of a door hitting a wall woke Grissom with a start and his eyes went immediately to Sara's bed, finding it empty. In an instant, he took in the IV pole that had been disconnected, the absence of her tray from her bedside, darkness coming from outside and the light coming from the bathroom. He had a little trouble getting to his feet, not quite remembering that he had his chair in a reclining position and then fumbling for the handle. But he made it to the bathroom doorway in time to see Sara standing before the sink, looking at her reflection.

"What are you doing?" He asked with astonishment at finding her on her feet and out of bed.

"My hair's a mess." She looked half-asleep as she glanced at him in the mirror. "It needs washed."

"Now?" Again, shock sounded in his voice.

"I–don't like this gown. It looks horrible."

"I'll get you something from home. But its probably easier to get in and out of this with your arm still wrapped." He took a step inside and put his hands on her shoulders. "I think you should go back to bed."

"I'm tired of being in bed. "You" go to bed." She looked up at his reflection again. "Don't look at me. I look terrible."

"No, you don't." He watched her exasperation wash over her features. "What do you want me to do? Would you like me to wash your hair?"

Her eyes moved from him to her hair that still had sand and dirt in it, even some mud, as it stuck out here and there at odd angles. He knew she was debating with herself, whether she wanted his assistance, or to go without the shampoo.

"Yes. Please."

"I'll do the best I can."

He nodded his head, then looked in the shower stall to see it had a seat inside. He moved the aluminum stool as far away from the shower head as he could possibly get it, then turned the small knob to switch the water flow into the nozzle that hung on the wall. When he turned back to her, he slowly started unsnapping the gown but when he attempted to pull it off her shoulders, her right hand automatically grabbed it over her breasts and held it in place.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I–I–can't."

"Sara, you've got to take the gown off if you're going to get in the shower. The water will soak right through the cloth and ruin your bandage."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she released the cloth and the uneasiness that she felt, hurt him more than any insult she could have thrown his way. When she was completely bare in front of him, he took note of the bruising on her arms, shoulders and legs, and he had the urge to return to Natalie Davis and beat her until she was in as much pain as this woman standing before him. She covered her breasts with her right arm, but he pretended not to notice as grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, covering her from under her arms down to her thighs. He slowly guided her inside the stall and sat her on the stool, then turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Within seconds, he had her with her face tilted toward the ceiling as he wet her brown strands, then put shampoo in it. It actually took two full cycles before it seemed to have all the grit out of it, and when he was finished he was rather proud of the fact that her bandage was only moist from a minute amount of spray that had landed on it. He wrapped her hair in a towel, took off the other towels and dried her as quickly as he could without hurting her, then got a clean hospital gown and put it back on her.

"Where are my underwear?" She whispered.

"I–don't know. If they're here, they're dirty. I can get some from home in the morning."

"I don't have any clothes at your apartment," she said dully. "I moved everything out. They're at the Silver Dove."

"Then I'll pick up your clothes and move them back." He walked with her toward the bed, but she stopped immediately and looked at him.

"No–you won't. I'm not going back to your place," she told him firmly.

"We'll talk about it later." He pulled the sheet back on her bed. "Come on, back in bed."

"I "said" I'm not going back."

"And "I" said, we'll talk about it later." He watched as she stood in the center of the floor, then he pulled a smaller chair closer to her. "Then sit here if you don't want to go back to bed yet. I'll brush out your hair."

Again, she looked at him as if she would rather he didn't touch her, but the need to look semi-human overruled the situation and she slowly went to the chair and sat down. He gently rubbed her hair with the towel then got the courtesy brush from her bedside tray and worked it through the thick mass until it was straightened and pulled back from her face. She continued to look forward without talking to him until he finished, then got to her feet and moved to the recliner and looked out at the city lights. He went to stand next to her with his hands shoved in his pockets and neither spoke for nearly ten minutes.

"I want you to go home, Grissom," she said quietly as she continued to watch the lights. "There's no need for you to stay here. I'm not as "delicate" as your black-haired fair maiden. I can take care of myself."

"I'm not arguing with you, Sara. Not tonight. But if you want to attest to your independence, I'd think of how much help you needed just to wash your hair. Try to imagine doing everything on your own. There are things you can't do for yourself, and the sooner you admit to that fact, the easier it will be for you."

"Easier for me?" She finally turned to look at him. "You mean easier for you, don't you? And the thing is–I don't even know why in the hell you're even trying!" She turned in the chair to get up, but he leaned over her and put a hand on each arm of the chair, successfully trapping her, as he knelt before her. Her eyes flared as she quietly snarled, "I don't know why you just don't leave me alone and go to her. She's got everything I don't! Evidently everything you want! God! Just let me go on, without living my life comparing myself to that "thing" you're so attached to!"

"She doesn't want me," he said and immediately could have bitten his tongue off. Her hand meet with his cheek so rapidly that he barely had time to register that he had been slapped until she hit him for a second time.

"Well–I don't–either."

They stared at one another as if they couldn't believe what had just happened, then his hand moved to touch his reddened cheek as he slowly got to his feet and looked down at her.

His comments came out slowly and very decisively. "I have no more excuses for what I did, Sara. Everything I did, I thought I did with everyone's best interests in mind–but I was lying to myself. I was wrong–terribly wrong–and I'm going to try anything I can to make up for going to Heather."

"You can't."

"I'm going to try to make up for humiliating you in front of our co-workers. I'm going to try to make up for comparing Heather's needs to yours."

"Stop it," she hissed. "You can't!"

"I'm going to try to make it up to you for not being there when you planned to tell me we were going to have a child." This time, her face seemed to pale as she stared at him. "Yes, Sara. I know about the baby–one of the things you forgot was that St. Luke's Obstetrics Clinic is affiliated with Desert Palms. They share their records on their computer systems. They wanted to make sure you were the same Sara Sidle who had been hospitalized several weeks ago with a miscarriage. So, I'm going to try very hard to make up the fact that while you were lying in a hospital bed, losing our son, I wasn't there."

She looked away from him, quickly trying to get to her feet and past him. He allowed her to get up and watched as she looked around the room as if she had no idea where to go to get away from him. Finally, she swung around and stared at him again.

"Leave!"

"I can't."

"Leave!"

He got to his feet and slowly walked toward her. "I wont."

"I don't want to talk to you right now!"

"Then don't talk. But I'm not leaving. And you're not going back to the Silver Dove."

"I have my own apartment. I'm supposed to move on Monday."

"Good thing I'm getting your things out of the motel, then you won't have to go to the trouble of moving them out of your "new" apartment."

"I signed a lease."

"I'll get you out of it."

"Why are you doing this?" She looked at him through pleading eyes.

"You've already asked that." He took a final step and put his arms around her and pulled her against him. "I don't want to fight anymore."

She didn't get to answer as the nurse entered the room and looked at them a moment before proceeding to the bed where she gestured toward it.

"In ya go," the lady told her. "You're not ready to be up bouncing around your room. Once your doctor gives the okay for you to be up and about, you can run the halls if you want to. But for now, you're to stay in bed."

"Is there anything you can give me for pain?" Sara asked irritably as she walked out of Grissom's arms and went to the bed, allowing the woman to assist her onto the mattress, then pull the sheet over her.

"That's why I'm here. Time for your meds." She wiped Sara's upper arm with an alcohol swab, then pressed a needle into the muscle.


	101. Chapter 101

Chapter One-Hundred-One A

She had felt him in the room and when she actually looked at him, the clock turned back several weeks and she was seeing the guilt-ridden expression he had been wearing when he walked in on her taking photos of Heather. The pain of seeing him in the layout room, trying his best to talk his way out of his infidelity, but not being able to hide the guilt he wore like a blinking neon light all came rushing back to her. She felt her stomach lurch and reached for something to try to calm it and quickly drank some apple juice. She didn't want him there. Couldn't he see that every breath he took as he stayed in her hospital room reminded her of when he wouldn't leave Heather's side, either. Words he was trying to say to her; were they the same words he used when he spoke to that other woman?

Every painful word that had been gossiped came flooding back. "He sat by her bed and held her hand. . .might as well have climbed in her bed with her." "You should've heard him speak to her–soft and gentle, like she was some kind of a saint or something." "He just stayed there with her–until it was time for her to leave. . .then guess who took her home and spent the night with her."

Sara tried to close her eyes and block the sight of him out of her mind, but the words and visions repeated in her head as if it was on an unending loop of film. When the nausea came it was a violent reminder of her days of pregnancy, and if she had had the strength, she would have pushed Grissom's helping hand away, but the fact was that every move she made caused some type of pain. And strength wasn't something she had a large commodity of at the moment. Hell, truth be told, she hasn't had an abundance of it for weeks.

The sight of Nick was a ray of sunshine in a dark cave, and she welcomed the interruption just so she didn't have to focus on Grissom and his closeness to her. She swore, if he touched her, she'd become ill again. Her skin crawled at the thought of those hands; hands that had done such intimate things to her over the past two years; were now the hands that had touched and stroked and caressed another woman–that woman.

But her stomach didn't wait until he touched her and she was vomiting again and again. She really couldn't blame Nick for leaving. How could she? He was correct; she certainly wasn't capable of acknowledging his presence while she was busy emptying her stomach. It became the most severe when there was nothing left to empty from her stomach and she went into dry heaves. She felt drugged; tired and weak, and when he came to her and wiped her face, she couldn't even lift her hand to push him away. So, she used her words instead–the whole time "please, don't touch me–please, don't touch me" chanted in her head. After that, the drugs took her under again and she felt the bliss of not having to deal with any pain, emotionally or physically.

When she next awoke, she heard the breathing close to her bed and turned to see Grissom lying in a recliner. He had his arms crossed over his chest and as she looked from his tousled hair to his bare feet, she felt the quick, sharp, stab of want. She nearly reached over to him, until the memories of Heather came slamming back into her like a lightning bolt. Heather, she thought. Vibrant, beautiful, exotic and explicit. Sara raised her bed then pushed her tray open and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The redness of her face, stitches and scratches–she could do nothing about those right now. But the hair–God, she looked worse than any bag lady she had ever met up with on the streets of Las Vegas.

Even if she didn't want to resume a relationship with Grissom; even if she didn't give a damn what he thought anymore–the fact that she was looking her worst made her feel defenseless. If he had to stay here, comparing her to Heather, she just wished she could at least "try" to look like something other than a wild-woman from Hell.

She watched as the nurse came into the room and unhooked her IVs, then suggested that she try to get something into her stomach. She looked at the broth, juice and tea doubtfully, but the nurse quickly assured her that she had been given metoclopramide which should control the nausea. She drank what she could, and by then the nurse was collecting trays and removed it from her room. She watched the lights of the city through the window and after about a half hour of not feeling quite so drowsy anymore, she twisted on her bed and with a lot of effort, got to her feet. She felt extremely uneasy at first, but by holding onto walls and furniture, she made it to the bathroom where she accidently bumped into the door and knocked it against the wall. The sight before her was hideous. She touched her hair and it could have passed for straw, then the more she felt it the more she found sand and mud.

Then, suddenly, "he" appeared behind her. She was appalled. There she was, looking her worst, and he had to be there to witness it. The perfect environment–considering that when he spent time with Heather in her hospital room, she looked like a fairy princess. Now, he stood behind her and stared at her as if in horror.

How could she refuse his offer to shampoo her hair? Even if it were his hands doing the chore, she wanted to feel cleansed of everything; the dirt, the grime, the shame, the humiliation, the torment of knowing how he chose Heather. She just wanted to be clean again. But when he tried to remove her gown, she couldn't stop the degradation and instinctively stopped him as she fought against the humiliation of having him see her bruised and broken. She tried to emotionally remove herself from the act, itself, until he finally had her redressed and on her way back to her bed.

From there, conversation only served to fuel their colliding insistence in getting their own way, and revealed jut how different their ideas were of what was to be. The movement from the bed to the bathroom and back again was making her ache, and she knew the painkillers were wearing off. She just wanted to go to sleep–alone. But he wouldn't leave and she felt more defenseless than ever. She couldn't leave; she couldn't physically toss him out. The only thing left to her were her words. Her confusion, exhaustion and despair all erupted when he admitted that he wasn't with Heather because the woman didn't want him. She hated him so much at that moment that she couldn't stop herself from slapping him. And still, he persisted in antagonizing her with the details of what he had intended to do and the fact that it was all a lie. He had done everything because he wanted to be with Heather, wanted to do for Heather, wanted to be Heather's savior, again.

Then came the announcement that he knew about their child. Panicked? She had never been so panicked in her life. She wanted him out. She needed to be away from him, but he wouldn't leave. She tried to escape, but she had nowhere to go! And he wouldn't let up–he wouldn't stop torturing her. He touched her, he folded her in his arms, and she started to tremble. She just needed a break.

The nurse couldn't have timed her arrival any better and Sara gratefully went to the bed as directed. She wanted something for the pain, but she didn't know which hurt more, her limbs or the pain that felt as if it were ripping her chest apart. She gratefully accepted the sting of the injection as she leaned back against her pillows, refusing to open her eyes as she let the medication seep through her. The last thing she remembered hearing was the sounds of the nurse discussing her improved condition with Grissom.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

The blood pressure cuff tightened around her arm, this time waking her as the sun poured in through the window. She squinted her eyes as she looked around the room and as she suspected, she found Grissom leaning against the bureau near the bottom of her bed, eating what looked to be a sausage, egg and cheese double croissan'wich, large cheesey tots, large hash browns and possibly a large coffee as he watched her. She raised her bed higher and looked at the tray placed next to her bed. Food–actual food. She lifted the lid and saw oatmeal, a poached egg, two slices of bacon, a slice of toast, orange juice and tea. She looked back at what Grissom was eating and he picked up his food and carried it to her tray, giving her half of his hash browns, cheesey tots and after pulling the sausage and egg from his croissan'wich, tore part of it off and gave it to her. She reached up and pushed her hair back, noting the softness of it as compared to the night before, then picked up a hash brown and stuck it in her mouth. She ate a few more, and drank some of her OJ as she would glance up at him between bites as he worked on his breakfast.

"You're feeling better," he said between bites without looking at her. "Soon, you'll be up to actually talking calmly to me."

"Don't push it, Grissom." She continued to pick at her food, taking bites of whatever her single hand could hold. "I'd prefer to not talk to you at all."

"That may be a blessing," he said under his breath and received a raised-eyebrow glare from her, as he sat at the foot of her bed.

She unconsciously drew her leg away from him. "I think it might be best if I "don't" talk to you."

"Fine–then let me talk."

"It would be best if I didn't listen, either," she added.

"Okay." He shrugged his shoulders as he put his food on her tray and moved her "hospital grub" to the bureau. He licked a smear of cheese from his thumb as he moved back to the right side of her, then slid onto the bed next to her. "Then we won't talk."

Her eyes were huge as she turned to look at him. "Get off my bed!"

"No."

"Grissom, get out of my goddamned bed!"

"What are ya going to do if I don't? Make me?"

"I can always buzz for the nurse to come in and get you out."

"I'm lying on your good side. You can't reach the call button."

"Then I'll scream my damned head off! Get out of my bed!"

"No, you won't. You wouldn't disturb the rest of the floor. Patients may get upset." He picked up the remote control and turned on her television, flipping through stations until he got to an old rerun of Baywatch.

"Turn that off," she told him through grit teeth. He knew she hated watching those bimboes bouncing along the beach.

"No."

"Turn it off right now!" She tried to reach for the control, but he held it out of her reach.

"No."

"Gimme the goddamned thing!" She sat up and leaned over him, trying to grasp onto it with her right hand.

"You really are getting better, aren't you?" He smiled.

"I want it now!" She insisted as she was partially laying on top of him as she tried to reach his hand.

"Excuse me?" The male voice stopped both their movements, then after a moment, Grissom put his arm around her waist and pulled her off of him, then got out of the bed as he looked back at her.

"I told you," Grissom scolded her. "Not now. It'll have to wait until we get home." He looked at the surgeon and a trio of student doctors surrounding him. "I'm sorry. She gets a bit. . .well, lets just say she's ready to go home."

"Uh." The doctor looked at him, then at Sara's face of disbelief at his words, then back to Grissom. "Well, it looks like that might be by this afternoon. I can see from here that the swelling's gone down. A good look beneath the bandage and she just may get her wish."

"She's all yours," Grissom stepped aside and watched as the man and his staff moved closer.

"I–he–we. . ." Sara started as she watched the doctor begin to unravel her bandage. She couldn't believe that Grissom would lead them to believe that she was. . .well–she just wasn't!

"It's alright," he said as he continued to examine her arm. "I'm sure, under your circumstances, you need reassurance that you're actually safe. I understand completely."

"No–but we really weren't. . ."

"Doctor, what will her restrictions be when she goes home?" Grissom interrupted her.

"Well," he said slowly as he approached the incision sites. "The question right now is "if" she goes home."

"Oh, no it isn't," Sara told him. "I'm going home today. Even if I have to walk out of here on my own–I'm going home."

"She's a little anxious–as you've seen." Grissom moved closer to them and took a seat in the recliner next to her bed.

Sara slowly turned her head to look at him, then reached her good hand toward him and placed it on his knee and gave a faux laugh. "Now, "honey," you don't want to give the doctor the wrong impression. You know we have to stop at the pharmacy for your little blue pills before we. . ." She turned and looked at the doctor again. "Well, it isn't important, anyway."

Grissom jerked his leg away from her when she squeezed at the joint where she knew he was most tender.

"You're looking like you're moving along, right on track," the doctor told her, then nodded toward one of his assistants, indicating they should re-wrap it with gauze. "I'd like to get another x-ray just to make sure things are aligning correctly, and if it looks good, you two can get out of here."

"I'm not going. . ." Sara started, but Grissom

"What were those restrictions?" Grissom asked again.

"No lifting "anything" with that arm. No driving for at least two weeks. You might want to bathe instead of shower, as long as you can have your arm propped out of the water. I suggest you get help in and out of the tub. I see you chose some "real" food instead of the stuff they give you in here–that's fine. I'd sleep with that arm propped up–it'll help keep the swelling down."

"In other words, she's going to need help with almost everything." Grissom reached down and took Sara's hand in what appeared to be a loving gesture, but was actually removing it from his knee.

"Oh, definitely. I hope you weren't planning on leaving her alone for the two weeks. One false move and that plate and the screws would be useless. As a matter of fact, it would cause more damage than what she had originally come in with." He looked closely at Sara. "You have to understand that, because I won't discharge you unless you've got proper help at home. The risks or re-injury are too high."

Sara looked away from the doctor to watch her arm get wrapped again. She realized what he was saying, and she certainly didn't want to damage her arm to the point of uselessness. The thought crossed her mind that she could have Nick or Greg come to help her, but they wouldn't be there around the clock, and until she healed sufficiently, she would need the constant companion to do things she had always taken for granted. She looked back at the doctor with a stiff smile.

"I guess I'll be going home with Gilbert, after all."

"Like I said, one quick set of x-rays and I'll give the okay. I'll have our prescriptions waiting for you at the nurse's desk. They can come in and give you more detailed instructions before you leave."

Sara watched as the four physicians left the room, then she yanked her hand from Grissom's.

"And just how do you plan to be there around the clock when you've got work to go to?"

"I put in for FMLA this morning before you woke up. I'll be home with you as long as need be."

"But I don't want. . ."

"Sara, it isn't about what you "want" right now. I'm sure you didn't want to be abducted by Natalie Davis either. But the fact remains that you "are" injured too badly to be by yourself. I'm the only person with the ability to be with you around the clock, because, believe me, I will not approve FMLA for anyone else on the job. This time, it will not go through Ecklie without going through me first. There is nothing confidential about why they'd be taking off–and under department rules, they wouldn't be considered family anyway."

"You're not. . ."

"Before you finish, let me assure you that I am the closest thing you've got to family right now. So, you're stuck with me."

Sara's frustration level was going through the roof, because she knew there was no way around this, and his cocky "getting his own way again" attitude was pissing her off.

"You're a fucker!"

"Yeah–I am," he smiled at her. "Imagine that–and even without my little blue pills from the pharmacy."


	102. Chapter 102

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has been loyally following me in my depiction of this story. I have a wide range of readers, from those who want Sara and Grissom to be happy "real soon" to those who want Sara to tear Grissom's heart apart for what he did with the "Heather" situation. I truly do appreciate each and every one of you! So, hang on to your breeches, because its gonna get rocky for a while, but as in any relationship–things need to be worked out. Enjoy!

Chapter One-Hundred-Two

"I had Warrick and Catherine bring my car to the hospital. I sent Nick to pick up your things at the Silver Dove. He said he'd drop them off at my place." Grissom walked next to Sara's wheelchair as she was being pushed out of the hospital. "It should be there by now."

"How–how did he get into my room? Who authorized this?"

"Your room key was in your car. I had the rest of your stay at the motel cancelled and you'll be receiving a refund, considering the circumstances."

"Don't "I" have some say in this?"

"Remember that they've agreed to release you "if" you have twenty-four-hour care. I'll be there to provide that care. Part of that care is seeing that you're immediate business is taken care of."

"So, I "don't" have anything to say." She looked at her two hands and the darkness of her arm in contrast to the white of the cast, and noticed that her sight was starting to blur a bit. That was when she realized that last injection before she left her room was starting to kick in. "I see."

"Are you alright?" He asked as he looked at her features.

"I'm fine."

Sara stood up from the wheelchair and took the two steps to get into Grissom's car. She gave a courteous smile to the gentleman who brought her there, thinking he suddenly looked an awful lot like Paul Newman, then allowed him to close the door. When Grissom got behind the steering wheel and closed his door, she couldn't believe that she had never realized how big he was before this. He seemed to be taking up most of the space in the car and suddenly she felt like a captured animal. She felt trapped; as trapped as she had been when she was beneath that mass of steel on the desert; trapped physically and trapped emotionally. What choice did she have at this point? The fact that she couldn't take care of herself was brought to light in magnificent colors last night when she couldn't wash her hair. Hell, she thought, as she remembered her attempts at breakfast and lunch, she couldn't even feed herself properly. Fleeting thoughts of Greg or Nick had occurred to her, but she knew they would never be granted the time off needed to be with her. Grissom was the only one remotely able to slide in under the heading of "family" for the Family Medical Leave Act, even though right now she felt as distanced from him as she's ever been. Yes, she was trapped. Her choices were nonexistent.

"Sara," he said gently as he started driving away and placed his hand on her thigh. "I know you're hesitant about coming back. . ."

"Hesitant?" She scoffed as she slowly slid his hand away from her. "I'd hardly call it hesitant. Why don't we call an ace an ace? I "detest" the idea of going back." She looked over at him with anxiety written across her features. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

He put his hand back on the steering wheel and looked at her. "Do you realize that while you were out there, I promised God I'd do everything in my power to make you happy again. I'd like to have the opportunity to do that, Sara."

"You shouldn't have aimed so high, Grissom. There are some things you can't fix once it's destroyed." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm afraid your god got the raw end of the deal."

"No, Sara. Things can be fixed. We might not be able to get the baby back, but we can always try again."

"Try again?" She asked sharply. "Why would I ever "try" again? I would've been willing to raise the baby alone this time. After you ran to Heather, I had no problems with doing just that. But there is no way I'd ever "try" to have another child, knowing what I know now."

"And what do you know? That I was half out of my mind with fear the whole time we were looking for you? That I didn't want to come back if I didn't have you with me?"

"Feeling guilty, were we?" She gave a small, sarcastic laugh. "Well, don't worry. All bets were off the moment you tried to "relieve" that guilt by explaining to me that you were the only one Heather could trust. So, you want to know what "I" know? I know that Heather "really" needed a friend a few weeks ago. "I" know you were so willing to be that friend that no one else mattered. And ya know what? I truly believe that even if I "had" told you about the baby–you wouldn't have changed a thing. "That's" what "I" know."

"If I had it all to do over again. . ."

"You wouldn't change a thing." She stressed. "Do not try to patronize me by saying that you would."

"What do you want me to do, Sara? Get down on my knees and beg?" He asked with rising ire.

"No, Grissom. That's more along the lines of what you'd do for Heather–not for me–never for me."

"You don't understand," he began slowly.

"I don't understand? Yeah, and you'll never let slip a single opportunity to remind me of how limited I am as a woman. . .as a mother and that I can't understand a lot of things, right? I heard it enough, thank you! But I do understand a lot more than you'll ever know. I undersand that what you couldn't get from me, you went to her for. So, if I were you right now, I'd stop talking before I'd get myself deeper into that endless pit you like to hide yourself in. So, I'll ask again–if I "have" to stay at your place until I'm good enough to get around on my own–where will I be sleeping?"

"In our bed," he said tersely.

"I don't think so." She had managed to work herself up into a good measure of anxiety by this point, and the thought of actually sleeping next to him made her want to scream. Instead, she tried to present the picture of calmness. "Unless you've taken an adverse liking to the sofa."

"We'll manage."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, not speaking until he parked the car and told her to stay put until he could meet her on her side of the car. He assisted her to her feet by taking her good arm, which she tried to brush off once they started down the sidewalk.

"I think I can walk twenty yards to the building," she told him and he released her with raised brows but continued to walk next to her, until her equilibrium went so far out of whack that she nearly walked off the sidewalk and he quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Would you like to rethink that idea?" He asked.

As they made their way inside the apartment, Sara's anxiety returned in full force when she was hit with a combination of deja vu at returning to the home she had abandoned, and the distorted sensations the injection of Oxycontin had presented her with. He refused to release her until he had her on the lower level of the apartment at which point she found the boxes Nick must have brought over. She looked through her clothes, and grabbed the easiest apparel she could find. As she went to his bedroom, he followed, but she stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him.

"I can do this myself."

"Oh, really?" He asked as he stood his ground and crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's see."

"Is that how you're getting your kicks now? Want to watch the cripple get naked?" She grumbled as she went to the center of the room and kicked her sneakers off, the forcefulness of it so extreme that it flew up against the wall and crashed into the lamp on his side of the bed. She covered her mouth with her hand, astonished as the lamp crashed to the floor and broke into four large pieces. "Oh, my God!" She spun round to look at him as he stood there with his brows raised in disbelief. "I didn't mean to do that!"

"Well, there's certainly nothing "crippled" about you, is there?" He moved to the lamp and bent to pick up the pieces. "I wonder what kind of damage you can do when you take your jeans off."

She looked at him and had a fleeting thought of taking off her jeans and repeatedly hitting him with them, but then changed her mind when she realized he might actually enjoy it. So, instead, she waited until he took the pieces of the lamp to the kitchen to throw them away, before she pushed her jeans down and pulled on a fresh pair of panties. She was rather proud of herself and the way she handled that problem one-handed. Maybe she "could" get along without his help. Next came the tee-shirt she was wearing. She managed to get her right arm out of the sleeve, then pushed it up over her head, but when she tried to pull it over the cast on her left arm, she couldn't get the sleeve to open enough to fit the cast through. She tried tugging at it, but that only caused discomfort in her arm. When she heard him coming back she tried even harder, pulling it this way and that as her body turned with her attempts.

"Enough," he said quietly as he approached her and put his hands on her shoulders to stop her movements, then faced her toward him. "You'll end up tripping over your own feet and getting a broken leg to go with your arm."

Defeat showed in her eyes as she looked up at him, but he continued to watch the sleeve that he was stretching to slip over the cast, then once he had it off, he reached behind her to unhook her bra, but she twisted away from him. She might only be standing in front of him wearing her bra and panties, but she couldn't stop the intense uneasiness that overcame her at the thought of him seeing her any more vulnerable than what she already was.

"Don't."

"I'm only helping you dress, Sara. I don't think I'm that bad that I'd try to force you to have sex, two days out of surgery–no matter what you might think of me."

She held her head high as she turned her back to him and presented him with the hook, then once it was undone, she turned back to him and pushed the lace cloth over her arms and let it drop to the floor. She continued to watch him as he never moved his eyes below her mouth. She was torn between the dread of having him touch her, and the knowledge that he didn't want to. So, she simply turned her back to him again and slipped her cast into the large sleeves of her baseball-jersey-type nightshirt, then with his help as he held it for her, she pushed her right arm through the other sleeve. She attempted to button the front and tears of frustration appeared before he turned her toward him again and closed it for her. She turned away from him again and went to the side of the bed, slipping beneath the sheet and with a bit of awkwardness, lowered herself onto the pillows. She pulled the sheet back over her and turned onto her side, now in the full arch of the injection and letting its effects pull her into a dreamless sleep.

When Sara woke, she saw the empty boxes that had contained her things, sitting near the doorway. She looked around the room to find everything back in its original place and she wondered if Grissom didn't have a bit of Natalie Davis in him, after all.

She moved out toward the livingroom but stopped when she saw Grissom at the stove, preparing a cheese and mushroom Panini, and some type of creamed soup. She looked at the counter and saw a bowl full of salad and two plates waiting to have food put on them.

"You should be in bed. I'm bringing your food into you."

"I don't want to be in there. I've been locked in a trunk, stored on the floor of a maniac's car, stuffed under another car and left to drown, then the next thing I know, I'm stuck in a hospital room. I want to be "out" for awhile."

She leaned against the counter and watched him preparing their meal; another job she wouldn't have been able to perform by herself, she noticed. Her arm started to ache and she looked down at her hand, seeing that it was becoming swollen, but she didn't want to attract attention to it, so she turned and went to the sofa where she piled two pillows on top of one another and propped her arm on top of it. She turned on the television, but couldn't find anything she was interested in, so leaned her head against the back of the sofa as she settled on a film that she barely listened to. The longer she sat on the sofa, the more she was feeling a burning pain in her left arm. She looked at her fingers and saw that the swelling was going down, but the incisions and actual pain from the breaks were starting to flare. Almost as if he had read her mind, Grissom moved to sit next to her, carrying two pills and half a glass of water.

"Time for your meds," he told her. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Do you want me to go out there to eat?"

"No. Stay here. I'll bring it in."

She looked back at the television as the credits rolled, indicating the end of the movie she hadn't really been watching. He returned, carrying her sandwich and soup, then returned for her salad. Another trip and he was sitting next to her with his own food in front of him. Sara took a piece of the sandwich that he had cut into small pieces for her to handle and bit into it, practically groaning with the flavor. If there was one thing she could say about Gilbert Grissom, it was that he certainly could cook.

She dug into her meal in earnest, not even noticing what was on the television screen until she finished the sandwich and half of her soup. Feeling quite content, she leaned back again and looked at the television that Grissom seemed rather interested in. She recognized Christina Ricci immediately, soon to be joined by Johnny Depp, both wearing period clothes from the forties. She remembered talking to Catherine and Nick about this movie, although she had never seen it before. She hardly noticed when Grissom got up and returned their dishes to the kitchen, then came back to sit next to her. Both their attentions were held intently by the movie, up until a scene came on with Ricci sitting in a chair near an outdoor fire as Depp rode a white horse around the area. The music intensified and Sara knew something was coming up and she started to feel a little uncomfortable. When Depp knelt before Ricci and gently ran his hands over her body, Sara's breath caught in her throat, and when he moved between her legs and made love to her, she felt fire burning through her. She couldn't stop herself from looking at Grissom only to find him watching her as well. She swallowed with difficulty, then watched as he immediately got to his feet and left the room. He remained in his office for over a half hour, making a racket that sounded like he was destroying the place. When her curiosity got the best of her, she made her way back to see what exactly was going on.

"What are you doing?" She watched him pick up a chair and move it to the other side of the room.

"Rearranging my office," he said harshly.

"Why?"

"It's better than sitting in there and watching "that" and not being able to do anything about it!" He put the chair down and looked at her. "So you tell me, Sara. Which is it? Rearrange my office? Or take you into the bedroom and ease some tension that's been building for over three weeks?"

She watched him only a moment, then turned and went back to the sofa where she changed the channel. Any fires the couple on the television had stirred in her were now successfully put out. She watched television until her new dose of medicine lulled her back to sleep.


	103. Chapter 103

Chapter One-Hundred-Three

Grissom stood in his living room looking down at Sara as she slept on his sofa. The damned medicine she's taking is making her sleep so much that he barely has time to talk to her–and when he does have time, its turned into a farce. He's had his ear filled time and time again with her disapproval of his behavior, and accusations of things that were blatantly untrue. But then he doesn't exactly help the situation by constantly sticking his foot in his mouth, either. There was no doubt about it–he was nervous. He was more nervous than he had ever remembered being with a woman. Christ, he had more faith in himself the night he lost his virginity, than he's had around Sara. He wanted to prove to her that he loved her, that he wanted her with him and that they had so much more than just sex–so what does he do? He gets a boner as he's helping her change clothes. Then while watching that damned movie, he listened to her breathing change patterns as she became involved in the love scene unfolding before them–and that was enough to send him right back into trouble. When he turned to watch her watching them and she absently slid the tip of her tongue over her lips, he thought he was going to burst!

So, what in the hell does he do now? He looked down at the way she was lying on her side, turned toward a stack of pillows with her casted arm lying on top of it. He let his vision move from the exquisite cut of her beautiful jaw, down along the neck that he missed nuzzling. In her position, he could see how her jersey parted and exposed part of her fleshy mass of complete ambrosia. He couldn't stop his inspection as he looked at how her long, gorgeous legs flowed from the bottom of the shirt, and he wanted nothing more than to turn her onto her back and spread those glorious legs around him.

But he remained standing there. He had seen how she flinches at his touch; how she pales at even the thought of him coming near. He knew what she thought, and her imagination was a thousand times worse than the truth. Yes, he touched Heather. Yes, he stroked her face, her back, her arms–and God help him, he even went so far as to slip his hand under her dress as she straddled him. But he stopped! He pushed her away and let her know that things were getting out of control. He stopped. Jesus, he stopped.

How was he ever going to get her to believe him? He really wasn't aware of leaning down and sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He especially wasn't aware of running the backs of his fingers along her jaw. When she actually purred in her sleep and turned her head toward his caress, he couldn't seem to stop himself as he moved from the coffee table to the sofa, sitting where her legs curved toward the back of the sofa. He saw how her white lace panties were peaking from beneath her nightshirt and before he could even pass a cohesive thought through his muddled brain, his fingertips were touching the lace and slowly slid upwards, lifting the cloth of her nightshirt until he was touching her waist.

God, if could just hold her through the night. He thought he was in heaven that first night in the hospital when she wanted him in her bed. But she didn't even remember it. It was some drug-induced dream that had her calling out to him. Now, he'd give just about anything to have her cry out to him and really mean it.

His fingertips moved down again, along her thigh to her knee, then back again. He had a moment of hope when she started to turn toward him in a fluid movement of invitation, but it vanished when she evidently jerked fully awake. She remained very still but he could feel the stiffness in her body as she remained on her side, facing away from him. He could hear her breathing turn ragged, in what? Fear? What the hell did she think she had to fear from him?

Ever so slowly, she turned onto her back and looked at him. She started to struggle to get her casted arm down low enough to grab onto his hand, then when she couldn't reach it, she turned more fully toward him and used her right hand. But once she grabbed it, she pushed it off of her leg. He couldn't stop himself as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist to still her hand.

"Don't give up on me, Sara. I know I've made some drastic mistakes, but I'm trying very hard to make up for them. You'll see, honey. You can count on me." He pulled her fingers up to his lips and kissed them.

"No, Griss." She slowly pulled her hand away. "That's your line you use on Heather–you must be confused."

"You're going to fight me every step of the way on this, aren't you? Why can't we just start over? Start fresh again?"

"Because every time we've started "fresh" the same old rotten habits recur and it turns "us" into a decaying joke. You seem intent on making me stay in your apartment–but you need to know that I'm not here willingly. If I had "any" other choice, I'd take it. But, I don't. So, I'll stay here and try to mend as quickly as imaginable–but be warned that I'm not happy about it."

"I "need" you to listen. I "need" you to hear me, Sara." He put his hand on her leg, keeping his grasp as she again tried to pull away. "You've been running away from me every damned chance you get. But you can't run now–and now you're going to listen."

"I've listened to you too many times, Grissom. I've accepted your promises too many times. I've had my trust in "us" broken too many times. I can't take one more lie, one more broken promise–one more word from you."

"How many times do I have to apologize to you? You want it in blood? Jesus Christ, Sara! I was wrong! I made a huge mistake! I chose the wrong direction–and don't you think I've paid for it? You're not the only one to lose a child, Sara. It was my son, too!"

"You threw it away!" She hissed at him. "And for what? A few whips and chains? God! The very thought of it makes me want to vomit! You tell me how in the hell I can ever think of going back to you when I know you'd rather be spanked and God only knows what else you let her do to you!"

"Sara! I've been with you for two years, if I was into S and M, don't you think I'd have tried something with you?"

"No! I don't!" She struggled to get up but her legs got caught against his body. "There's no way you would've ever conceived the notion to try such filth on me–because what we had was pure–not what you need to go to her for!"

He reached for her hand again but she yanked it away. "Stop it, Sara!"

"Don't touch me! The thought of where you've had your hands and what you've done with them, makes my skin crawl!" Sara jerked herself upright, grimacing with pain as she maneuvered herself to the floor and then into a standing position. Grissom could see the panic rising inside of her like a tidal wave. Her eyes darted to various points of the room, showing her need to get away from him. "My God, I gotta get out of here! You're trapping me! I won't be trapped anymore!" She started walking very quickly in the direction of the his front door but he jumped to his feet and caught her by the waist. She twisted in his arms, trying to use the only limb available as she swung at him, but he ducked and caught her from behind, holding her arm down against her chest.

"Stop this before you injure yourself further!"

"Leave me alone!" Her panic was turning her into near hysterics. "I just want to leave! Why can't you get it through your head that I don't want you anymore! You're not who I thought you were!"

"Don't talk rubbish! If anyone knows who I am, it's you. You know me better than anyone. You're the only person I've ever allowed to know me so well."

"But still, you went to "her" for your thrill-seeking side. Jesus Christ, I thought roller coasters were what did it for you. Little did I know they were only an appetizer to what you could find with Heather."

"Knock it off! You don't believe that any more than I believe you were having a thing with Nick."

Her struggling stopped as she turned to look at him, irrational fear and anger turning her very quiet as she smiled at him smugly and whispered, "But you don't know for sure–do you?"

Grissom loosened his grip on her, feeling the turmoil she had intended. "You weren't. I know you weren't."

"Then I'm happy for you. Because I'll "never" be sure of you. I'll never look at you again without seeing the guilt on your face when you walked into Heather's room and found me there. You weren't expecting me, were you? You were in too much of a hurry to run to her side to even consider the fact that I was working the case. Either that or you simply didn't care."

"I cared. But I wanted. . ."

"I know what you wanted. And I hope you found it. Because I'll never be able to give you anything again." She walked to the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Grissom stared at the door and felt revulsion wash over him. What the hell had he done? He needed a drink. He needed out. Now, he was the claustrophobic one as he grabbed his keys and went for the door. He got into his car and drove for what seemed like hours. When he stopped it was at a familiar little bar where he had once met his crew and shared an evening of intense lovemaking with the most beautiful girl he had ever had the misfortune to meet. He sat in the parking lot, not wanting to go inside to be reminded of what things used to be like. Instead, he pulled back out on the road and drove on in no clear direction. He drove until he had trouble keeping his eyes open any longer, and then he drove some more. By the time he found his way back home, it was dawn and he all but stumbled into his apartment. He was so goddamned tired he could barely stand, which was fine by him, because it wouldn't let him think. He could only react. He moved to the bedroom and swung the door open, letting it bang against the wall as he went inside. Sara jerked at the intrusion and raised herself on her elbow as she stared at him. He went to the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes, then took off his jacket and pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she continued to watch him, but when he didn't answer but went on removing his jeans, she turned to get out of bed.

"Lay down!" He half-yelled at her.

"You go straight to hell!" She tried to walk past him but he caught her up in his arms and held her against him, front to back as he leaned forward with his mouth next to her ear.

"And what makes you think I'm not already there? I keep thinking I've been in hell since the night I came home and found your things gone–but it just keeps getting worse and worse. So, tell me, just where am I now? Where is this place that's worse than hell?" He walked with her until she was against the mattress, back to her side of the bed, then he turned her around to face him. He could see how apprehensively she stared at him, as if she didn't know what to expect from him, but the way he felt at the moment, he was glad. For once, perhaps he would have the opportunity to speak without her jumping in and turning everything he had to say into a travesty of the truth. "Lay down and go back to sleep."

He lowered her with a nudge until she was in bed again, allowing him the opportunity to return to his side and get beneath the sheet.

"Don't even. . ."

Grissom turned to look at her then rose up on his elbow and glared down at her. "Ya know what? I don't care what you're going to say. I don't want to hear a word. I'm so goddamned tired of hearing what a heathen I am that I could puke! I don't know where you get these ideas in your head that has turned me into some frickin' sexual deviant, but I'm beginning to think that you're starting to get a thrill out of imagining what I "could" have done! Well, here's a news alert, Sara! I didn't do anything! Do you want to know the most bizarre thing I've ever done? It was with some brunette who had a crush on Sting and Gary Oldman and gave me a hand job in the back of my car. So, I guess I'm not the twisted jerk you give me credit for. I'm rather boring, but I "thought" it was enough for you. It was more than enough for me."

"You're lying," she said through her teeth as she tried to hold her emotions intact.

"Prove it."

"You prove that you're telling the truth!" She came back at him.

"And how do you suggest I do that? My only sins are that I cared for Heather–more than I should have. I was an asshole. I didn't think of you at all. I thought only about making her feel better, when I knew it would hurt you. I did all of those things–but I "didn't" participate in these "things" your letting run rampant in your brain! So if you want to be pissed off at me for what I "did" do–you go right ahead. But don't use that crap about me doing things you "know" I have no interest in, just to keep me away."

He watched as a million thoughts ran through her mind and he couldn't tell if she were going to get up and make a run for it, or simply lie there and let it all sink in. At this point he was too tired to argue anymore and definitely too tired to fight with her to stay. She stared at him as if she didn't know what to say, then simply turned on her side and closes her eyes. After a long moment, he returned to his side of the bed and settled in for some much-needed sleep.


	104. Chapter 104

Chapter One-Hundred-Four

Grissom woke on his stomach with his left arm hanging down over the edge of the bed and his hand lying palm-up on the floor. Damn! He hated waking up on his stomach. Everything hurt, from the small of his back, to his shoulder, down to the hand that had been in an awkward position for God knows how long. He lifted himself onto his right forearm and looked over to where Sara should have been only to find her side of the bed empty. He was out of the bed in an instant.

"Damn! Now where in the hell did she go?" He stormed out through the hallway, past the kitchen and into the livingroom before stopping short upon sight of Sara, still in her nightshirt, but with a pair of sweat pants on beneath it, as she stood, talking with Catherine, Wendy and Mandy.

The four women turned and looked at him as he stood there, wearing only his boxer/briefs, each wearing a different expression.

Mandy's eyes turned wide, then seemed to take in the sight with appreciation before mouthing, "Oh, my."

Wendy covered her mouth to hide her laugh, but Grissom could still see it in the way her eyes crinkled as she stared at him, then added, "Well, that answers that question–boxer/briefs–the best of both worlds!"

Sara rolled her eyes and turned her back to him.

And, of course, Catherine took it over the top as she put her hands up in the air as if warding off the sight of him.

"Oh! God! Grissom! My brain can't handle the sight of you nearly naked! Get the hell back in your den if you can't control yourself!"

Grissom stared back at them, instant dumbness setting in as was his usual dilemma upon being put in awkward situations. "I–I–uh–I. . ."

Sara turned back and looked at him. "Maybe you should just go back in the bedroom and get some pants on."

"Um. . ." His eyes moved to each of the women again before quickly turning and hurrying back to his room. "Yes. I should do that."

If he was embarrassed at that point, it only increased ten-fold upon hearing the women's various laughs and giggles following him.

"That'll teach him to act like a bachelor when he's got a woman living with him," Catherine's voice traveled through the apartment. "I'm just glad he didn't walk out scratching his nuts."

"Catherine!" Wendy sounded thoroughly embarrassed.

"Or picking his nose," Mandy added. "Men are into disgusting things like that."

"You guys" are disgusting," Wendy laughed at them. "So, what's the story, Sara? Does he walk around in his underwear like that often?"

"Do you mean scratching his nuts and picking his nose?" Sara asked with amusement. "No, I must say I haven't been given the pleasure of seeing him do that in front of me. I hope I never get to be so lucky."

"What about "you," Mandy? Nick into nasty little habits like that?" Catherine asked.

"How would "I" know?" Mandy's voice sounded with complete shock and embarrassment. "Jeez, just because I make him sing to me for his evidence–doesn't mean we're seeing one another."

"Oh, honey," Catherine chuckled. "I think all it would take for you would be if you'd curl your finger at him and he'd follow you anywhere. If a man sings for you–he's lost."

There was a silence and Grissom just "knew" all three women were looking at Sara, then suddenly they all seemed to ask at once.

"Does he?" "Has he ever?" "Did he?"

Another pause before a very quiet "yes" came from Sara.

"Oh, my," Wendy cooed. "He's lost on you, girl."

Grissom stopped listening after that as he yanked on his discarded jeans from earlier that morning and grabbed the handiest shirt he could find. He took his time about putting his socks and sneakers on, hoping the women would be gone by the time he finished–but as fate would have it (or in this case Catherine Willows would have it). . .

"Come on, Griss! We've already seen what keeps Sara attached to you at the hip. You can come out now. We won't bite, I promise."

Taking a deep breath, Grissom went back to the livingroom where Wendy and Mandy again seemed to inspect his appearance. He felt like he was some kind of a unique specimen under their microscope.

"I–I'm sorry about that. I didn't know you were here."

"Obviously," Catherine told him. "Too bad we didn't have a camera, we couldda sold the pictures to people at the lab. I can just see each little cubical with an eight by ten of Grissom in his shorts pinned to the wall. What do ya think, girls? Think we couldda got five bucks a piece?"

"Oh, yeah," Wendy agreed.

"I wouldda paid twenty," Mandy added quickly, then realized she had spoken and not simply thought it. "I mean–yeah, sure."

"I–um–I think I need some coffee." He turned and went back to the kitchen, hoping to eat up some time by making a pot of strong caffeine, but when he got there, he saw there was already a pot made. He looked back at Sara. "Did "you" make this?"

"I didn't need two hands to make a pot of coffee." She glanced at him. "I'm finding there "are" some things I can do with only one hand."

"I'm sure you have," Mandy said, again getting the expression that she surprised herself by actually letting the words escape her, before looking at Sara and chirping. "I'm sorry."

"Mandy," Catherine gave a throaty laugh. "You need to track Nick down and get some action. I'm beginning to think you're not safe in public until you get some."

"I–I. . ." Mandy stuttered, her discomfort at the suggestion, apparent. "I think I need to get back to the lab now."

"You don't start work for another eight hours," Catherine told her.

"Then stop teasing her," Wendy chuckled. "She's practically mortified, especially with Grissom within hearing distance."

"I haven't heard a thing," Grissom called as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Just pretend I'm not here and I'll go hide in my office."

"Where's Hank?" Catherine called to him. "I expected to come in and have him pitch a fit over all these women in his home."

"He's spending some time with a neighbor. I didn't think it was a good idea having him here while Sara's recuperating. He'll come home soon enough."

"Well," Wendy said to Sara. "I "do" have to leave. I have a doctor's appointment in half an hour. But I just wanted to say you're looking great, and I am so glad you're safe and at home."

"Thank you," Sara responded a bit shyly.

"I'm heading out too," Mandy said. "We'll see you back at the lab soon enough, so don't push yourself, okay?"

"I won't."

"Oh, it was nice "seeing" you, too, Grissom," Wendy called out to him as she and Mandy were walking out the door, then they both broke into a fit of giggles as the door closed behind them.

Grissom looked in the room at Catherine and Sara and decided this would be a perfect opportunity to take care of something that's been nipping at him for days. He moved closer to them as he stood at the end of the sofa.

"Catherine."

She looked at him, clearly questioning his mood. "Grissom?"

"I think now would be an excellent time to offer a very polite apology."

Both women looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Okay. I apologize. Now, what am I apologizing for?"

"A lot of damage can occur because someone makes a careless comment, or partakes in some entertaining gossip. You put Sara through a lot of unneeded distress with some statements that took an awful lot of imagination on your part."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could see Sara tense and turn her gaze away from them. Catherine looked from him to Sara, then back again but after a moment, his words sunk in as she nodded her head in understanding.

"The chaps." She looked back at Sara. "Sara–he's right. I should never have said such things to you. Even if I "wasn't" aware of your relationship, I knew you were in love with him. I should've known how much the things I said would hurt you. But I was careless–extremely careless." She took a step closer to Sara, seeing that the brunette was almost reluctant to hear what she had to say. "I don't know why I said those things. Heat of the moment, I guess. Maybe I simply had a bug up my ass that night–either way, I was wrong. Anyone can see, just by looking at you two, that he's totally captivated by you."

"Really?" Sara said half-heartedly. "Did he give ya a quarter to tell me that?"

The suggestion made Catherine chuckle, before going on. "Honey–we were all so blind. If we would've just opened our eyes, we would've known what was going on. Ya know, Sara, it's not everyone that Gilbert Grissom allows to hit him in the head with a bottle. You certainly have a way of getting under his skin, I'll tell ya that. I don't think there's anyone who can piss him off as quickly as you do."

"Well, that's comforting," Sara told her.

"That just shows you that he's passionate about you. The only other time I've seen Gil show that much emotion was when Natalie Davis zoned out on him and wouldn't tell him where you were. I thought he was going to literally rip her damned head off." Catherine gave Sara an encouraging smile. "Now, as far as the chaps-thing. That was just talk–only talk. Hell, I've known Grissom longer than you and I can't imagine him behaving like that–now, maybe a little velvet and feathers "after" he's completely confident in his devotion to someone–that I can imagine."

"Catherine!" Grissom scolded.

"Okay! So I don't imagine you doing anything unless it involves a microscope and bugs–and that's just plain creepy." She looked back at Sara. "Sorry. I didn't mean that either."

Sara merely looked at Catherine and gave her a half-smile that Grissom was sure she wasn't feeling. "It's okay, Catherine. I'm sure you didn't intend any harm."

"Honey," Catherine reached out and took Sara's good hand. "For God's sake, don't take what I said to heart. You should know by now that I talk before I think. And the only thing I was thinking about that night was the fact that she was making a fortune, ruining human lives, while we try to pick up the pieces of humanity and get a drop in a bucket compared to her."

"Catherine," Sara began slowly. "You may have put doubts in my mind–but you weren't the one who sent him to her that weekend. So, I appreciate the fact that he, most probably, wasn't into her fetishes. But. . ."

"Ohh," Catherine reacted just as slowly as she looked from Sara to Grissom. "I see. Well, it looks like I better head out, too. You've got things to work through."

She picked up her keys and started for the door, where Grissom walked next to her. He held it open for her, but she paused just out of view of Sara and whispered.

"I don't blame her, ya know. If it had been Eddy, I would've driven him and all of his belongings right up to Heather Kessler's front door and dropped him off. No more questions asked."

Grissom closed the door. "Thank you, Catherine. I'll keep that in mind."

He turned around and looked at Sara as she stood near the sofa. Jesus, but she looked delectable. What he "wanted" to do was pick her up and sit her across his lap, then feed off of those gorgeous lips until they were numb. What he "did" was walk toward her but kept a safe distance.

"It's good to know that you provide "entertainment" to our first-time guests. I'm sure they'll be racing one another back for another visit." She moved until the sofa separated them and he wondered if she realized how she kept a physical barrier between them.

"Who knows? They seemed to enjoy it. You might be getting more visitors than you can handle once their stories get back to the lab," he said dryly.

"Rather sure of your appeal to the opposite sex, aren't you?"

"Well, I wasn't talking about Hodges."

This remark made a smile tug at her lips, in spite of herself. "Ya never know, he might be first in line."

Grissom grunted as he took a sip of his coffee but continued to look at her. "Ya know, you could've alerted me that they were out here."

"I guess I really wasn't expecting you to come bursting through the hallway like a crazed brahma bull, dressed only in your underwear." Her lips twitched in her attempt to conceal her humor. "But I must admit, the look of stunned mortification that covered your face was priceless."

"You did that on purpose," he said as he eyed her suspiciously.

"No." She turned and started back toward their bedroom. "Not that time. But given the chance again. . ."

He smiled to himself as he turned back to the sofa and took a seat. At lease she was willing to concede that there "may be" another chance.

He watched about twenty minutes of television before he realized she wasn't coming back out, so he returned to the bedroom and saw that the bathroom door was closed. He went to it and turned the knob but it was locked.

"Sara?"

"I'm taking a bath."

"You weren't supposed to get into the tub by yourself," he said with irritation.

"I managed quite well, thank you." Her controlled tone told him she was losing patience with him as well.

"But, how are you going to "get out?" He jiggled the knob again. "You won't be able to lift yourself with one arm–and now the damned door is locked."

"Oh." He heard her say so quietly that he knew she didn't want him to hear, then she spoke up. "I'll get out fine."

"And if you don't–you risk re-breaking your arm or at the very least, falling and getting your cast completely soaked."

The following splash and gasp pushed Grissom into instant panic mode as he hit the door with his shoulder, hearing the sound of wood splintering, and Sara's loud "Gil!" Another bang with his shoulder and the door flew open. He rushed into the room where he found Sara still safely sitting in the tub, now covering herself with a towel as she looked at him through huge eyes.

"What are you doing?" She gasped, then looked past him at the damage he had done to the door.

"What am "I" doing? What the hell are "you" doing? What was that splash?"

She started giggling at him and pointed to the bottom of the tub where bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, as well as two bars of soap and the rack they had been sitting on floated.

"I was reaching for the soap with my toe. I knocked everything into the tub."

"Then why did you call my name?" He asked, irritably as he looked at the damage he had done to the bathroom door and its frame.

"I didn't call your name until "after" you decided to play Clark Kent and break through the damned door. I was "going" to tell that it was only the shampoo rack."

"Let's see," he said to her as he walked to the tub and started picking the bottles and rack out of the tub. "A lamp yesterday, a door today. What do you have planned to destroy tomorrow?"

She shrugged her shoulders as she watched him. "It isn't my fault you can't distinguish between the sound of a bottle of shampoo falling into water and the sound of a human body."

"I was worried–so shoot me."

"Don't tempt me." She told him in a tone that told him she wasn't being one hundred percent serious.

He looked at her, then handed her the body wash she liked to use before turning and going back to his bedroom. "You "will" let me know when you're finished so I can help you out, won't you?"

He lay down on his bed and turned on the television, waiting for her to finish. But within another fifteen minutes, he saw her entering the bedroom wearing her robe. He saw the way she looked at him as he relaxed on the mattress, and he could see a flicker of something that told him that he still held her interest, even if she wasn't ready to admit it–even to herself.

"I told you I could do it myself. I came up with a system," she said as she went to her dresser and retrieved her panties, another pair of sweat pants and a loose-fitting nightshirt.

He would've gotten up and helped her change clothes, but she returned to the bathroom and after another five minutes, came back with the clothes on and a hairbrush in hand. She stood close to the mirror and started running the brush through her hair, but when she tried to do her left side, she ran into a bit of difficulty.

"Let me," he told her as he got to his feet and stood behind her.

He could see her apprehension as she looked at his reflection in the mirror, but when he covered her hand with his in an attempt to get the brush, she relinquished her hold and allowed him to take over the process. It didn't take long before he got lost in the silkiness he was stroking; its texture, its color; the fragrance, all intoxicating him and when he moved her hair to the left, exposing a long section of her neck on her right side, he lost what little control he had at the moment. A quick glance in the mirror and he saw that she was watching him intently, and still, he couldn't have stopped himself from bending down and placing his lips on that luscious skin, even if his life depended on it. He felt her almost swoon as she leaned back against him and tilted her head to give him greater access. He ached for her–throbbed for her. But just as quickly as it began, he felt her stiffen and move away. She took the brush from him with shaky hands and put it back on the dresser, then went to the livingroom.

"I ordered pizza for lunch. It should be here soon."


	105. Chapter 105

Chapter One-Hundred-Five

Sara thought about her first day at Grissom's apartment where she spent a good deal of it in bed. Most of the time, she felt like bursting into tears as her emotions and fears ran rampant, but she tried to keep them inside. She knew she bit out at Grissom with a viscousness that she was unaccustomed to but she seemed to have no control over it. It was almost as if the abduction and her subsequent attempt to survive opened her lines of communication and she lashed out with ia vengeance. When he woke her with his caresses, her first instincts were to respond to the magic of his hands, but as had been the case since before the miscarriage, she couldn't block the images of him as he found her in Heather's hospital room.

She reacted with panic and fled to the bedroom, unable to face him any longer. She didn't know where he spent the night, all she knew was that she slept alone and he made no attempt to come to bed until the next morning. The things he said to her tied her in knots. On the one hand, he vehemently denied taking part in the "sex games" Catherine accused him of. But on the other, he admitted to having strong feelings for Heather that overrode any consideration he may have had for Sara. She felt as if she were being torn apart.

Maybe if she had been given the privilege of more time to heal emotionally, she could deal with this much better. She'd have the strength to stand tall and simply walk away. But that privilege was stolen by Natalie Davis. She had no time. She had no strength. Her body betrayed her with its inability to care for itself; forcing her to deal with Grissom around the clock.

As she sat alone in the livingroom, nibbling at the pizza she had ordered, she wondered if this was going to be the normal routine while she stayed with him; wake up, eat breakfast while he sleeps in, watch some television or in today's case, visit with some friends, take a bath, then be secluded from him for the rest of the day because she can't face the thought being intimate with him.

It had been over an hour since she had left him alone in the bedroom and after eating two slices of tomato, onion and mushroom pizza, and drinking her sixteen-ounce diet Pepsi, she was more than ready to go to the bathroom and relieve some of the pressure the soda had bestowed upon her. But she was leery of what she would find if she traveled through the bedroom to get to her destination. She didn't want to face him moping in frustration.

After waiting another twenty minutes she couldn't wait any longer and slowly and quietly approached the bedroom, hoping that if he were asleep, she wouldn't wake him. She saw him lying on his side, facing the bathroom giving no indication whether he was awake or not. So, with as much dignity as she could muster, she hurried through the room and into the bathroom. When she returned, she stopped when she saw him standing outside the doorway with a hammer in hand.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she looked at him.

"Fixing the door. At least taking off the part that needs fixed." He walked past her and inserted the claw end of the hammer beneath the wood that had been splintered, then levered it off the doorframe. A few more pulls and the piece of wood was completely removed. "Shouldn't you be resting somewhere?"

"While you're ripping pieces of wood off the wall? How much rest do you suppose I could get while listening to that?"

He looked up at her as he knelt on the floor, but he continued with his work. "There, I finished "ripping pieces of wood off the wall."

"Then what?"

"What do you mean–then what?"

"You're not leaving it like that, are you? I mean, the door still won't latch."

"No, dear. I'm not leaving it like that. But you don't want me to make any noise, and I need a board to replace what I took off. It will have to wait." He stood up and took the wood to the kitchen where he put it in the trash.

"Where are you getting the board?" She asked as she followed him.

"I have to go to a home improvement center and pick one up. Why?" He put the hammer on the counter as he turned toward her. "Are you eager for me to leave?"

"No."

"Then what's your hurry?"

"I–just–like my privacy when I'm in the bathroom."

"Sara–we've taken baths together in there. What do you need privacy for?"

Sara turned away from him, feeling her emotions beginning to play tug of war with her again and not wanting to get into another fight. She was becoming exhausted just trying to keep up with him. Instead, she looked in the refrigerator and grabbed another bottle of soda, then went back to the living room and picked up another slice of pizza. She was sick of the television, so she went to look at his book shelves–still not coming up with anything that stirred her interest. When she finally gave up, she turned around to find Grissom sitting on the sofa, watching her. She came back to pick up her soda again and felt her arm beginning to throb.

"Aren't you eating?" She asked as she put the drink back down and subconsciously held her left arm against her.

"Not hungry. Have you taken your medicine this afternoon?"

"No. Why? Are you waiting for me to go back to sleep?"

"No. I'm waiting for you heal. If you rest, you'll heal faster." He got to his feet and got her pills for her. "Am I going to have to keep a closer eye on you?"

"I don't know how much closer you could get. I am "stuck" here with you twenty-four-seven."

"Take your pills."

As Sara thought, within half an hour she was feeling drowsy, and after going to the bed and lying down, within another fifteen minutes, she had fallen to sleep. The dream began calm enough. She was on her way home. It was bright and warm as she walked to the door of the building and entered, then started down the hall toward the front door of the apartment. But the closer she got to the door, the darker the hall became. She could see images fading in and out of her vision as they passed along the sides of the walls. She wanted to get to the door; she knew that once she was behind the door, nothing could touch her. Her fingers touched her keys and pulled them from her pocket but she started to tremble and she knew danger was getting closer and closer. At the door, she tried inserting the key, but she was shaking so badly that she was missing the hole.

"Sara."

She could feel the breath on her face–then she felt the taser hit and she lost control of her limbs. She couldn't move other than the spasmodic jerks that was shaking her body. Her mind screamed, "No! Not again!" but she couldn't seem to make the sound come out of her mouth. She was being dragged across the floor and she could see the door to safety fading from her sight. She only wanted to get to safety. She knew what was going to happen as her heart raced. She was going to have to find her way out from beneath a ton of metal; she was going to have to find her way out of an ocean of sand; she was going to have to try to live.

"Sara!" Natalie Davis said loudly as Sara was being lifted into the air. "Wake up. It's only a dream. You're fine."

"No! No!" Sara yelled, swinging her arms at her, trying to get away. She pushed with all her strength and nearly escaped, but was caught again as a severe pain ripped through her left arm bringing a hoarse scream from her throat. She started kicking, trying to be released.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Natalie grunted.

"Let me go!"

"Stop! Stop!" Natalie was yelling at her now. "Ah, Jesus Christ! Sara!"

"I gotta get out! I gotta get out!"

Tight arms encircled her and slowly Natalie's voice changed to that of Grissom's. The darkness started to leave as she became more aware of her surroundings; strong arms wrapped around her, even stronger legs entwined with hers, holding her in place; a thick chest that she was lying on and the smell–the smell that started to soothe her even before the voice, both belonging to Grissom.

"Shh. It's a dream, baby. Wake up, sweetheart."

"Gil!" She gasped as she held onto his shirt front and pressed her face against his shoulder. "I was trying to get out! I was looking for you but you weren't there! I was trying to find you!"

"Shh," he crooned into her ear as his hands started to rub her back, calming her with his touch. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

She wanted to lift herself. She wanted to look at his face to see the eyes that could keep her safe from harm, but when she tried to move another pain ripped through her arm and she fell back on top of him. Grissom started to turn with her on the bed.

"No! Don't go!"

"I'm not. But, honey, you're hurting yourself. We've got to get you up." His voice was filled with concern, but she only wanted to see him, only wanted to look at him. Once he had her laying on her left side, he tried to get up, but she held onto him with her right hand and pulled him back.

"Stay," she whispered and he reluctantly lay back down as he started to inspect her face to make sure she was awake.

"Just–stay still. Don't move anymore," he told her.

The sight of blood at his mouth, on his beautiful lips made her gasp as she reached to him and placed her palm on his cheek and jaw while touching the red liquid with the pad of her thumb.

"You're bleeding," she said quietly as she watched his lips, but when she didn't get an immediate response, she lifted her gaze to see that his eyes were closed with tension written plainly across his face. She wanted nothing more than to ease that tension and make it go away as she moved closer to him. "You're hurt."

His mouth remained stiff and closed, but as she slipped her tongue across his lips, tasting the blood that was smeared there, he groaned and leaned into her. He placed his hand on the back of her head, holding her to him as his tongue answered her call, but as he attempted to turn onto her, she gasped with pain. He moved off of her immediately, separated from her completely, as he closed his eyes again in frustration. After a moment, he moved across the bed and got to his feet, coming around until he was standing next to her.

"Can you get up?" He asked, but when she tried and got another shot of pain, he reached beneath her and lifted her into a sitting position.

She watched as he began examining her injured arm, and the last remnants of her nightmare slipped away, bringing her back to full awareness. Her arm was throbbing and when he touched it she winced.

"I'm taking you back to the hospital." He stood up and started to guide her out of the bedroom before she stopped him.

"No, you're not. I'm not going back." She took a step away from him, regret washing over her in waves. There was no way they were going to cage her in a hospital room again. "If you don't want me here, then take me to Nick's or Greg's. They won't mind if I stay with them."

"Don't be foolish, Sara. You've re-injured your arm. We need to make sure you didn't damage it farther."

She took another step back. "I'm not being foolish–now."

He looked at her through knit brows. "I take it, you mean you were being foolish before–in there."

She looked away from him, knowing he was talking about the kiss. "I'm sorry."

"That's what I thought," he said stiffly then turned away from her and went toward the kitchen. "Go sit down, at least we can put an ice bag on it to keep the swelling down."

She moved to the sofa and sat on an end of it as he filled a bag with ice then came in and sat on the coffee table, opposite her. He tried to hold it to her elbow area but she took it from him.

"I can hold it."

He nodded his head, his annoyance with her showing in his movements as he got to his feet again and moved back toward the kitchen. "I'm making dinner. Do you think you'll be ready to eat it?"

"Yes," she answered simply, not wanting to add fuel to the fire by denying his attempt at care, even if it was being done indignantly.

She held the ice to her elbow for about twenty minutes before getting up and going back to the kitchen where she watched him layering zucchini in a baking dish. She didn't know what exactly he was making, but it looked good and smelled even better. She approached him and he glanced over at her, then picked up a piece of the vegetable and put it up to her mouth.

"Ah, come on. You can't be intimate with a mouthful of food." He gave her one of his little-boy smiles that always had the effect of melting her.

"I don't know. Look what happens when I feed you peanut butter," she blurted out before she realized, making his smile broaden as he popped the food into her mouth.

"Ya better watch yourself, you might actually warm up to me again if you're not careful."

She watched as he resumed layering the casserole, then moved back to the living room where she started going through his DVDs. She really wasn't in the mood to watch the Day of the Triffids or the Giant Spider Invasion, so she stopped her search when she heard him enter the room behind her.

"Not up to classic sci-fi, huh?" He asked.

She gave him a small apologetic smile. "Not very much."

"Would you like me to run to the video rental and get us something to watch?"

"No, you just put dinner in the over."

"It shouldn't take me long. It's only a few blocks away."

"It's about two miles away–which is more than a few blocks," she told him.

"So, it'll take five minutes to get there instead of two. Is there anything you're in the mood for?"

"No–just something new. You can pick."

"Mm-hmm. The last time I chose, you went to bed and refused to watch them."

"That's because you brought home One Million Years B.C. and Caveman."

"So?"

"So you only wanted to watch them to see Raquel Welch and Barbara Bach running around in fur bikinis."

"There was a story behind it."

"Uh-huh. Maybe you ought to stay home and "I" ought to go rent something."

"No," he said quickly. "You'll stay home–and I'll call if I can't find something you'd like." He picked up his keys and started for the door. "It might take a little while picking something out. If I'm not back in time, turn the oven off before dinner burns."

"Just how long do you plan on being gone?" She asked, but he already closed the door and was on his way out of the apartment building.

She watched him go, then went back into the bedroom to see if any of her old novels were handy until he got back. She found them sitting on a book case close to the window. As she went to pick something, she glanced out the window and noticed him walking to his car, then he paused a moment before stepping off the sidewalk and getting in his car.

Sara's watched another car that had been parked in the row behind Grissom as it started and pulled out of the parking lot at nearly the same instant. She felt a chill travel down her spine as she saw long black hair on the driver. The fact that the car went in the same direction as Grissom and then turned down the same street as he had, turned her chill into a coldness that settled in her chest. She stood at the window until both cars were out of view, then picked up the phone and dialed Grissom's cell, only to hear it ringing on the bed stand next to her.

Sara took a deep breath, knowing it could have been anyone in that car. . .but the damn hair was just like Heather's. Okay, so someone else likes to wear her hair like Morticia Addams–it can't be that uncommon–can it? She moved to her side of the bed and turned on the lamp then sat down and tried to read from her historical romance, but her mind kept going to the black-haired woman she had seen outside. She decided she was being completely irrational. She'd see–he'd be back within a half hour. It wouldn't take any longer than that to pick out a few DVDs.

After twenty minutes her arm started throbbing again, so she put the ice pack back on it; another twenty minutes and she returned the ice to the freezer and looked in the oven. She had completely given up on her novel and put it back on the shelf and picked up some magazines in the livingroom that she leafed through. After the first hour, she turned off the oven and returned to the freezer for the ice pack. After an hour and a half had passed since his departure, the throbbing in her arm informed her that it was time for her to take her next dose of pain medication. She paced the floor for the next twenty minutes, then returned to the bedroom where she lie down and watched the clock but before ten minutes had passed, the meds had pulled her to sleep again.


	106. Chapter 106

Chapter One-Hundred-Six

Four DVDs later, Grissom was walking out of the video rental when the thought occurred to him that if he drove four more blocks, he could pick up the wood he needed to fix the bathroom doorway. So, taking a quick left he drove into the parking lot of a small plaza that contained a restaurant known for its franchised chicken, a supermarket, a department store, two shoe stores, a beautician's shop, an Italian restaurant, and the home improvement center he was looking for. He made quick work of getting the supplies he would need but as he walked back to his car, he glanced at his watch, seeing that he had been gone nearly forty-five minutes and he hoped Sara was keeping an eye on dinner. But thoughts of dinner quickly evaporated as he looked at the left front tire on his car and saw it was flat. Dammit! He certainly was in no mood to deal with a flat tire. His first instinct was to call Sara and let her know he was going to be late, but when he reached for his cell, he quickly remembered that he sat it on the bedside table when he laid down earlier that day. He was just about to turn around and head back into the store to use the telephone when a car pulled up beside him.

"You look kinda lost, Griss. What's up?"

"David." He gave his favorite assistant coroner a nod. "It seems I have a flat."

"Could you use a hand helping to change it?" He asked him then looked in his rearview mirror when they heard a car approaching from the side then stop suddenly. Grissom looked up in time to watch the vehicle make a fast turn and leave. "That was kinda odd."

"Yeah–odd." He looked back at the young man. "No thanks. I can change it."

"Well, don't go to the trouble of changing it–just take it off and I'll run you to the garage up the street and get it fixed. Then we'll come back and put it on again."

"Are you sure? Isn't your wife expecting you home?" Grissom asked.

"She's visiting her parents today. Won't be home until late tonight."

David parked then came around and did what he could as Grissom went about taking off the flat. As Grissom pocketed the lug nuts, David put the tire into his trunk, then drove them six blocks farther up the strip. They had a wait of about half an hour before they got to his tire, but they fixed it quickly, only to return with the diagnosis that evidently had to be a mild case of vandalism. There were no holes in the tire, no wear and tear, and the valve seemed intact. Someone, most probably a youngster, had decided to let the air out of his tire. By the time he got to his car and put it back on, he realized he had been gone for nearly two hours. Still, it could have been worse. Between himself, David and the employees of the garage, they had the tire taken off, repaired and put back on in around an hour. He looked over at David and noticed the dirt and grease on his arms and hands.

"I don't think your wife's going to appreciate you walking in with that covering your hands. You'll spread it from the front door to the kitchen sink."

"No," David agreed. "She's a bit of a stickler regarding "her" domain."

"Come on. Follow me home and you can clean up there."

"I– don't want to be a burden."

"David, you helped me–it isn't a burden."

Within another fifteen minutes Grissom was pulling into his parking spot as David pulled in next to him, assisting him with his supplies for the bathroom door and the four DVDs he had promised Sara. He was a bit disappointed upon entering and finding that she wasn't in the front of the apartment, so he asked David use his kitchen sink to clean up.

"Sara?" Grissom said gently as he knelt at her side of the bed, but she didn't budge. He shook her shoulder until she blinked as she looked up at him. "Hey."

"What?" She asked sharply.

"We–uh–I just wanted to let you know David's in the kitchen. I'd hate to see you come out in the same state of dress as I did this morning–well, I wouldn't "hate" it–but I'd rather you didn't while David was here."

She moved to try to get up but was having difficulty so he took her hand and pulled her up.

"David?" She asked sleepily. "Hodges or Phillips?"

"Phillips. Have you just taken your meds? If you aren't up to coming out, don't force it."

"What time is it?" She asked then looked at the clock. When she saw the time, she reached out and hit his arm and hissed at him. "Where were you all this time?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to leave you alone this long. But. . ." He held his hands up in front of him, showing her the grease and grime on them. "I went to get the stuff to fix the bathroom door after I got the DVDs, then came out and had a flat tire. David happened to be there and helped me change it, then we took it to the garage where they fixed it, and. . .well, it all took a lot longer than I expected. And. . ."

"Then you "didn't" go to meet her!" Sara breathed in a rush as she threw her arm around him so quickly that she nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Go to meet who?" He asked with large eyes as he put his hand on her back, at this point appreciating any positive gesture he might receive. "I went to get your movies–like I said."

"There was a car. . ." She started, then shook her head as if she dismissed whatever she was thinking as she pulled away from him again. "It doesn't matter. Did you invite him to join us for dinner?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to spend the evening alone with you, watching DVDs."

"He "did" help you with your tire," she gave him a tolerant smile.

"Whatever you say, dear," he sighed as he got to his feet and let her get up and walk out of the bedroom ahead of him.

"Oh! Sara!" David looked at her with a bit of discomfort. "I didn't know. . .I mean, I knew, but. . ."

"Grissom told me you helped fix his tire," Sara broke in, trying to alleviate his uneasiness.

"Yeah. They said some kid must've let the air out while he was in the store," David explained.

"Really? Were there other cars vandalized, too?" She asked.

"I–don't know. I didn't really look."

"Hmm, that's odd. Usually when kids are out doing stuff like that, they do it to more than just one vehicle."

"Maybe the kid got chased off before he could do more than one car," Grissom told her, then turned to the other man again. "David, would you like to join us for dinner? There's more than enough."

"Oh," David smiled at him as he waved a dismissive hand and started toward Grissom's door. "No, thanks though. I just splurged and bought myself a bucket of chicken for my dinner. I've been hungry for it all day and I plan on going home and indulging."

"Are you sure?" Sara asked as she and Grissom walked with him. "You can always put the chicken in the refrigerator and eat it another time."

"No, really. But, thanks anyway." He was just going through the door when he paused and looked back at Grissom. "Hey, that's where I saw that car today. I knew I'd seen it before. It was parked near the edge of the lot, sort of between the drive-thru where I was picking up the chicken, and the store you were shopping in. I don't know what made me notice it other than the way it was running with no one in it. I went around and paid for my order, then drove through the exit when I saw you. That's that car that pulled up by us and slammed on their brakes."

"Did anyone get hurt?" Sara asked.

"No, but whoever was driving the car, sure took off in a hurry. Oh, well," David turned and walked away. "We deal with crackpots all the time. Nothing new about that, I guess."

"Thanks again, David," Grissom called after him, recalling the car he had glanced at earlier, but he really hadn't paid that much attention at the time.

He was curious now as to why someone would leave their empty car running. It was an open invitation for theft. He closed the door and started back toward the kitchen when he noticed how Sara was looking at him.

"You were being followed?" She asked quickly.

"I'd hardly call someone almost running into David, being followed. Whomever it was, was evidently in a hurry and David was blocking their way."

"And did you see what this car looked like?"

"I didn't really get a good look at it." He went to the oven and got the casserole out then sat it on the stove.

"You don't know if it was a dark car or a light car? Or even if it "was" a car? Maybe it was a truck? Or a van?"

"I believe David already pointed out that it was a car." He started getting plates down from the cabinet and setting the table.

"I can do that. You get the food." She came over and absently took the plates from him. "So, what color was it?"

"I don't know, Sara. I was much more concerned with my flat tire than a car that put their brakes on too fast."

"Jesus Christ, Grissom," she said as she stared at him. "You're a CSI supervisor–you're supposed to be observant. What damned color was it?"

He turned and looked at her exasperation. "Blue–black–I don't know."

"And the make?"

"It was a Lexus," he said dryly. "Why?"

"Because I saw a black Lexus pull out of the parking lot and follow you when you left today." She put the dishes on the table, then got the flatware out of the drawer with a little more force than was necessary. "There aren't too many people we know who can afford a Lexus, are there?"

He knew what she was trying to do, and he was getting tired of trudging through this muck over and over again. Hell, he'd rather spend the rest of the evening with David than put up with a stupid inquisition over something that was completely out of the question.

"I don't know," he said, letting his irritation slip through.

"You don't know." She put the forks and knives on the center of the table. "You don't know "anyone" who. . ."

"No!" He turned to face her, abandoning any further attempt to get them dinner. "I–don't."

She gave him one of her false smiles as she nodded her head affirmatively, then turned and went back to the bedroom. "I don't think I'm very hungry, after all."

He watched her go then kicked the oven door closed before turning and leaning back against it. "Well," he thought to himself. "That was fuckin' brilliant! You're trying to convince her to trust you and you give her such a blatant lie that you might as well have put a goddamned sign on your forehead stating you're an idiot!" He ran his hand over his face tiredly, then went back to putting their dinner on the plates and sat the table. He took a deep breath and moved to stand in the bedroom's doorway, seeing that she was sitting against the headboard of the bed, reading one of her books. He moved slightly inside and leaned against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Another Stephen King thriller?" He asked solemnly.

"No," she answered glibly. "It isn't."

"Do you think I can bribe you to come out and eat with me?"

"Unlikely."

"What do you want me to say, Sara? Yes–I know someone who can afford a Lexus. I know "several people" who can afford a Lexus. The truth is, I didn't see anyone following me–and I didn't pay much attention to what was happening with a damned car that stopped near us then drove away."

"Are you saying I'm imagining things?" She looked at him stiffly. "I didn't see the Lexus following you today? And it was only a funny little coincidence that the exact same car continued to stalk you?"

"No one was stalking me. And I'm not saying you're imagining anything–more misconstrued the situation."

"Of course I did." She looked back to her book.

"Sara."

"And it doesn't even occur to you that it "might" be her? You'd rather believe that I'm wrong."

"Yes," he said tiredly. "I'd rather believe you were wrong. Why in the hell would I want her following me?"

"You tell me."

"Sara!" Grissom didn't think he had ever faced as much complete mental frustration as he was right then. He wanted to grab her and kiss some sense into her–but he knew that would definitely be the wrong thing to do. He wanted to shake some sense into her–but that was wrong too. Clearly, trying to talk to her wasn't working. He stood erect and stared at her. "Are you coming out to eat?"

"No!"

"Then I'm putting everything away." He turned and went back to the kitchen but by the time he picked up the casserole, she was stomping to the table and sitting down heavily. "Change your mind?"

"I'm hungry," she grumbled as she picked up a fork.

"That's fine." He moved back toward the table and sat down to eat his dinner.

The silence that prevailed was only broken by the sounds of utensils hitting plates. He got up once to get himself a glass of wine while she got up to grab a diet soda. When he finished, he took his plate and put it in the sink then stood, looking at her as he drank his wine. "I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't with you, aren't I?"

She chewed the food she had in her mouth and swallowed it, then stood slowly and moved to stand in front of him. "Um–yeah."

She reached for his wine but he held it away.

"You're not drinking alcohol while you're taking those pills." He quickly drank down the rest of it, then looked back at her. "You know you're being foolish."

"Foolish?" She asked as she took another step toward him, making him take a step backward. "You think I'm foolish."

"I said you're "being" foolish. There's a difference." He backed up another step after she moved toward him again, but he was pressed against the kitchen counter.

"You think I'm "being" foolish," she said a bit too calmly to suit him. "Okay. How about this? Is "this" being foolish?"

He watched cautiously as she raised her right hand and placed it at the back of his neck, then stood a little on her tip toes as she leaned into him. He knew it couldn't be this easy, so as she pressed her lips against his he hesitated until she pressed harder; as she traced her tongue over his lips, he separated them and slowly responded. When she coaxed his tongue into her mouth, he forgot what he was being cautious about and he put the wine glass in the sink and put his hands on her back and hips, pulling her roughly against him. He spun her around until she was the one pressed against the counter and his lips and tongue mated with hers, pulling back only long enough to breathe "no" into her mouth.

"No, what?" She breathed back as her good hand quickly moved over his chest and stomach, moving lower.

"No," he mumbled as he grabbed onto her head with both hands to hold her still so he could get his fill of her sweetness. "This isn't being foolish."

She didn't even have to reach her destination. She was only as far as his belt and already he thought he was going to burst. Then just as quickly as she began, he felt her stiffen and she moved her hand away from him while at the same time she turned her face.

"Ya see," she said very quietly. "I" think it is."

He watched as she slipped out from between him and the counter then picked up the DVDs he had brought home earlier and took them with her into the bedroom. A moment to consider just what she said and what she meant, and he grabbed his glass and the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and carried them into the bedroom with him.

"Okay," he told her as he put the wine on his bed stand then sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes and socks. "You want to watch TV. We'll watch TV."

He pulled off his shirt, then fixed the pillows so he could sit with his back to the headboard with his legs and feet stretched across the mattress. He poured more wine into his glass and watched as the Queen with Helen Mirren began.

"Fine with me!" She snarked as she took the same position on her side of the bed, but soon she was looking over at him repeatedly. He felt a certain satisfaction as he poured himself another glass of wine, knowing that he was bugging the shit out of her as he continued looking at the television. "I don't know why you're in here. Since when are you interested in docudramas about British royalty?"

"You like it–don't you?" He looked at her smugly.

"Yes–"I" like it. But you don't. So why are you in here? Don't you have some kind of miniature room to work on in your office? Oh–wait–maybe you'd like to work on a miniature bondage chamber."

"Ohhh–that's a good one, Sara. How about if I go work on a throne for you to sit on?"

"Don't you dare compare me to some prima donna who has her little servants sitting at her feet, waiting to lick her leather boots."

"I'm not comparing you to anything other than the royal pain in the ass you're being right now." He drank more of his wine. "Royalty deserves a throne–don't ya think?"

"I'm" being a pain in the ass? Who was the one who had to have his own way? Who's the one who wouldn't take no for an answer, and made me come here to begin with?"

"Now, that, my dear," he looked over at her and smiled. "Was foolish."

"Really?"

"Calm down and watch your movie. It's getting good." He looked back at the television.

"Oh, what do you know? You didn't explain what you're doing in here, anyway."

"I like the queen," he said simply, feeling a little buzz beginning from his quick consumption of two and a half glasses of wine.

"Since when?"

He leaned sideways until he was very close to her and whispered. "I think she's hot."

She took her right hand and shoved him back upright. "You're disgusting."

"No–just horny as hell with nothing to take care of it."

"You've got a hand, don't you?" She said sarcastically and he looked over at her.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." He put his wine back on the bed stand and looked at her again as he unbuckled his belt, fighting a smile as she looked at his jeans, then up at his face through huge eyes.

"You've got to be kidding," she said with shock, but when he started to unbutton the pants and then moved to the zipper, she practically flew off the bed and stormed out of the room. "You're vile!"

He chuckled as he reached for the remote control and turned off the television, then moved himself down farther on the bed and settled himself against his pillows, ready to go to sleep. "Good night, my dear."


	107. Chapter 107

Chapter One-Hundred-Seven

Grissom woke with a hard on. There was no other way to put it. He was on his side, spooned up against Sara and his erection was pressed firmly against her beautifully rounded buttocks. For as hard as he was, he knew there had to have been some action going on before he woke. As he became more fully aware, he realized his hands were on her hips, and he knew what he had been doing. He wasn't sure which one of them started it; he never was. But he knew that one of them, in their sleep, started the bump and grind. He couldn't count how many times he woke through the past two years in this predicament. Sometimes she would be awake already; those were the times he realized she had been pressing herself back against him to find some satisfaction to her nocturnal craving; and other times she would be fast asleep, and it was he who was searching for completion. Either way, it always ended with her panties being pulled down as he would slide up behind her and enter her slick sheath.

He was half afraid to move. God, if she wasn't awake and she didn't want this, he feared she may go so far as to pull a Lorena Bobbitt on him. But, Jesus, if she did want it–he was more than ready to cooperate. He lifted his head slightly and looked over top of her, seeing that she was, indeed, fast asleep and he dropped his head back onto his pillow. He was so goddamned hard he was afraid to move. He swore he was going to be the only fifty-one-year-old man he had ever heard of who died from a steel erection.

Okay, if he slowly rolled onto his back, then turned away from her, perhaps he could get out of bed without killing himself and go read a book–maybe watch one of the DVDs he had rented that night. He got a cartoon–he didn't know what it was as he saw it was a new release and simply grabbed it–but maybe that would settle him down. But as he started to pull away from her, she leaned against him and reached behind herself to touch his cheek.

"No, Gil," she whispered in her sleep. "Don't move. Stay–right–there."

Oh, Jesus! He knew what was coming next and as she turned around and snuggled against him, he squeezed his eyes closed. Any second now, he knew she was going to aim for his mouth and he'd be lost. Here she comes–no way! He turned his head away from her and she grunted her disapproval.

"Sara," he said in an even tone although in his head, he screamed it. "Honey, wake up now."

He could feel her slowly waking as she snuggled against his chest, then she moved back and looked at him through sleep-filled eyes.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Oh. Nothing." He turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Good."

Within moments, he could tell that she had fallen asleep again and he wasted no time getting out of the bed this time. At this point, he knew a cartoon wasn't going to do it for him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, adjusting the water to lukewarm, knowing that he would be turning down the temperature soon after he got in.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom couldn't actually say that they argued much over the next few days, or that they were abnormally critical of one another; what they were, was polite. He noticed that she started taking fewer and fewer of her pain meds, and in so doing, she was awake much more through the day. He noticed that although she was getting stronger physically, she seemed to be withdrawing from him emotionally; not that he had ever gotten her back again since the fiasco with Heather, but there had been moments. Her nightmares still would wake her at night, some were as severe as the first one where she bloodied his lip and bruised his leg with her punching and kicking, but some were not. They varied from being back on the desert or being trapped under the car, to her days in the hospital when she lost their baby. Often she would wake, asking if he saved the boy, but once she was fully awake, she never remembered it.

He had taken her back for her follow-up appointment and received the wonderful news that she was healing appropriately. He stopped for lunch on the way home where he watched her uneasiness as she tried to maneuver her utensils with one hand. He also noted how her eyes often strayed to the children who were sitting throughout the restaurant.

"You do realize," Grissom started rather quietly as he picked up a piece of orange roughy with his fork, avoiding her gaze until the last second. "that I think about him, too."

She looked up at him and sat her fork down. "I–don't know what you're talking about."

"What was it like? Knowing that you were carrying our baby?" He finally looked at her and saw anger flash through her eyes, then it was replaced with moisture as her jaw trembled.

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"I–I didn't know what to think at first. I mean, it was a mistake. I simply was so busy when you were gone, so preoccupied with wondering why you wanted to leave me in the first place–that I forgot. I forgot. Can you imagine? Thirty-five years old and I couldn't remember getting an injection that I've been getting every three months for years. I just couldn't believe that it was true. I didn't plan it. You didn't plan it. Hell, we didn't even talk about it. But there he was." She gave him a very timid smile. "I needed to see the sonogram to really believe it. I watched his little hands–his fingers. I saw his eyes. I watched and listened to his heart beat, and it was strong."

"And there was nothing wrong with him? No signs of a possible miscarriage?" He now had his fork resting on the table as he watched and listened to her.

She looked away from him. "He was perfect. Of course, I had no idea that it was a boy at the time. I just knew that I was going to be a mother." This time she looked at him. "Can you imagine that? Me? Sara Sidle? But I knew I wanted to be his mother. I felt a connection with him almost immediately. That's why I didn't come home right away that day. I went shopping instead. I went to a little store in a mall called Tiny Tots, and looked at all the things I would have to get for him–or her. I was just as thrilled by the pinks and yellows as I was by the blues and greens. Then I went to another store called Great Expectations where they sold maternity clothing. I actually bought myself some clothes and took them home. But I threw them away after. . ." She quickly wiped at a stray tear that slid from her eye. "I still think about the blue pajamas with puppies on them, and the beige ones with teddy bears. So when you ask, what it felt like. . .it was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced in my life. There was only one other person who even came close to making me love them as fast as I fell in love with him. . .but then, that didn't end so great, either–did it?"

"It isn't over "yet." He leaned back in his chair and toyed with his mug of coffee.

"Gil," she whispered as if coaxing a child to do something; the use of his first name alerting him that she was talking straight from her heart and not from her temper. "How can something go on when the trust has died?"

He looked into those chocolate eyes that he adored and wondered what he could offer God to make things better again. "Your trust hasn't died. It's broken, and badly bruised–but it isn't dead. We just have to let it heal and grow again."

"Why can't you understand?"

"Understand? Understand what?" He glanced at the waitress who was bringing him a refill on his coffee and waited until she left. "I understand that when Natalie took you, I knew I never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you."

"Is that what it took? For someone to take me away from you?" She asked as he continued to watch her. "That sounds like a child who wants the shiny red bicycle until he sees that someone has taken his old tricycle–then he wants the three-wheeler back simply because it isn't in his possession anymore. But the thing is, Grissom, he still wants the red bicycle, too."

"I don't want her, Sara. I've told you that before."

"No–you told me that "she" doesn't want "you." There is a difference. It's easy to tell yourself that it was your choice to end it when someone shuts you down. Are you finished eating? I've got some telephone calls to make. I was supposed to move into my new apartment yesterday. I'm sure the manager is curious as to why I haven't come to pick up the keys yet."

"Yes. I'm finished."

He got up and left a tip on the table, then walked with her to the door of the restaurant, but her sudden stop in front of him made him nearly walk into her. He put his hand on the small of her back, and looked at her face to see it almost blanche as she refused to take another step.

"Grissom." The breathy pronunciation of his name could only come from one person and when he looked past Sara he saw Heather about to enter the building. "What a surprise, running into you here again. You were in such a hurry the last time, you barely finished your coffee. But then, you had much more pleasant matters on your mind."

"I–I. . ." Grissom's brain went numb as he stared at the woman standing before him.

"It's alright, Grissom. I see you're busy. Perhaps when you have a free moment, you could stop in again and we'll. . .chat." She finally looked at Sara. "I can see you must have your hands full right now."

"Heather, they have our table waiting," said the silver-haired gentleman who accompanied her.

"Yes. Of course. I'll be right in, Edmund," she dismissed the man before he gave Grissom a rather unfriendly look and went inside without her.

"I guess this would be an excellent time for me to leave too," Sara spoke up as she looked at Heather. "After all, with his hands so full, its no wonder he can't open his big mouth and actually say something intelligent. You know–the old patting yourself on the head while rubbing your tummy deal–can't do two things at once."

"Sara," Heather actually had a touch of a smile on her face. "It's so good to see you again. Speaking of rubbing your tummy, I believe you were doing just that while you were taking my pictures at the hospital. Was there a little bug in there? Is it all gone now?"

"Yes," Sara hissed. "It's gone."

"Well, stomach problems can be like that. But, as far as Grissom being able to do two things at once–he never had that trouble around me. He has always been very proficient with his skills while we interacted.. Although, I must say, that most likely is due to the ambiance of my home."

"Most likely," Sara agreed sarcastically, then stepped away from Grissom and walked toward his car.

"Sara," Grissom called after her. "Wait!"

"If you'll excuse me," Heather told him, although his eyes were still on Sara. "Edmund is waiting. I'll talk with you again, Grissom."

Grissom didn't respond as he walked to his car and opened the door for Sara then moved around to his side and got into the driver's seat. He sat quietly for a moment, then looked over at her.

"Sara."

"I really need to make a call right now." Sara smiled at him as she pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket, but when she opened it to dial, she swore under her breath and closed it again. "I don't have the number right now. It's back at your place. Could you please start the car and drive? I need to get the number from my address book."

"Sara!"

"I'm fine. Just drive."

He started the ignition and pulled out of his parking spot. "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before."

He drove in a chilled silence until they got home, then before he even had the ignition turned off, Sara was out of the car and on her way into the apartment building. By the time he got inside, she was rummaging through her wallet and address book.

"I know I had it in here," Sara, now was looking through a stack of papers she had folded in her book. "Ah, here it is."

Grissom put his keys on the counter and watched as she picked up the telephone and went to their bedroom. It didn't matter, really. He already knew what the outcome was going to be. He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop and this time he had better be prepared. Finally, after about ten minutes, Sara returned to the livingroom, looking as if she had just come from one of her more grotesque crime scenes.

"I see you've talked to the manager of your new apartment," Grissom watched as she put the telephone back in its port, then sat heavily in the chair adjacent to the sofa.

"What did you do, Grissom?" She asked very quietly. "And what's more–how did you do it?"

"I–informed him that you wouldn't be needing your apartment, after all, due to your injuries." He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, feeling a bit suffocated at the moment. "That explanation and two months rent, and he lost his copy of your lease and found a new tenant."

"But what about "my" copy of the lease?"

"You lost your copy, too."

"I see," she said stiffly as she got to her feet again, then went to the telephone again and dialed a number. "Nick, when you get this message can you call me? You know where I am."

"You're not going to Nick's." Grissom pulled his shirt off and watched as she dialed the phone again.

"Greg, call me when you get home. I'm at Grissom's."

"And you're not going to Greg's," he sighed.

She didn't even look at him as she went back to their bedroom. He got up and started toward his office but when he heard the noise she was making, he detoured to the bedroom as well. The sight of her taking her books off his bookcase and stacking them into a box, brought him into the room another step. He moved next to her and grabbed her hand that was moving the books.

"I'll have Nick or Greg move the boxes for me."

"I want you to stop," the calmness of his tone brought her eyes up to his. "Right now. I need you to do something for me."

He took the book out of her hand and put it back on the shelf, then pulled her to the side of the bed, where she tried to yank her hand away. "Are you insane? Or just incredibly dense?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her until she was sitting on the mattress. She continued to eye him warily.

"I "can" be incredibly dense," he said as he put a hand under her legs and one at her back then turned her on the mattress until she was almost lying on the middle of it; as much as her tense body would allow. "And the only times I've ever been accused of being insane were when you are concerned."

"Grissom, do you really think. . ."

"I think I want you to stay there and calm down." He removed his shoes then reached down and pulled her sneakers off, followed by her socks. He let his eyes travel up her body, feeling his heart beating faster as he took in each of her features that could always turn him either into a pool of emotional mush, or a raging steel hard-on. But he didn't linger. Right now he wanted peace and quiet, and this was the only way he could think to get it at the moment. He caught the flicker in her eye and knew she was about to get up, but he gently placed his hand on her good shoulder. "Uh-uh. Stay. "We" need to calm down. "We will" calm down."

He moved next to her, stretching out as he lay on his side and faced her while she remained stiffly on her back. He propped his head up on his hand as he watched her, noting the deep brown beauty of her eyes, the way her nose tilted just so, lips that could do the most amazing things to him. He watched as her eyes darted from the ceiling to him.

"What are you doing? Comparing bicycles again?"

"Shh." He put his finger on her lips to silence her. "No talking. Just know that if you're hell-bent on leaving–you owe me."

"I owe you?"

"Shh, I said. And if you talk again, it won't be my finger that I'll silence you with."

"What. . ."

"I warned you," he cut her off then leaned down and placed his lips on hers, holding her jaw so she couldn't turn away. He didn't deepen the kiss, but lifted his head again as he watched her. "Just lie here with me."

"Just how long. . ." He cut her off again by placing his lips on hers, but when he lifted his head, she blurted out again. "Grissom!" Again, he lowered his head, this time nibbling slightly on her lips. "What are you. . ." This time he slid his tongue across her lips and placed his hand on her waist.

"No more comments?" He asked as he lifted his head and looked down at her, receiving a negative shake of her head. "Good. Then be still–and quiet."

He adjusted himself until he was comfortable but he could still feel her tension. He moved closer and rested his head so his lips were pressed against her temple as his thumb stroked the sensitive skin of her waist. He just wanted to be with her without bickering. It took at least fifteen minutes before he could feel her body start to lose its tenseness and relax into the mattress, and within another fifteen minutes, he knew that she had fallen into a state of relaxation so deeply that she seemed to almost be in another world. But then the telephone blared on his night stand, and he felt her jump, trying to maneuver herself to answer it, but he reached over and picked it up, wanting to ward off Nick or Greg before she had the chance to send them there for her things.

"Grissom," he got out, as he turned away from her.

"I need to see you," Heather's voice shot through him as he glanced behind himself to see Sara watching him. "Can you come here within the hour?"


	108. Chapter 108

Chapter One-Hundred-Eight

"No." Grissom got to his feet and moved out the door. The last thing he needed was to have Sara knowing he was communicating with Heather again. "That's impossible."

"This evening then. I'll have dinner waiting for us. I know what you like."

Grissom moved into his office and closed the door. "I'm not coming to dinner, Heather."

"Please, Grissom. I know I hurt you unbearably when I tried to send you away. But you have to know that I was only protecting myself from being hurt by you again."

"Heather, I told you last month–there's nothing there. A few years ago, I thought there was, I thought there might be, otherwise I would've never made love to you. But, I couldn't get her out of my mind. I tried to use you to erase her from my thoughts, and I'll never forgive myself for that. Can't you understand that's why I won't ever stop being here for you–as your friend. But it can never be more than that again. I've tried to explain that to you."

"No, Grissom. You're wrong. If it were only friendship you've been seeking, then why have you taken me in your arms and caressed me, made love to me with your eyes, as you do. I can understand this "loyalty" you have to that. . .investigator–I'm used to that. Every man who comes to me for help is afraid to take that final step that would reveal themselves to their wives. But in the end, they overcome it, and they're happier because of it–and in most cases, so are their wives. Often, the women become participants and learn to free their inhibitions as well."

"I've never come to you for "help," Heather," Grissom said dryly. "The only time I ever became intimate with you–wasn't for your therapeutic capabilities. You were there–you were beautiful–you were willing–and you weren't Sara. I thought you could make me forget things I was feeling for her; things I had no right to feel for an employee–but it didn't work. You knew that, Heather. I apologized for leading you to believe anything else."

"You're wrong, Grissom. You're only hiding from the truth. I took care of you–I showed you things you'd never experienced. I know what you need, Grissom."

"No, Heather. You "tried" to show me things that I had no interest in. I just needed a distraction, and you provided that for a very short time. And if you know what I need, then you know I need Sara."

"Don't do this, Grissom," Heather's voice changed from the monosyllabic tone he was used to. "She can't do things for you the way I can. She can't show you things I can."

He hesitated a moment, then told her, "She does everything for me. She "is" everything for me."

"Grissom, please. I'm alone. Can't you see how alone I am?"

"I'm sorry, Heather. I have to go. I can't talk to you anymore."

"You mean Sara doesn't want you to talk to me," Heather said.

"Yes. That's what I mean. And I'm not going to let her down again."

Grissom clicked off the telephone and sat at his desk, wondering how he was ever going to manage to get Sara past the setbacks they faced with Heather today. He put the phone on his desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hands as his weariness washed over him. He didn't hear his door open, or the footsteps that padded across his carpet, so when he felt the touch to his shoulder, he jerked with surprise. He turned to see Sara standing behind him, watching him with the other telephone in her hand.

"You forgot about the speaker on your other phone," she said quietly as she placed it on his desk. "I got out of bed and accidently turned it on when you came in here and shut the door."

"You did?" He asked.

"Yeah. I did."

"By accident, though."

"Yeah. I sortta, ya know, kinda, tripped as I was leaving, and, my finger–out of all the places it couldda landed, hit the speaker button. Pretty amazing, huh?"

"Yes. Amazing. Almost as if the fates intervened."

"I guess so, if you believe in that sort of thing."

"You'd rather I believe that you tripped and hit the speaker button by accident?"

"Okay, so maybe the tripping thing was a little far-fetched."

"No–no." He took her hand and slowly, gently, almost timidly, guided her toward him. "If you say you tripped, then I believe you tripped. What did you trip over?"

He pulled her until she was standing between his legs and he looked up at her. "I don't know. I was too busy eavesdropping on your conversation."

He let his hands move around her, sliding up the backs of her thighs, then on to her buttocks as he pulled her even closer. "But this was "before" you fell and turned on the speaker?"

"Alright, maybe I didn't exactly fall into the phone as much as I sort of jumped onto it and slammed my finger down on that speaker button."

"And?"

"And I listened."

"So, will I survive by morning?" He asked, still not knowing one hundred percent how she interpreted his conversation with Heather.

"I don't know," she said gently as her hand moved to the back of his neck where she slowly caressed his hairline. "I can't promise much."

He nodded his head in understanding as he rested his cheek against her stomach. "Just promise you won't leave. Promise you're willing to give us another chance."

She lowered herself until she was straddling his left thigh and she looked at him, almost as if she were studying him. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then lowered her kisses to his eyelids, his nose and cheeks, then settling on his mouth. He pulled her against him more tightly as his lips and tongue responded to hers, touching in tiny intimacies, but when his hand moved inside of her blouse and slid it up her front until he cupped his palm over her mound of flesh, she stiffened and pulled back from him. He closed his eyes as the now familiar rush of disappointment came over him, and when he felt her lifting herself from his leg he wanted to scream his frustration.

He looked up at her face to see a tender smile as she took his hand and took a step backwards. "I don't think I'm up to doing this with one arm. At least not while sitting on a swivel chair with the only flat surface being either your desktop or the floor."

He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his features as he got up and followed her. She released his hand as she walked in front of him and he enjoyed the show as she began unbuttoning her blouse as soon as they were out of his office. By the time they made it down the hallway and into his bedroom, she had removed it from the right side of her body, then looked at him with exasperation when she realized she couldn't remove it completely until she had her sling off.

"Let me help," he suggested and moved forward to assist in its removal, then continued with her blouse.

He unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down over her hips, leaving her pink panties in place then held her hand as she moved onto the bed and looked up at him. He looked back and joined her on the bed.

"I hope you're not teasing this time, my dear." He smiled at her and received a hesitant shake of her head.

"I'm not teasing."

He couldn't wait much longer–he had waited too long as it was, but deep down he knew if they had done this any other way, it would have been meaningless. His mouth moved to taste every inch of her face that wasn't bruised or cut, then when he met with those areas, he took on a tenderness that had her shivering next to him. Soon, she was whimpering her need to return his kisses and he met her mouth with hunger. His hands moved over her skin, lightly taking in its softness, starting with her shoulders and working his way down over her casted arm and on to her long fingers. He was getting lost in the sensation of her lips beneath his, her tongue tentatively touching his, the smoothness of her teeth. When she ran her good hand up over his arm and shoulder, on to his back, he started to shiver. She moved her casted arm to his waist and urged him to move on top of her as she spread her legs around him.

He moved his kiss on to the neck and throat that he craved and adjusted her to fit between his forearms as he leaned on them and she moaned, bringing his head back from her to see what was wrong.

"Am I hurting you?" He breathed against her lips.

'I'm alright, don't stop."

Her right hand moved lower on him, moving between them to caress his stomach, her nails making him shudder as he pressed himself against her juncture.

"My God, Sara. You are so beautiful, you take my breath away."

"Shh," she quieted him as her hand moved lower, unbuckling his belt and then slipping beneath his waistband.

When he felt her slender fingers wrap around him, their coolness meeting the fiery heat of his engorged shaft, he started to involuntarily buck against her.

"No!" He cried, as he began to shudder violently. He pressed his hips against her to immobilize her hand. He squeezed his eyes closed as he stopped kissing her, pressing his forehead against hers and panting in huffs. "Move your hand."

He could feel her stiffen beneath him but he couldn't help it, and when she removed her hand, he reached for it and took it in his own, then brought it up to his face where he kissed her fingertips before trying to control himself again. He moved his hips away from her to relieve the pressure.

"Gil?"

"It's alright. It's alright. Just give me a minute." He moved himself back off of her and turned onto his back, refusing to release her right hand. When he looked over at her, he saw the doubt in her eyes and he pulled her closer to him, "We've got to approach this from a different angle. I'm afraid it's been too long since I've been with you. I've never actually come that close to losing it so fast before."

"Is that so bad?" She turned toward him and slid her leg up over his thigh that was still encased in the cloth of his slacks.

"It wouldn't have been so good for you. I almost came the moment you touched me."

"That was the idea, wasn't it?"

"No!" He said vehemently as he looked at her again. "I want to please you first. Then we'll take care of me later."

"It isn't a race, Gil." She reached down again and unbuttoned his slacks, then unzipped them, and he lifted his hips and pushed them down, kicking them free once they were low enough. "Please, can't we just go on?"

He gave a short nod, then leaned over her again and resumed his lovemaking, this time moving past her throat to the coral tips of her breasts. It was like coming home as he pulled and tugged on her nipples, feeling them harden between his lips as he laved them with his attention. His hands worked over the tender skin of her belly, then on to the edge of her pink lace panties. He felt her hips move slightly and took it as eagerness, so he slid his hand down the front of her and slid his finger between her folds, but as he started to insert first one, then two fingers, she stilled all movement and he could feel the change in her breathing. He lifted his head to look at her face and saw that even though she urged him on with her good hand as it tugged at the back of his hair, her face was filled with stress and she refused to look at him.

"Honey?" He removed his hand and let it rest on her hip. "Sara?"

"I'm sorry."

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"I–I keep. . .every time I close my eyes, I see your face looking at me from her doorway. I–I keep seeing the way you looked at me. . .as if . . ."

"Sara–don't. Open your eyes." It took her a long moment, but she finally looked at him. "Now, what do you see?"

"You. I see you."

"Do you see how much I want to be with you?" He asked and she gave a quick nod. "Do you see how much I need to be with you?" Another quick nod. "Then don't look away. Keep looking at me."

He moved his body between her legs again, and every time her gaze averted a centimeter from his face, he called her back to him. He reached between them and pressed the leg to her panties to the side and placed his tip against her entrance, then took his time about sliding his girth inside. He watched her as her breath caught in her throat. The miscarriage on top of their absence from one another had made her tight again and he had to fight every millimeter of entrance to keep from losing control and ending before he began. It seemed to take forever and yet in the blink of an eye he was embedded inside of her to the hilt.

"Now, what do you see?" He asked.

"You."

"Do you like what you're seeing? Does it upset you at all?"

"No–it isn't upsetting me."

"Don't look away. Stay with me on this." He slowly started moving within her and he watched as with each stroke, she let the sensations show in her eyes. At one point, her lips parted and he bent to nip at them before looking at her again. When he felt her raise her legs to spread them farther and gain fuller entrance, he put more force behind his thrusts. As her hand moved to caress his firm bottom, he increased his speed, all the time watching her, as she watched him. "God, Sara–don't ever doubt me again."

He moved with her, occasionally dipping his head for her kiss, but always coming back for her to keep her eyes on him and not on a memory that can only serve to harm them. He wanted to force that memory from her mind and never let her think of it again. He knew he almost lost her on several occasions, but he would touch her face and make her look at him, make his image of the present override the image that haunted her, and each time, he knew he had to coax her practically from the beginning as her passion would dwindle with the lack of confidence. But he stayed with her and when her climax came, it rolled through her with such power that it made them both yell out. Her strong reaction to him was almost painful as she squeezed him and her body moved in reaction to her ecstacy, but it also brought him crashing through the barrier until he lay on top of her, trying to regain his breath.

When he woke, he looked over to see her lying on her side, watching him. He reached over and traced the backs of his fingers over the still reddened scratches and cuts on her face. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the marks, knowing that if it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have gone through such hell. Suddenly the whole situation had resurfaced and he felt the enormity of almost losing her in every aspect of the word. He closed his eyes against the immense pain of it and pulled her against him, doing nothing more than pressing his lips to her forehead.

Here, without the added weight of the differences that had separated them so many weeks ago, his mind opened fully to all the wounds she had endured. And in so doing, it opened his own wounds. He couldn't seem to push himself away from this. His emotions were on the edge of the surface, a surface that he had never been equipped to show anyone before.

"Gil?" She asked softly, opening his eyes as he looked at her and he knew she could see all the hurt that he was finally allowing to show. She pulled him onto her, cradling him against her as she soothed him, but he lifted himself on his forearms and looked at her beauty that radiated out beyond the cuts and bruises. "Gil, what's wrong?"

"I hurt you. Every way imaginable–I have hurt you," he said, turning her gaze away from him momentarily before she looked back and gave a timid smile. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about everything. I'm so sorry."

The last was said in a half sob and he turned onto his back again and covered his face with his hand. She turned to him immediately and he felt her concern.

"Gil, baby, what's wrong?"

"I–can't. . .I have images of. . .I would've wanted him, Sara. I would've wanted him."

For the first time for as long as he could remember, tears spilled from Gil Grissom's eyes. His tears continued to fall as he thought of the newborn he could have held in his hands less than six months from now, instead he grieved for the gift Sara would have bestowed upon him if she had been able to. He could feel Sara's hand trying to comfort him as she rested her head on his shoulder. He knew she didn't know how to answer him. He knew she had doubted his devotion to her and the child. But after the initial shock would have worn off–he would've been so goddamned proud of his son that everyone would have run to hide so he wouldn't flash open his wallet full of pictures to show them. The child would have gotten the best from both of his parents; his mother's beauty and incredible genius and his father's–well–he was sure he would've gotten "something" good from him. Eventually the tears slowed and Sara pulled his hands away from his face, looking at him with such love and forgiveness that he couldn't understand how he had ever won an angel's heart like hers.

"I sometimes wonder what he would've looked like," Sara said quietly as she now lay with her head on his chest and his arm around her. "I think he would've had your curly hair, and your blue eyes."

"And your teeth," Grissom added with a small smile.

"No! Not my teeth." She smiled against his chest. "No gaps."

"Your gap is absolutely gorgeous, my dear. You wouldn't believe what it did to me nine years ago when you flashed that smile at me."

"Wouldn't I? Do tell, Dr. Grissom."

"Let's just say it caught my attention and I was very happy to be standing behind a podium at the time."

"Liar," she chuckled. "You weren't standing behind a podium. And you didn't get an erection."

"You're so positive?"

"Of course. I was checking you out. Your pants, although they weren't tight enough to suit me, would've given proof of anything abnormal happening in them."

"You remember what I was wearing."

"I remember your eyes more than anything. You caught me with your eyes and they've never released me. Even when we were living in separate states, I could always envision your eyes. That's how I know he would've had your eyes."

Grissom remained silent for a moment. "I know you didn't have much time, but I don't suppose you had any names in mind."

Again, he felt her smile against his chest. "As a matter of fact, I did. The girl's name, I wasn't a hundred percent sure. I thought of my grandmother's name, Lily, or my aunt's name, Annie–but then I thought you'd probably want to name her after your mother. But the boy–yeah. I don't think you could've talked me out of his name. When I was a little girl, I had a cousin. He was my Aunt Annie's son. He'd come over to my house when my mother and father would begin their wars and he'd sneak me over to his and Aunt Annie's house. He'd stay awake with me and play games like Operation or Connect Four. He'd stay awake until I'd fall asleep, then he'd have to get up early and go to school the next day. He was ten years older than me, and when he graduated high school, he joined the service. He was involved in a helicopter accident and died on impact. He was the second most important man in my life."

"And you were going to name him after this boy?" He asked and felt her nod her head against him. "So, what was the next generation of Grissoms going to be named?"

"Christopher. Christopher Gilbert Grissom. I thought Chris Grissom had a nice ring to it."

The name struck Grissom immediately, but for some reason, as he recalled the memory of that aggravating young man at the hospital, he seemed to find a peace within himself at the loss of his son.


	109. Chapter 109

Chapter One-Hundred-Nine

Sara lay in bed, watching the ceiling as she waited for the man lying next to her to recover. She couldn't help but remember how much she wanted to leave his home and move into the apartment she had chosen a few weeks earlier. As she got up to leave the restaurant after a stressful lunch, she wasn't really very surprised to walk, face-to-face, into Heather Kessler. After all, she had no doubt in her mind that it was Heather who had been sitting in the parking lot, then followed Grissom to the video rental shop a few days earlier; just as she had no doubts that it was the bitch who flattened his tire. Although the thought of her having enough brain cells to actually know "how" to let the air out of a tire, was a bit baffling to Sara–and even more unlikely was that she would–number one, stoop so low to do anything remotely resembling common labor (it could actually be considered work, getting down on your knees for anything other than what Heather was used to getting on her knees for), and–number two, to do something that could get her hands dirty (unless, of course, it had a penis or vagina involved). Sara knew the stupid bitch sent one of her peons to do the actual dirty work, then planned to "assist" Grissom when he was stranded with a flat tire. Again, the dumb son-of-a-bitch didn't realize that you could actually "change" a tire. Sara had to chuckle at that. She had heard about the "brilliance" of this woman and the dumb fuck didn't even realize that most people would change a tire and not be stranded, waiting for their Prince Charming (or in Grissom's case, his Princess of Darkness) to come to save them. Meeting them at the restaurant, Sara couldn't explain. That "may have" been coincidence.

Sara wondered how Heather had known about the baby, but she made it abundantly clear that she "had known," even if Grissom hadn't picked up on it. She couldn't even work up anger at the woman over her callousness regarding her loss. The simple fact was that Sara didn't think Heather had enough humanity inside of her to feel for anyone's misfortune, so it wasn't surprising when the woman almost glowed with satisfaction when she commented on it. But, even though, she wasn't surprised, she knew she didn't want to stick around and watch this tete-e-tete. The fact that Grissom immediately followed was a little unexpected, but didn't change a thing. He was still so enamored of her that she had rendered him speechless.

The tension was so thick on the drive home that she could barely breathe, then once she got inside and actually talked to the manager of her apartment, she was furious. Grissom had no right to do this to her. She had had enough and knew she couldn't stay there one more day. Grissom, though, had a different point of view and as she struggled to fight off Grissom's charm, she quickly accepted that he had defeated her on this point, and she gave in on this "one" request.

She didn't know "how" she knew who was on the telephone the moment Grissom answered it. Even before he turned to give her "that" look, she knew who it was. By the time he was through the bedroom door, she was on her feet, and by the time he closed himself in his office, she was in the living room, jamming her finger down on the speaker button on his other telephone. She felt so sick at the thought of his desire to talk to Heather in private, that she could barely hold her lunch down as she eavesdropped on them speaking. Sara leaned against the back of the sofa as she listened to Grissom's admission that he had, indeed, had a sexual relationship with Heather, and she nearly hung up the phone. But he went on, telling Heather things that were shocking Sara. She listened to Heather's desperation as she grasped onto ideas that Grissom repeatedly discredited. The one staple throughout the conversation was that Grissom wasn't interested in Heather's wares and wanted to be with Sara. As she listened to Heather's accusations of Grissom's dependence on her and her lifestyle, she also heard Grissom's denial that any such relationship existed. If there was one singular thought that was conveyed during their conversation that bothered her the most, she had to admit that it was Heather's insinuation the "women become participants" statement. That was the moment that Sara wanted to go inside and smack Grissom across the back of the head and tell him to "listen to what that freak just suggested!" Sara couldn't believe that the woman was actually suggesting they become a threesome. She decided this had to be one of Grissom's "dense" moments to not have caught that little trinket.

By the time Grissom hung up the phone, Sara couldn't stop herself from going to him. He had said things to Heather that if it had been said to "her," she would have slunk off with her tail between her legs. But Heather clung to her illusions and that disturbed Sara.

The sight of Grissom looking so worried and knowing that she was the reason, made the urge to comfort him irresistible. As she placed her hands on him, she knew there would be no turning back. She was in love with the big idiot, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She also wanted to make love with him, she really did, but old images harassed her, turning her cold as they would make her doubts rise at the most inopportune moments. She didn't know if she could ever get past those memories. She wished she could forget them and never think of them again, but life wasn't always like that. The best she could hope for was that she keep her mind on the present and try like hell not to glance in the direction of bad memories.

And now she lay next to him as he slept. He had been so completely wiped out emotionally after they talked about the baby that he soon fell asleep. She looked over at him, seeing his back presented to her as he lay on his stomach. The sheet was pulled up to his waist and she could see the outline of a beautifully proportioned bottom. It was the minx in her that made her slowly start pulling the sheet lower, revealing him in all his glory, inch-by-inch. She leaned up on he right elbow as she moved her casted arm to slide the sheet even lower. The impulse to slide her fingers over the flesh of his buttocks was irresistible, but the moment she started to reach for it, she heard Grissom's sleepy voice.

"It's getting a little drafty in here," he said, making her giggle as he turned his head to look at her, then slowly turn over onto his back.

"I should think it would be a lot more drafty in that position."

"I know what you were doing. You were reaching for my butt–weren't you?" He asked her with a raised brow. "You were going to rub my butt."

"Maybe."

"Uh-huh. There's no "maybe" about it. You're fascinated with my butt."

"But, honey," she whined as she moved into his arms and lay her head on his shoulder. "You have such a cute butt. It's like someone who sees a chubby baby, and they just want to go up and pinch their cheeks."

This warranted a glare from him. "So, are you saying I'm chubby?"

"No, I'm saying I want to pinch your cheeks," she laughed at him.

"You just leave my "cheeks" alone."

"Why? You're always after mine."

"That's different."

"Why? I don't see the difference."

"It's different because you've got a gorgeous ass. It's pert, perfect, gorgeous, gives me a hard-on. . ."

"You couldn't have just stopped at pert, perfect and gorgeous, could you?" She asked with false irritation. "You had to throw that "hard-on" in there, didn't ya?"

He chuckled as he pulled her more tightly against him. "I'm just stating the obvious."

"Well, that still doesn't differentiate between my ass and yours."

"Because mine. . ." He started to explain then became flustered and blurted out, "because ya just don't mess with a guy's butt. They're not cute, they're not sexy–they're just. . .there. I mean, to say a guy's butt is sexy is the same as saying his elbow is attractive."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you have very attractive elbows." She lifted his arm and inspected said object, then kissed his upper arm.

"Alright. . .then his ear."

"Mmm, I love your ears–they're so cute." She flicked her tongue inside the shell.

"His nose then."

"But your nose is almost perfect!" She raised herself and kissed his nose, seeing the sparkle in his blue eyes.

"How about his lips?"

"Ahhhh, those lips." She lowered her mouth onto his and he started to chuckle, making her smile against his mouth as she already knew what his next suggestion was going to be.

"How about this?" He moved her over until she was lying on top of him and spread her legs around him, pressing his hips up against her. "Do you think "this" is cute?"

She raised her head and looked at him, laughing at him openly. "Now, how would you like me to answer that? If I say it's cute–or adorable, you're going to take it as being "child-like." So, how about if I say, it's impressively pulchritudinous?"

"I don't care what you say it is–as long as you're attached to it."

"Now, are we talking physically? Or emotionally?"

He chuckled again. "I guess that would be both."

"So, a physical as well as emotional or psychological attachment. That sounds like an addiction."

"Does Sara have a new drug?"

"Oh, no, honey," she leaned forward and nibbled on his lips as she wiggled her hips against him. "I've had this drug for two years and I'm still craving more."

"Well, my mother taught me never to keep a lady waiting."

He lifted her, then moved his tip to her entrance, lowering her onto it in an excruciatingly powerful thrust. She cried out as her nails dug into his shoulders, but she pressed herself against him harder, delighting in the massive size as she stretched around him. He turned with her so they were on their sides and he pulled her leg up, over his hip so he could gain greater entrance, but her cast was getting in the way. He started kissing her, gentle little kisses as he remained still. When he looked at her, he smiled sheepishly.

"What are you thinking?" She asked suspiciously.

"We have to find a different position. This one isn't working very well. The other side won't work, either. You can't go on your stomach, or your knees. I don't want you on top with your cast on, it would throw your balance off," he explained and she listened with eyes that were widening with each position he threw out. "I think we're pretty much stuck with the missionary position right now."

"You're kidding–right?"

"No," he laughed. "Why?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something. For instance, let go." She moved away from him and smiled as she got up from the bed and turned around until she was on her knees, but was nearly pressed against the headboard as she held on with one hand, letting the cast stay at her side. She watched as he sat up and kept his eyes on her. "What are you waiting for?"

She gave him an inviting smile over her shoulder and he was on his knees in an instant. He nudged her legs farther apart as he put his knees between them, then with one hand, he positioned himself beneath her, and with the other, he held her stable from the front. She tilted her hips to allow his entrance and he pressed inside, hissing air between his clenched teeth as he sunk deeply inside her.

"Are you comfortable?" He whispered against her neck as his left arm went around her chest and his right hand held her firmly at her abdomen and then moved lower to slid his finger into her curls and tease the sensor spot waiting there. "Your not going to be able to move much. You're going to be more or less pinned against the wall."

"Mmmm," she hummed as she was already throbbing from the combination of the rhythm of his finger and the pressure from his immense size. "That's the point, baby. You're in charge now."

He pulled his hips back and thrust them upward again, hitting her in an area that had her senses reeling. "I'm in charge?"

"Mmm-hmmm. Again, Gil–do it again."

Another thrust of his hips and she moaned with extreme satisfaction, then again and again. Her groaning was coming louder and she tipped her head back as she reached behind herself with her right arm, pulling his head to her as she parted her lips and gave him entrance with his tongue. Their hunger for one another was overwhelming and when his thrusts and manipulations with his hand pushed her over her peak, she actually screamed his name.

"Don't stop," he breathed as he held onto her hips with both hands now and drove into her. "Don't stop. Ah, mother of God, Sara!"

She was still climaxing when he grabbed onto her upper body and hugged her to him, nearly collapsing onto her and driving her into the wall, but grabbing onto it with his left hand just in time to stop them from colliding. His mouth nuzzled the back of her neck, sucking fiercely as his body trembled behind hers. It seemed to take forever for them to regain control of themselves as he held them in that position, but eventually, she turned her head to look at him again. She knew she was smiling, there was no way she could "not." It was amazing! Earth-shattering! He gave a small chuckle as he pulled out of her and backed away, allowing her to turn until they were both on their knees and facing one another. She moved her hand up to his cheek and kissed him tenderly before pulling back again.

"You do that so well," she told him and received one of his nearly child-like smiles, which in turn always made her smile even broader.

"I do–don't I?"

"And you're so humble, too," she chuckled.

He reached out and pulled her flush against him as he smiled into her eyes. "Anything I do well, is only because I'm doing it with you. You let me be whom I want to be and make me comfortable doing it. You are my reason for getting out of bed," he smiled again at her, "and my reason for getting back in, of course."

She dropped her gaze shyly from his, then looked back up. "How about eating?"

"Right now?" He looked at her questioningly. "Alright, but you've got to lie down first."

This got him a laugh and a smack on the arm. "I didn't mean that! I meant dinner. I didn't finish lunch, so I'm starting to get a bit hungry."

"I'm pouring my heart out to you and you're worried about your empty stomach?" He looked affronted.

"Well, it's your fault I didn't finish lunch. So, you're going to have to put up with me until you feed me," she told him but when she received a waggle of his brows, she smacked him again. "Gil!"

"Alright!" He released her and got off the bed, then watched as she did the same. "I'll feed you. But it wasn't my fault you got huffy and didn't finish your lunch."

"It is so! You said you weren't going to give up on us! And then you said you didn't want Heather!" Sara accused him, then got an embarrassed smile. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." He went to his dresser and got clean clothes out, then started for the bathroom, stopping in front of her as if a new thought had occurred to him. He looked at her from head to toe, then focused on her injured arm. "Damned cast."

"I'm not waiting for you to finish your shower. I'm taking a bath." She turned and started toward the doorway ahead of him, but he grabbed her by the waist and spun around with her, sitting her outside the door then closing it between them.

"I'm first."

"Grissom!"

"I thought you said you were hungry!"

"I am! But I'd like to bathe first!" She listened to his chuckling from inside, then turned and grabbed her robe and pulled it on before heading out to the kitchen. "Fine!"


	110. Chapter 110

Chapter One-Hundred-Ten

Sara came from her bath, refreshed, but feeling wonderfully sore. She knew she was going to have to work on this reconciliation with Grissom. The fact remained that even if he had no romantic interest in Heather, she doubted she would ever be able to forget that he put Heather's wishes before hers. She also knew that she would try to forget about what had happened, but in reality, she knew it would always be lingering in the back of her mind. She looked around for something to put on without having to interrupt Grissom to help her, then came up an oversized nightshirt that closely resembled a man's dress shirt. She looked in the mirror at her hair then ran a brush through it and she turned the collar up, which accentuated her long, slim neck.

She was just about to put one of her books back in the book case when she glanced outside at the moonless night. There, standing beneath the streetlight that illuminated part of the parking lot, she stood. Slender girl, medium-long, straight, light-brown hair, posture very introverted. Sara felt her heartbeat race, her breathing became uneven as the hair stood on her arms. Fear and panic rushed through her entire body as she grasped onto the windowsill and stared at the girl who was standing there. She had to hide–not stand here like a blinking light–but she couldn't seem to move away from the window. Sara began shaking her head no, trying to make the figure of Natalie Davis disappear, but it persisted, then the girl looked up at her. She was watching her, those empty eyes and emotionless features!

Sara blinked–it seemed to be the only movement she was capable of, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the woman waving. She looked at the girl's face and saw joy, and then the young man that was walking down the sidewalk joined her and they embraced, laughing to one another before turning for the car a few spaces away. It wasn't Natalie at all. It was only a woman; a young woman who was waiting for her husband or boyfriend. Sara felt a little lightheaded as she touched her hand to her face, feeling flushed as she tried to calm herself; tried to convince herself that she had mistaken a young woman, who vaguely resembled Natalie, as her abductor. But her mind and body didn't seem to want to listen as she felt the fear rushing through her veins. She needed to get out of the bedroom. She needed to find Grissom. Grissom! Her mind screamed. She needed to be with him–now!

Sara hurried through the small hallway, looking for him in the livingroom but finding it empty. She must have let out a small whimper because Grissom responded to her from where he was standing at the stove in the kitchen.

"You alright?" He asked as he sliced what looked to be a quiche.

"Gil!" She rushed to his side and smiled. She didn't want him to worry about this "spell" she seemed to be having. It was more than enough that "she" had to worry her way through it, and feel as desperate as she was–she didn't want him to feel anything like this, so she decided to keep it to herself. "I was just looking for you. What are we having? Quiche? It looks good. I'm really hungry–did I tell you that? Are we having anything with the quiche? What kind of quiche is it?"

"Whoa!" He turned to look at her. "Slow down. We're having salad, bread sticks and some cantaloupe. There's mushrooms and spinach in the quiche."

"It smells really good. Is it done? Do you have to do anything else?"

"Sara? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she smiled at him, then went into the living room and picked up a magazine that she started to page through, but dropped it and returned to the kitchen with him. "Do you want me to get the dishes out? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I've got the dishes right here."

"Oh, didn't see them."

He put them, with their portions of quiche on the table next to the utensils, salad bowls with salad and small bowls of cantaloupe. He went back to the oven and got out the bread sticks but by the time he straightened, she was standing behind him with her right arm around his waist as she leaned into him. He put the tray on the stove, then turned around while staying in her embrace.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Why? There's nothing wrong. I just wanted to see what you were doing." She moved back to the table where he had the dishes across from one another, then she moved her dish until it was next to his. "There. That's better."

Sara talked little through dinner, more concerned with the nausea she was feeling. Oh, not enough to cause major distress, just enough to make her feel like she had a stomach full of butterflies, and not very happy butterflies at that. She toyed with her food, going straight for the cantaloupe as that seemed to be the easiest to get into her unsettled stomach, then soon, she started to feel better. With each new food she tried, she became less flushed, less nauseous and less panicked. She put it off as not eating much that day and perhaps a bout with low blood sugar. By the end of the meal she was helping Grissom do the dishes, as much as her one hand would allow.

Television in the livingroom was decided upon and soon the whole apartment was darkened with only the light flashing from its screen. They started watching the X-Men and by midway through it, Sara had moved to one end of the sofa where she sat with her legs sprawled across its length. Soon Grissom moved to lie between her legs with his head resting on her lap. By the time the movie ended she had a leg draped down over his shoulders on each side. Grissom turned the channel and tuned into a documentary on World War II. It wasn't that Sara wasn't interested, because she was. She actually liked American history, but she was more interested in the curly hair resting on her lap at the moment. Her fingers gently lifted the gray strands that were scattered throughout the brown, then they were moving a bit deeper, letting the texture of his hair put her in a calm mode as it slid between her fingers.

She felt completely at ease now. No more anxiety as she had felt before dinner. She was letting the peace fill her as she seemed to be holding onto him as a shield against the fear that the anxiety had provoked. She really couldn't say when it changed and she started to change from absolute contentment to a devilish mood, or what, exactly, sparked it. She wasn't really bored, but as she watched him lying there so calmly, she couldn't let it rest. She looked at the end table she was sitting near and caught sight of a dried arrangement with what appeared to be stems of wheat inserted into it. She looked at Grissom again to make sure he was involved in the documentary, and seeing that he was, she pulled one of the stems from the vase.

The furry end of the stem danced across his ear once, twice before he absently swiped at it with his hand. With several minute intervals, she managed to instigate him into swatting at some imaginary bug, three more times, the last time making her stop as he readjusted himself on the sofa so that he was now lying on his side. But still, his focus was on Generals Eisenhower and Patten. Another few minutes and she let it skim across his cheek. This time he turned his head to see what was crawling on him but she managed to successfully hide the stem along her side. She allowed him some peace-time until about ten minutes later when she turned the stem around and started running the stiffer side through his hair. This time his hand flew up, grabbing the stem and pulling it from her. He looked at what he had in his grasp and slowly sat up.

"What's the matter bugman? I thought you liked bugs!" She smiled at him.

"I don't like them crawling through my hair! God–you made me think I had lice running rampant across my skull!"

"That would've been awful big lice," she giggled.

"How about you? Are you opposed to having bugs crawling on you?" He reached forward and ran the soft part from her throat, down the front of her shirt as far as he could.

"Doesn't bother me," she smiled.

"Okay," he started to get up and turned onto one knee, now trailing the wheat-like stem up the inside of her leg, making her jerk them in response.

"Don't," she laughed.

"Oh, but it was alright to do it to me? Sara can dish it out but can't take it." He smirked at her, making her chuckle again.

"I can take anything you have to offer, doctor."

"That's good to know." He repeated the procedure on her other leg and received another jerk, this time she backed up on the sofa a few inches. "Maybe I could get some caterpillars and let them crawl up your thighs–like this."

He ran the brushy part over her again and again, each time, she would do a backward crawl up the sofa, away from him. She tried to grab the stem, but each time, he'd pull it away.

"Okay! Stop!" She giggled. "I won't tease you anymore–if you stop sending crawly things up my legs!"

By now, he was nearly on all fours as he followed her up the sofa, but at her statement, he looked at the stem and tossed it onto the coffee table. He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at her and placed a hand on each ankle. "Would I be considered a "crawly thing?"

"That all depends."

"On what."

"On just what you plan to do when you go up my legs," she chuckled.

"And just what do you "suggest" I do, my dear?" He started lifting her ankles and pulling her back down on the sofa, until she was again in a lying position with her head resting on the arm of the furniture. "I can come up with one or two ideas immediately."

"Oh, I bet you can," she said, only half smiling this time as she watched him, anticipating what his next move was going to be.

"Did I tell you, you look lovely in this?" He moved closer to her and slowly opened the three buttons that were holding her nightshirt closed, then he spread it on either side of her as he took in the sight of her from her long legs, up over her peach colored panties, then over her stomach to her bare breasts. "Now, you look even lovelier."

She couldn't think of a response as his hands gripped firmly onto her hips, then just as quickly, his touch turned gentle as his fingertips moved across her belly, then back down to her thighs. She didn't need any further instruction to open her legs to him and her eyes locked with the amazing blueness of his as he barely touched the area of her panties that was now growing moist. He leaned forward and kissed her stomach, then maneuvered his body until he was lying between her legs. He turned his head and his lips met her thigh, the sensation of it caught her breath, but other than that, she remained motionless. She felt his tongue flick out and taste her skin and soon, he was pressing her leg outward to allow the room he was seeking. He didn't pause, but continued on a steady journey up her leg.

She became engrossed with his leisurely trail he was taking up her thighs until he could go no farther and reached her panties. His slow approach was driving her mad as she tilted her hips toward him, bringing a groan that seemed to shoot straight from his opened mouth, through the lace to the center of her. She murmured his name as her hand found the thickness of his hair, urging him on with the slightest of pressure. He seemed fixated on her hot, moist center, then his interest moved higher and even though he applied a good deal of pressure, he wasn't satisfied. The sound of cloth tearing alerted her to his destination and immediately his tongue slid up the length of her, beginning at her core where he spent a dizzying amount of time, then traveling up to the morsel he couldn't seem to get enough of. He was bringing her closer to her edge when he replaced his mouth with his thumb as he inserted two fingers inside of her. He maintained the pressure as he stroked her and he moved farther up her body. He found her breasts and took his time lavishing attention on each of them, then moved up to her lips.

"Hey, sweetness," he said against her mouth.

"Gil," she breathed as she writhed against his hand and lifted her head so she could answer his kisses.

He moved his kiss back down her body, taking her so close to ecstacy that she could hardly bear it. Her fingers were tangled in his hair long before he reached his destination. She cried his name as his lips and tongue took over and within seconds she exploded into a thousand pieces. She could feel him climbing up her body as she continued to shake and tremble; the rough denim of his jeans, the soft cotton of his sweat-shirt. He maneuvered her until he was lying between her and the back of the sofa, then she was turned to face him as he held her in his arms. He rubbed his hands down over her back to her thigh where he lifted her leg over his and he massaged her buttocks. She reached up with her good hand and stroked her fingers over his cheek and her thumb over his lower lip, then she sighed deeply and snuggled against him.

Sara woke the next morning and stretched, feeling muscles crying out in protest. When she looked for Grissom she saw that the bed was empty. A few moments in the bathroom to freshen up and she was on her way to the kitchen where he sat at the table, reading the newspaper and preparing to do the crossword. She sauntered over to stand next to his chair where she put her hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her over his glasses and she felt her heart skip a beat. She didn't know what it was about seeing him in a tee-shirt and jeans with bare feet that made her pulse race. He took off his glasses and laid them on the table along with the newspaper then got to his feet and pulled her against him.

"You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you," Grissom said as he kissed her forehead.

"Oh?" She gave him a knowing look. "You mean I "wasn't" sleeping soundly at five o'clock this morning when you decided to look for your glasses down inside the sheets of the bed?"

"And whose fault was it that they were down there? I went to bed prepared to let you rest while I was reading. Who got up and took off my glasses and tossed them aside so we could make out?"

"They were getting in my way."

"Evidently they got in your way for the next half hour, because I found them down by your feet, under the blankets."

"Are you going to stand there and complain because I didn't let you read? Or are you going to kiss me and tell me that you're glad I'm here to interrupt your cerebral time?"

He took the overt hint and kissed her fitfully. "Are you hungry? Can I get you some breakfast?"

"Just coffee and cereal. And I can get it myself. I have to start doing things for myself, and I think I can pour a cup of coffee and put cereal and milk into a bowl."

She kissed his cheek then turned to begin gathering her food. She glanced over occasionally as he went back to the crossword, and after pouring her coffee, putting cereal and milk into the bowl, then slicing a banana as well, she sat down to join him. She watched as he worked seemingly with ease as he filled in the spaces of the crossword, glancing up at her several times then placing the paper on the table as he reached over and kept contact with her by placing his hand on her bare thigh.

"I've decided its time to take you out and show you just how important it is that I have you here to interrupt my "cerebral time." So, I've made reservations for dinner tonight," he told her as she put a spoonful of Cheerios in her mouth. It took her a moment to chew before she answered.

"Dinner reservations? What kind of a restaurant is this?"

"French."

"French," she repeated. "And. . ."

"Semi-formal."

"Oh, Gil," she said with disapproval. "How am I going to go semi-formal with this?" She lifted her cast slightly. "Especially going with you. It'll be like the crowned prince with his clumsy servant girl at his side."

He laughed at her. "I don't think that's quite right. I think you're just fishing for compliments, my dear. You outshine any flaw you may think you have, such as a big white arm cast. With your beauty, no one will even look at your arms."

"Oh, really? And just what do you think they'll be looking at?" She asked disbelievingly.

"The same thing I'll be looking at. The perfection of your face, the radiance of your smile," he told her than quickly added, "and then we'll move onto your breasts, your legs and your ass."

She started to laugh and almost spit out her milk but covered her mouth with her napkin in time to catch it.

"You did that on purpose. You wanted to see if I could make it come out my nose–didn't you?"

"No," he smiled at her. "But, if I try hard enough–do you think it's a real possibility? Is this something you're practiced before? Shooting milk out of your very feminine nose?"

"No," she lied as she looked at him. "Never happened to me."

"Yes it did. I can see it in your eyes. You've done it before. What will it take to repeat it, I wonder? It would have to be something extreme–like when I touch you here." He reached under the table and grabbed her beneath the knee, making her jerk away from him and giggle.

"Don't!" She told him. "Or I'll take a picture of you when you're out here in the middle of the night, rummaging through the cupboards for a midnight snack, wearing only your tee-shirt and underwear. Then I'll send it around the lab and let everyone use it as their screen saver."

"You'd do that, too–wouldn't you?"

"Hopefully, we'll never know."

He gave her thigh a squeeze then went back to his crossword puzzle until she took her last bite of cereal and banana. When she finished her coffee, he went into the bathroom to shave while she went to her closet and looked at her choice of apparel. If he planned on a formal dinner, then there was some shopping to be done.


	111. Chapter 111

Chapter One-Hundred-Eleven

By noon, Sara was walking down the center of a mall holding onto Grissom's hand. She was in no hurry. They had all day to get ready for their dinner tonight, so as they walked, she stopped to look at various proprietors that ran up the center of the aisle. She saw one with homemade quilts that caught her attention and before they moved on, Grissom was carrying a bag with a queen-sized quilt, with what she was told was done in the Honeycomb design, colored in an array of blues and purples. She was just about to walk away from the stand when she found a much smaller blanket done in pastel blues and greens, just the right size for a crib. Grissom took her hand and squeezed it, then moved on to the next display that caught her eye.

They both stopped to look at the hot tubs, then after noticing the other one's interest, they simply smiled and continued walking on their way. As they approached the chocolate store, it smelled so good that Sara thought perhaps her mouth had begun to water, but after only a longing look at the candies displayed in the window, they moved on. But she did manage to talk him into stopping at the soft-pretzel stand where he purchased pretzel nubs for her, which he shared along the way. The bath and body supply store beckoned to Sara and after declining to enter with her, she watched as Grissom joined the other severed parts of couples, as the men, all of whom were looking uncomfortable and lost, were seated on benches waiting for their ladies to reattach them. She picked up a few different scents of hand soaps and lotions, then returned to Grissom who by now was showing signs of mall overload. Finally, she walked past a clothing store that had a dress she liked but instead of making him tag along into a women's apparel shop, she sent him where she knew he couldn't get into trouble; the book store a few doors down. Sara picked the dress she wanted, but wanted to try it on, which, she realized, was going to be an adventure in itself, considering her cast. But, since it was a slip-over, she thought she might be able to get it on and off without assistance.

She went into the dressing room and removed her blouse and was just pulling the dress over her head when she heard her name in that chilling voice. She pulled the dress down and swung around but there was no one there. She opened the door a crack and looked through it to see a slender girl walking from the back of the store, through the various racks of clothes. Her long, unkempt brownish-blond hair; that posture that said she wasn't quite in tune with what was going on around her. Sara flew back inside the dressing room and the dress was removed in a flash. She yanked her blouse on and was out the door in seconds. She had to know–she had to see for herself. There, looking out through the windows, the girl stood in clothes that didn't quite fit properly. Sara grabbed her arm and the girl turned to look at her questioningly.

"I'm sorry," Sara said quietly when she realized it wasn't Natalie; the main difference showing when the girl looked back and smiled. "I thought you were someone else."

"That's okay. Don't worry about it. I guess it's kinda weird to know I got a double out there, though." The girl conversed easily with Sara, bringing a polite smile to Sara's lips.

"No–you look nothing like her. Not really. I only saw you from the back and thought. . ." Sara dropped her gaze and turned away from the girl. "I'm sorry."

Sara felt the now familiar tingle starting to go up the back of her neck as she stood in line to pay for the dress she haphazardly had thrown over her arm. The panic–the anxiety–they were all rushing in on her. She finally got the chance to pay for the dress and thought it was taking the chirpy young woman an inordinate amount of time to box the damned thing. She was in such a blind rush to find Grissom that she nearly knocked an elderly woman over as she burst out of the dress shop. Sara looked around at the various stores, not remembering where he had gone. She needed him–God, if she didn't find him, she'd be stranded here–no one would be able to find her. She started to lose her sense of direction, not remembering which way she had come from before she had gone into the shop, but when she caught sight of the bath and body store, she knew she had already been there, so she turned in the other direction. There! The book store–she remembered sending him to the book store. She hurried to the shop with stacks of best sellers displayed in the windows. She looked down various aisles for Grissom but couldn't find him. Where was he? She turned and started to retrace her steps in the store, thinking perhaps she had missed him, when she was stopped close to the check-out counter.

"Sara?" Grissom's voice sounded from just outside the doors.

"Gil!"

She rushed to him where she put her arm around his back and pressed her face against his jacket, taking in the aroma of him. She breathed deeply, letting the scent calm her as much as she was capable of being calmed. He put his hand on her back but moved his head to look at her.

"Sara? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong! Can't a person be glad to see you?" She pulled her head back and smiled at him, even though it barely lit her eyes. "I–I just didn't know where you were. I sort of got a bit jumbled, that's all. I must be more tired than I thought."

He took the boxed dress from her then took her hand in his and started walking back in the direction they had originally come from. When they got to a small pizzeria, he guided her inside to a booth.

"How about some lunch?" He asked as he put the box and bags on the other end of the bench seat then slid in with her.

"I–I'm not very hungry. We just ate those pretzel pieces."

"Ah, that wasn't much. It's going to be a long time until dinner this evening, so I thought we'd catch a little something here, then maybe something light later this afternoon." He took her hand as he looked across the table at her. "Anyway. You looked like you needed to sit down and this place looks as good as any."

Over the next hour, Sara's panic slowly eased as she listened to Grissom telling her about one particularly strict sister in the Catholic school he attended. She was appalled when he told her that a ruler across the knuckles was common practice, so you learned quickly not to do anything that might stir her ire. They took their time over a meat lasagna lunch special for Grissom and stuffed shells for Sara, then when they were finished, they ordered another coffee and still didn't leave for another half hour. By the time he helped her out of the booth and they started their journey to the other end of the mall where he had parked his car, she was pretty much feeling back to herself with only tiny twinges of discomfort.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

"Gil!" Sara complained as she put on the simple little black dress she had purchased that day and stood before the mirror, tugging it into place. It actually was a nice dress, and fit her perfectly, but the sight of her standing there in her bare feet with the white cast sticking out like a neon light, struck her as ridiculous. "Do we have to do this?"

Grissom came from the bathroom where he had been using its mirror and looked at her. Sara turned to see him in his blue dress pants, light blue shirt with the collar turned up and the tie only partially done around his neck. Jesus, but he could make her practically drool when he dressed formally–even semi-formally. Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She drooled when he was at work in his coveralls. She was simply lost on this man.

"You really don't want to?" He asked with slight disappointment.

"I look terrible with this sticking out as if I'm waving a flag of surrender," she whined at him.

"You look lovely, my dear." He looked at her from top to bottom. "But, I do hope you'll be wearing shoes."

"Gil, I don't even have my pantyhose on–and I hope you realize I can't do that one-handed. You're going to have to help me."

He knit his brows as he entered the bedroom farther. "I–I've never put them on a woman before. Not a real woman, anyway."

"You put them on a fake woman?"

"Yes. I was working a case and. . ."

"Then it can't be much different," Sara interrupted as she pulled a pair out of her drawer then went to sit on the edge of the bed. She handed him the nylons and watched as he stooped in front of her. He looked at the contraption then held them open at the waistband, waiting for her to put her feet inside. "You have to roll them up first."

"Roll them up?"

"Like this." She scrunched the legs up with one hand, then watched as he did the same. It was sloppy but it was better than trying to stick her feet through a yard of nylon. She lifted her foot and he slid it on, then pulled it up her calf quickly until he stopped at her knee, making her giggle. "No! Stop! Take them back down. You have to put the other foot in too, while they're down there."

"O-kay," he said slowly, then did as she suggested. "Now what?"

"Pull them up, one side at a time, but only as far as it will stretch."

This time, he pulled the right one up to her knee, then repeated it with the left. She got to her feet and he pulled the right one midway up her thigh, then the left one. She lifted her dress and he pulled the right one up to the top of her thigh, then the left, then grabbed the waistband and pulled the whole thing up over her bottom, stopping to look at her through wide eyes with his hands still inside the waistband.

"I'm sorry," erupted from his mouth.

"Why?" She asked, then looked down in time to see the large run spreading down the left side of the hose. "What did you do?"

"I–I pulled too hard and my finger went through it."

"Fine, pull it back off and try another pair."

She sat on the bed again after he tossed the first pair into the wastebasket, then grabbed the second pair from the dresser. He repeated the procedure, looking at her rather proudly when he pulled it up completely without tearing them.

"There–another feat I've mastered!"

"Yes, my love," Sara said as she gave him a peck on the cheek, then went to the closet for her shoes. She didn't want to tell him that they were tugging at her without mercy, having gotten twisted slightly as he pulled them up. Oh well, perhaps they'll work their way into the correct position as the night went on.

An hour and a half later, they were seated at a French restaurant in a small town about fifty miles from Vegas. It was a nice atmosphere as they sat in the candle light and ate their meals. She looked across the table at him in his suit and felt herself blush with the thought that this handsome, incredibly sexy man, was going to be in her bed tonight and she had to fight to eat her meal as she thought of the things she would like to do to him. After dinner, he escorted her out of the building but asked if she would rather if they walked down the main street of this town that could have been straight out of a Normal Rockwell painting.

When they weren't walking with their arms around the other's waist, they were hand-in-hand. The main street stretched no more than ten blocks with the storefronts only spanning about five of them before they came to the town park with a few scattered statues of generals from wars of the distant past, park benches and flower beds adorning the scenery. It was as they were at the distant end of the park that Grissom paused to read an inscription at the bottom of one of the statues as Sara strolled several yards away to look at the flowering cacti in the next garden spot.

"Sara."

Sara looked in the direction of the voice and saw the person standing in the shadows. The girl was holding something in her hand and pointing it at Sara. Sara backed up several steps and felt the terror spreading down her spine. She had to get away! She turned and started to run, but was captured in strong arms.

"Hey!" Grissom's voice broke through to her but she was shaking as he held onto her shoulders. "What's wrong? And don't tell me nothing! I'm not buying it anymore!"

"Over there!" She whispered as she grabbed onto Grissom's jacket. "She's over there!"

Sara tried to pull Grissom away but he stood fast as he looked in the direction she was indicating.

"Who's over there?"

"Natalie–Natalie Davis!" Again, she tried to pull Grissom with her, away from the danger, but he held her in place.

"Sara! Stay still. There's no one there. It's only another statue."

He put his arm around her and had to literally tug her along as he took her to where she had seen the figure in the shadows. He stopped when they were no more than six feet from what she had seen and he tried to turn her to look at it.

"No!"

"Sara–look. It's a statue dedicated to the Army nurses of the Korean War. There's nothing frightening about it."

Sara reluctantly turned and saw the stone woman with her hand held out in a gesture of assistance. She studied the face that looked nothing like her abductor and even the size and shape of the figure differed from Natalie, but she couldn't curb the agitation that tried to overtake her. She turned back to Grissom but instead of looking at him, she buried her face against his shoulder and neck.

"I–I thought it was her. I–thought I heard her."

"How long has this been going on?" He turned with her and started walking back in the direction they had come from. "It's what happened at the mall, isn't it? And last night when you came rushing out of the bedroom. Has there been other times?"

Slowly, she managed to inform him of her experiences over the past few days, starting back with the nightmare she had of Natalie in the hallway outside their apartment. Then she made him aware of the panic attacks that were now popping up at random times, usually when she feared she had seen Natalie, but sometimes even without that trigger. He allowed her to talk on their way back to the car, then once inside and he started driving, she became quiet again until she dozed off. He woke her when they were home and he took her inside where he undressed her and placed sweat pants and a tank top on her, then tucked her into bed. When she woke several times through the night, she found him sitting in a chair he had pulled next to the bed as he held onto her hand, still wearing his suit, but with the tie and jacket gone and the collar opened and sleeves rolled up. She worried what he must think of her, but each time she would wake and try to ask, he would sooth her back to sleep. Toward morning, when she woke, she saw that he had changed into a tee-shirt and sweats and was now lying in bed next to her. She closed her eyes again, hoping that he wasn't convinced that she was crazy, because at this point, she wasn't quite sure, herself.


	112. Chapter 112

Chapter One-Hundred-Twelve

Grissom sat next to the bed, holding onto Sara's hand. He knew she was having difficulty lately. It was showing more in her sleep, occasional words escaping that would wake him in the middle of the night. But he thought that was the extent of it. Usually, during the days, she seemed fine–until their run-in with Heather. It almost seemed that once he got that ridiculous notion removed from Sara's brain, it left room for memories of Natalie Davis and her abduction to move in and take over.

He saw how frightened she had become at the sight of a mere statue, and that wasn't like Sara at all. Her words, when she explained everything were rushed and clipped; exposing her state of panic as he watched and listened to her. She almost seemed to have been depleted of all her energy after talking to him on their way back to the restaurant and his car. Exhaustion took over before he was five miles down the road and he was somewhat thankful that it continued after he got her home and put her to bed.

At first, he only removed enough clothes to make himself somewhat comfortable before going to her side and holding onto her hand just in case she woke and felt alone. He also tried to remain awake in case she needed him for anything other than physical contact. On the few occasions that she did awaken, she would look over at him almost as if she were checking for his presence, then she quickly fell back to sleep. By four in the morning, he knew he would do her no good if he didn't get some sleep also, so he quickly hanged into more comfortable clothes and climbed into the bed next to her.

He pulled her against him, spooning against her back as he put his arm around her waist, perhaps wanting to verify her presence as much as she wanted to check on his. At least with her in his arms, he might be able to get a few hours sleep. Without her there, he'd be too concerned that she was awake and in need of him.

The fact that he was so tired that once he would fall asleep, he would fall into a deep slumber, didn't occur to him. So, when he woke up and found her sitting up against the headboard with her arm wrapped around her legs, he immediately became frustrated with himself.

"Hey," he said sleepily as he moved himself up onto his elbow. "How long have you been up?"

She shrugged her shoulders as she looked down at him with a smile that only tugged at her lips. "Awhile, I guess."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because I saw you were awake all night. You need your rest." She put looked back toward the other side of the bedroom. "You should go back to sleep. Go ahead, I'm fine."

This last remark raised his brows as he moved to sit up beside her. "I got enough sleep."

"No–really. I'm fine. Please, don't make me feel guilty because not only do you have to babysit me because of my physical incapabilities–now you have to watch out for me because of my lack of mental control."

He looked over as he stretched his legs out along the length of the bed, then he took her hand in his. He sighed as he continued to hold it as he placed it on his lap. "I'm not "babysitting" you."

"Then what do you call it?"

"I don't call it anything. I'm just "being" with you. And as far as your mental capabilities–you're one of the sanest people I know."

"But not the sanest."

"Well, no–that would be me," he told her and received an authentic smile as she glanced at him.

"Okay. Let's look at our evidence. We have a woman who was pregnant up until a few weeks ago who is suffering from anxiety and depression. What do you suppose we could pin that on in any other woman?"

"PND. Postnatal depression." She looked at him a little more closely this time.

"Now, we have another woman who was put in a situation where her life was in jeopardy, she was fighting for her life against her attacker, and then had to battle the elements. If that were a soldier who had done the same thing, and started with the same symptoms–what do we have?"

"PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder." She gave him a small smile. "And if you put a pregnant woman in the middle of a battlefield, she could very possibly walk away with PND "and" PTSD, which would magnify the symptoms."

"So, all-in-all, I'd say you're reacting in a way that is completely understandable."

She turned toward him and moved closer, until she was leaning against him. "I was afraid you'd think I was crazy," she whispered.

"Well, honey," he started slowly, then turned to look at her. "I thought that "before" any of this happened."

She gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "What am I supposed to do about it? I can't keep doing this."

"I guess, we'll keep an eye on it, and see how bad it gets. Right now, considering the circumstances, I'd say your symptoms are rather mild. These spells are sporadic at their worst. If you feel you need to see someone about it, I'll support your decision. If you want to wait and see how it goes, I'll support that, too."

"What if I keep hearing her call my name?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know." He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "Right now we'll take it a day at a time. And if you feel you can't take it a day at a time, we'll take it an hour at a time."

Grissom kept a close eye on Sara throughout the rest of the morning without making it obvious. Around two in the afternoon, they decided to try a walk to help them relax. As they approached the playground, he kept hold of her hand, hoping to reassure her if her thoughts turned dim because of the miscarriage, but she seemed to tolerate it well, even stopping to pick up a ball that had bounced in front of her. They continued on their way and when they came to the end of the area, Grissom gave her an encouraging smile and put his arm around her waist. She stopped walking and turned to look at him and he couldn't seem to resist putting his arms around her and pulling her into an embrace. She lay her head on his shoulder as her good arm went around his waist and after a few seconds, they turned back onto the path and continued on with their walk. They were nearly back to the apartment when Sara's relaxed stature turned rigid. Grissom glanced over to see that she was looking at an oncoming vehicle. Grissom turned back to see what had caught her attention when he realized it was the same make, model and color as Natalie's car. Then he looked at the driver and felt his heart skip a beat. Was it Natalie? There was no way it was possible. Natalie was securely locked up. He watched as the car came closer and slowed, then at the last minuted raced off down a side street. As the vehicle turned he got a closer look at the driver and knew it wasn't Natalie–but the resemblance was unmistakable. Sara must have seen the same thing because he heard a deep sigh, as if she had been holding her breath, then she began walking toward his apartment building.

"You're not going to comment on it?" Grissom asked as they entered his apartment and he closed the door.

"I didn't know if I should."

"I saw it too. But it wasn't her."

"I know that. Hell, I know that every time I see someone who resembles her, but it doesn't stop the jolt it sends through me–the fear and confusion."

"Are you feeling that now?"

"Do you mean, am I having an anxiety attack right now? No. It just startled me."

"That's a start, isn't it?"

"But you were right there with me, Gil. All the other times, I was alone, then went to find you."

"So? I don't plan on going anywhere."

"You can't be by my side forever. You're going to go back to work soon."

"I don't have to go back yet, so we'll take it one step at a time. Okay?"

Sara nodded her head as she turned toward the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and got out a yogurt, then moved to sit on the sofa where she turned on the television. There was a medical drama on, but after only a few minutes, she started flipping through the channels. Grissom went to the kitchen and grabbed a package of peanut butter cups he had in the cupboard, then went in to join her on the sofa. She didn't seem to have much luck finding anything to watch and placed the remote control on the coffee table in exasperation. That was when she sniffed the air and turned her head to look at him.

"Where did you get that!" She asked with wide eyes as she moved on the sofa until she sitting on her feet as she leaned her elbow and forearm on his shoulder.

He glanced over at her as he popped a whole cup into his mouth, then smiled at her as he started to savor the flavor. Finally, after a lengthy chew and swallow, he started to take the second cup from the package.

"I had it in the cupboard," he told her.

"You were hiding it?"

"You said you wanted to shed a few pounds. You have your yogurt. You can't shed pounds eating peanut butter cups." His eyes sparkled as he brought the second cup up to his mouth and bit it in half.

"But. . .Gil! That's horrible! You "know" I love peanut butter cups–and there you sit stuffing your face with them!"

He tossed the second half of the candy in his mouth and continued to watch her. "You "love" Snickers. "I" love peanut butter cups."

"I "do" love Snickers. But I really like those, too." She looked at her small container of yogurt and held it out toward him. "Here! I'll give you this for. . ."

"I'm not taking your yogurt," he laughed at her, then removed the third piece from the wrapper. "Here, enjoy."

She hesitated a moment, then put the yogurt down and grabbed the candy bar. He stretched out and put his feet on the coffee table, then as she readjusted herself until she was doing the same thing, he put his arm around her, allowing her to lean into him. They ended up watching a documentary on sea elephants, but by four, she went to the kitchen. He heard her moving things around, but didn't think much about it as he closed his eyes to rest them for a few moments. The next thing he was aware of was a tantalizing smell of something wonderful. He wiped his hand over his face then got up and moved toward the kitchen where the aroma was getting stronger. As he turned the corner and looked at the table, he saw two plates with stuffed green peppers and a baked potato with cheddar cheese over top. She was just putting salad in n a serving dish which she put between the plates, then looked up at him with a shy smile.

"Hungry?" She asked.

He spread his hands wide as he looked at the food. "What's this?"

"Stuffed peppers, backed potato. . ."

"I know "what" it is–I meant–how did you do it?"

"I told you–I've got to start doing things on my own. So, I came out and just threw it together."

"You don't "just throw" stuffed peppers together. You have to clean them, make the stuffing, then stuff them, add the sauce. . .not to mention the salad and potato."

She walked over to him and gave him a peck on the lips, then went to the refrigerator and got their drinks.

"Sit down, Gil. I promise–it shouldn't be bad enough to kill ya."

He did as she told him and waited until she took her seat. "How long was I asleep?"

"A little over two hours." She looked at her pepper as she picked up her fork, then put the utensil own and picked up a knife. After a moment's thought, she looked up at Grissom with irritation. "I didn't think about how I was going to "eat" it."

He reached over and took her plate, then cut her pepper as well as the potato into bite-sized pieces before starting on his own dinner. The taste was exceptional and he wasted no time as he worked his way through the pepper, then as he was about to begin his potato, his telephone rang. He looked up at Sara, then shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating, letting the answering machine get it, but as it clicked on, there was a long moment of silence before it disconnected. They both went back to their meal.

Grissom put the dishes in the dishwasher as Sara went to their bedroom and got on her laptop. He could see she was involved in what she was doing, so he went into his office where he logged into his own desktop computer. Emails were too numerous to count. So many people from work wanted to know how Sara was and if there was anything the could do to help. Some even offered to bring a meal over so they didn't have to cook and could concentrate on getting Sara well again. He must have had at least ten emails from Conrad Ecklie, and he didn't wish to deal with him quite yet, so he skipped over them, but noticed that each subject was getting a bit more irritable. Grissom gave a small shake of his head and thought Ecklie could wait until hell freezes over. It's none of his damned business what's going on between Sara and himself. There were announcements for various charity events coming up, most of which he would probably simply send a check and his regrets for not attending. But there were several that silently demanded that he attend. There were two formal events that he knew he couldn't get out of. The first was a charity dinner at the Bellagio where they would be collecting for needy children in the area; and the second was a ball in honor of the new congressman, whom Grissom was nearly positive was getting a fat cut from over half the casinos in the city. He continued through the rest of his correspondence and was ready to re-join Sara in the bedroom when the telephone began to ring. As he picked it up, he heard Sara offering a greeting, only to be met with silence. Sara repeated herself twice, and still there was no response. Finally, Grissom spoke up with a simple "Sara?" and whoever was on the other end promptly hung up.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom woke up to find the lamp's dim illumination coming from Sara's night stand. But that wasn't what woke him. He woke to the undeniable stimulation he was receiving–but what puzzled him was the direction it was coming from. He immediately looked down at the person kneeling on the floor at his side of the bed and wondered just what she was doing and why she would need to be out of bed to do it.

"Sara?"

"Shh," she smiled up at him as her fingers caressed the inside of his thighs, then moved over his boxer/briefs and stroked the shaft that was by now in a semi-rigidity. "Look what I found, all alone and needing some attention."

He lay his head back, then grabbed one of her pillows and propped it behind himself so that he was raised just enough to watch what she was doing.

"But why are you on the floor?"

"Can't reach it any other way because of my cast. Now, I can use my good hand." She gave him a gentle smile. "Ya know, I really have missed this. I only wish I could use both hands and do a proper job. But if it isn't good enough, I can always stop."

He shook his head negatively, then lifted his hips and pushed his underwear over them where she pulled them the rest off the way off, then tugged on his tee-shirt. He immediately pulled it up over his head and tossed it on the floor. He watched as she moved up and leaned in to begin a kiss that was deep and had him grabbing onto her shoulders and neck so her magnificent oral stimulation would continue. When her fingers drew lazy circles over his stomach and continued to go lower and lower, he had to fight the urge to grab her and yank her onto the bed so he could take charge of the situation and relieve this intense sweet torture. But soon her kiss moved down to his shoulders and neck and her fingers encircled his throbbing heat, stroking it as she moved her lips and tongue over his skin.

"Sara," he said hoarsely. "Honey."

She didn't stop her stroking as her lips moved steadily lower, pausing at his nipple to graze her teeth over it and then lick it and gently suck. His hands were now in her hair. He was usually a patient man, but tonight, his patience was worn thin and he applied gentle force for her to go even lower. The sensation of her lips touching the very tip of him made him moan, and when she opened her mouth and took him within, he thought he was going to die from sheer pleasure. She hadn't don't this to him since before she had left him, and all these weeks had left him in such a high state of anticipation that he soon felt his completion approaching. He gently pulled her up and and she turned disappointed eyes on him.

"Gil? Let me finish."

"But if you keep it up much longer I won't be up to. . ."

"I don't care," she interrupted. "I want to do this. Tonight, it's all about this."

He watched as she lowered her head and continued her magic. She knew exactly where to touch him, how much pressure to apply and when to squeeze or rub with her hand as her mouth sent him nearly mindless. He could easily say that he had never gotten used to this sight before him. It was still as erotic as the very first time he witnessed her do it, so as he watched her tongue running over him, and then her lips encompassing him, he felt the familiar tightening. He couldn't hold it back any longer and he pressed his head against the pillows as he firmly held onto her hair, trying, but failing miserably, to not buck. He felt himself explode and ride out his pleasure and when he finally opened his eyes he saw she had moved and was now lying on her side of the bed again.

"Come here," he said quietly and she moved over to lie with her head on his arm as he held it around her.

He found her mouth with his and after a few deep kisses, she pecked him on the lips and snuggled closer, as he continued to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead. He fell asleep much sooner than she, but still, he held onto her, not wanting to let go.


	113. Chapter 113

A/N: My apologies for taking so long with this chapter. I'm facing computer and internet problems. I'm looking into getting it worked on, but it may take several days, in which case, I'll be down for a short period of time. But, keep looking for me, and I'll be back up as soon as my computer decides its going to work more smoothly for me. Thanks for your patience!

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirteen

Grissom looked over at Sara for what had to be the twentieth time since leaving the apartment about half an hour before. He couldn't seem to help it. It wasn't as if his mind was always in the gutter, but when submitted to the pleasures he had been submitted to the evening before, it tended to stick in his mind. He knew he had to be smiling like a damned idiot, but he couldn't help it. About every other time he would look at her, she would look back, evidently feeling his eyes on her. He was captivated by the smiles she was giving him at first, but then the last few times, she would look over and catch him watching her, she would crack up laughing.

"What are you staring at?" She laughed. "Did I grow another head or something?"

"Actually," he smirked at her. "It's funny you should mention head."

She looked at him as if puzzled, then got his meaning. "You've got to be kidding. You're looking at me because you're remembering me giving you head last night?"

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I can't seem to help it."

"Well, I suggest you try to control yourself before you get out of the car or our leisurely walk along Lake Mead will turn into a side show with the tent in your pants as the main attraction."

"I'll try, my dear."

But the fact was, not only was he thinking about her expertise in bed, he was taking in her beauty, both inside and out, and thinking about how thoroughly in love he was with her. He still had trouble believing he had turned her away for so long. If he had known how luxurious it felt to be loved by her and to return those feelings, he would have rushed into a relationship with her the moment she arrived in Vegas. He pulled into a small parking lot and turned off the car, then after a moment, got out and met her as she was closing her door. They walked about a hundred yards when they came to the edge of the lake, then started to walk along its edge. He held his arm around her waist and they strolled in silence for a few moments before he glanced at her again.

"Gil! What's wrong?" She smiled at him.

"There are two events coming up. It's mandatory that I go–and I'll only survive if I have a gorgeous, hot brunette on my arm."

"And who have you decided to take?" She joked, earning herself a raised brow look before he tugged her a little closer as they walked. "So what are the events? And when are they?"

"The first one is a charity dinner to help the needy kids in the area. And the second is a formal ball to honor Congressman Hughes."

"Ah, Congressman Hughes," Sara commented. "The man could give lessons in how to buy an election."

"Be that as it may, I'm still required to go."

"And what if I decline?"

"Then I'll feign illness and wont go either."

She glanced over at him and gave a small smile. "When is it?"

"The dinner is in about three weeks. The ball two weeks later."

"Hopefully the cast will be off by then. And thanks to Hank, I need a new formal dress."

They walked about another mile before they decided to head back to the car where they had a small lunch packed, then took a blanket under some trees and spread it out. They shared their meal, then Grissom lay down and propped himself on his elbow as he watched some birds flying overhead. Sara turned around and sat facing him with her hips against his groin.. When he looked back at Sara, he saw that she was looking at him with an almost sad expression covering her face. He lifted his left hand to touch her face and she leaned into his palm and closed her eyes.

"What's wrong?" He whispered.

She tried to smile and her lips trembled, then she shrugged her shoulders.

"Sometimes, when I look at you, I still find it hard to believe that you actually want to be with me," she said very quietly. "Sometimes, I'm afraid I'll wake up and find out it was all a dream and I'm still at home all alone, wanting you so badly that it aches, and you're still with Terri Miller, or Sophia, or. . ." She didn't finish as she dropped her gaze away from him. ". . . just sometimes."

He didn't know what to say. How could she think something like that? Jesus! What do you say to something like that? He lay down completely and turned onto his back.

"Lie down with me. I need to talk to you."

"Gil. . ."

"Come here." He took her hand and assisted her down until she was lying in the crook of his arm. "Do you know when I was last on a picnic?" She shook her head no. "I think I was a junior in college and I was trying to impress this girl who was a "good Catholic girl" by doing something as innocent, yet romantic, as taking her to a pond to share a picnic lunch."

"Is that what you're trying to do with me? Impress me?" She smiled at him.

"Is it working?"

"I've always said you were quite impressive," she said. "I just can't decide at "what" yet. So–did you impress her?"

"Uh–no. It turns out the prim and proper young lady was a bit more in a hurry than I was."

"Are you saying she accosted you?"

"We didn't even have a chance to get the food out of the car. She took me to the picnic table and had her nasty way with me. She–um–well, she wasn't as innocent as I believed, and–um. . ."

Sara raised her head to look at him closely. "What did she do to you?"

Grissom leaned closer, as if trying to remain quiet so no one else could hear, although there wasn't anyone within hearing distance. "She introduced me to Pthirus pubis."

"Crabs?" She almost shouted at him with huge eyes. "She gave you crabs?"

Before Grissom even had time to think, he reacted by pulling her head down against his shoulder to muffle her exclamation. "Shhhh! Jesus! You just scared that family away. That woman's shielding her kids' ears, and her husband is packing everything up to leave."

"Gil!" She pulled away, then turned to look where he said the young family was, but saw that he was exaggerating as the mother stared at them with disapproval while her husband seemed to be enjoying what he could hear of the conversation. She nodded her head to acknowledge the couple and said very loudly. "He went to eat at Red Lobster."

This made the husband laugh while the woman rolled her eyes and turned away. She could hear the woman mumbling, "If that's what you get while at Red Lobster, remind me to never go there again."

Sara turned back to Grissom very rapidly and looked at him, this time whispering, "You had crabs!"

Grissom groaned with embarrassment. "Uhhh, yes."

"Oh my God! That's kinda freaky–kinda interesting though, considering your fascination with insects. You must of been thrilled." She started laughing at him. "Did you go home and put your. . .little colony under the microscope?"

"Now, who's the one being kinda freaky?"

"You did!" She laughed even more. "You put them under the microscope. Tell me, was it before or after you removed them from your. . .host?"

"Well, I had to see what it was, didn't I? I mean, it wasn't something I could go to my mother and say, "Mother, my genitals are itching so badly that I think I'm going to scratch myself raw." now, could I?"

"So, you're saying the only women you go on picnics are "easy and have crabs?"

"Wasn't a very good comparison, was it?" He asked with a sheepish expression. "What I was trying to say was that I haven't been on a picnic in thirty years, so there's something special about you that makes me want to risk coming outside and eating on the ground." He shook his head negatively as she stared at him with raised brows. "That's not such a good one either, huh? Okay, lets try this. When I'm with you, I can be whatever I want to be. And today, I want to be with you–on the ground–sharing a part of the real world that I never had the inclination to share with them. The thing is, I want to do "everything" with you. I want to take you to the ball and watch you knock every other woman there, out of the race for the most elegant and beautiful. I want to take you home and share peanut butter cups with you. I want to take you to the amusement park and share popcorn. And I want to lie here with you, letting nature ease us into a peace of mind that's impossible with anyone else."

She turned toward him and raised her hand to stroke his cheek. "Ahh, honey, you're saying you want to roll around on the ground with me like a little pig."

"Sara," he whispered as he rolled onto his side again and started to kiss her neck. "Shut up."

Her response was a few short snorts making him pull back and look down at that smile that could melt his heart before she started to chuckle, then put her hand around his neck and pulled him back to kiss his lips.

"Baby, I love you, too," she told him, but after a few short pecks,, their kisses started to last longer until his tongue slid inside her mouth and she moaned as she moved her body tightly against his.

"I certainly hope so," he said between long kisses. "Because I've never talked this much to a woman before, trying to persuade her to trust in my complete affection for her."

"Admit it, Gil," she breathed as his kiss moved to her neck again. "You talked that much trying to persuade this woman to have sex with you."

He chuckled against her neck. "Well, that too."

Of its own accord, his hand slid up her tee-shirt and cupped her breast, squeezed it and brought a moan from her as his thumb rubbed over her nipple. He could have gone on kissing her neck and simply hugging her to him, but the strange sound of suction pulled his head back as he looked at Sara. Her eyes widened somewhat, then they both looked in the direction that the noise had come from. On the corner of their blanket sat a little girl of about five years as she was drinking juice through a straw and watching them with interest. She quite clearly came to the end of her drink as she shook the container then lowered it, turning her attention back to Grissom and Sara.

"My mommy says we're not supposed to touch other people there," she told Grissom. "She said they're our "private" places. But I see my daddy touch Mommy when he comes home from work. She yells at him and says, "Bob! Not in front of the children!"

The little girl giggled, as if very proud of her ability to mimic her mother.

"What the. . ." Grissom started; the vision of a little stranger sitting at his and Sara's feet incomprehensible to him.

"Shh," Sara said as she quickly sat up and smiled at the little girl. "Your mommy's right. Mr. Grissom's being bad. I'm going to tell his mother as soon as I go home."

"Does he have a "mother?" The little girl's eyes went huge as she looked at Grissom as if he were some kind of specimen under glass.

"No, I was hatched," Grissom said grumpily as he pushed himself up so he was leaning back on his elbows.

"What's that mean?"

"It means Mr. Grissom's a curmudgeon," Sara said as she pulled her legs up and sat indian-style, then seemed to realize the little girl probably didn't understand the word. "I mean, he's a grump." When the girl looked at her, still a bit baffled, she tried again. "A grinch?"

This made the little girl laugh as she looked back at Grissom. "Don't you like Christmas?" and when he was stumped on how to answer, she looked quickly back to Sara. "Doesn't he like Christmas either?"

"I think he likes it now. His heart has grown three sizes this year."

"Ohhh," the little girl said as she eyed him with wonder.

"What's your name, honey?" Sara asked.

"Stephanie. What's yours?"

"I'm Sara–and this is Gil."

"Like a fish."

"Um," Sara glanced at Grissom with a tiny smile. "Yes–exactly. You're very smart, knowing about fish gills."

"I know they've got fins and tails and lips that go like this." Stephanie puckered her lips and moved them in a very fish-like manner.

"Where's your mother, Stephanie?" Grissom asked as Sara chuckled at the little girl's antics.

"She went to the bathroom. My little brother had to pee, so she took him and told me to "stay right there!" But I got bored."

"And we looked interesting?" Grissom scoffed.

"No. A lady said I should talk to you."

"What lady?" Sara asked as both she and Grissom looked in all areas they could see around them.

"I don't know. She talked weird. And she wasn't as pretty as you–or as nice. She talked–like–this." Stephanie made her lips very stiff as she enunciated the last three words, then she laughed.

"What color hair did she have, sweetie?" Sara asked with a cautious interest.

"I don't know."

"Is that all she told you?"

"Mmmm, she said. . .," she thought about it. "Uh-huh. That was all she said. She said–do you like to play with little dolls? And I said no, because my brother might choke on them–that's what my mommy says." Stephanie brightened as she looked up at Sara. "I like to play with my brother. And I like to read. Do you like to read?"

Sara answered the girl. "Yes, I like to read."

"Do "you" like to read?" She asked Grissom, but he continued watching her, still not knowing what to make of her, then she turned back to Sara again. "Is he your husband?"

"Um." Sara glanced at Grissom and he shrugged his shoulders. "Yes–yes, he is."

"He looks like my pap," she whispered as she leaned forward toward Sara.

"Oh? Does he?"

"Mmm-hmm. He just looks like Pap. And Gram looks like Gram. She doesn't look like you. Her hair is gray. She's pretty too, though. But Pap isn't a grinch." Stephanie turned around and lay on her stomach as she propped herself up on her elbows and continued to talk to them. "Pap likes me. He says I'm his little helper. I helped him paint his fence yesterday. See? I got some paint on my arm."

"I see," Sara told her.

"Do you paint fences?" She asked Grissom.

"Not recently."

"You can come help me and Pap tomorrow!" She sat up as if it was the most wonderful idea she had ever come up with. "We're gonna paint "my" fence tomorrow! Then you can bring Sara and we can paint and my Pap can grill hotdogs and we can have chips and chocolate milk! Do you like hot dogs?"

"Uh," Grissom wasn't used to speaking to "little people" like this and didn't know the appropriate response. He ate hot dogs once in a while–but he certainly didn't want to encourage the girl. "She doesn't like them. She's a vegetarian."

"What's that?" Stephanie asked as she turned back to Sara.

"It's a big word that means I don't eat meat. I only eat vegetables."

"Really?" The girl asked with disbelief. "I don't like vegetables. But my mommy makes me eat them."

"Stephanie Marie!" A very agitated woman rushed up to them with a little boy of about four in her arms. "Didn't I tell you not to move?"

"Uh-huh," she said as she looked up at the woman then looked back at Sara and Grissom. "But I started talking to Sara and Gil."

"Hello," Stephanie's mother gave them an embarrassed smile. "Please excuse Stephanie. She can be rather inquisitive and. . ."

"Talkative," Grissom finished for her, bringing an even wider smile from her.

"I'm afraid so. I thought it would be safe to leave her for two minutes–but I guess she showed me how wrong that idea was. It's a nasty habit that I have to work on–she isn't afraid to talk to anyone and I'm afraid some day she's going to approach the wrong person, and well. . ."

"She's very intelligent," Sara told her. "And talking a lot isn't such a bad thing. Some day she's going to use all that courage and bright ideas and be someone very special."

"I suppose you're right. But for now–she's a constant worry. Well, little girl, are you ready to go home? I think you've bothered these people quite enough for one day."

"I didn't bother them! A lady told me talk to them."

"Mmm-hmm," Stephanie's mother said, disbelievingly. "And what lady would that happen to be? Samantha or Jeannie?"

"No," Stephanie gigggled. "She was a monster-lady. She talked–like–this."

"Ah, yes. You're talking about Lily or Morticia. That's it, no more TV Land for you."

"But, Mommy! I like the Addams Family and the Munsters, and Bewitched and Jeannie!"

"I know you do," she said to the child, then turned and smiled with embarrassment as she looked at Sara. "She's been talking to Samantha from Bewitched and Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie for the past few weeks. I see she's picked up Moritcia and Lily now. I guess I've been letting her watch those old shows a little too much lately."

This made Sara chuckle and Grissom remembered the shows that had been on television during the years of his youth, and had to admit, Stephanie had done a very good imitation of Morticia Addams and Lily Munster.

"That's fine. I could think of worse role models than those four beautiful ladies," Sara told her. "She hasn't harmed anything. Really, she's been keeping us entertained."

"Thank you," Stephanie's mother smiled her appreciation, then looked down at her daughter. "Well, young lady, are you ready to go? If we leave now, we should get home just before Daddy."

"Okay," Stephanie got off the blanket and started walking next to her mother. "They're gonna come help Pap and me paint our fence tomorrow."

"Are they?" Her mother asked, clearly humoring her.

"Uh-huh, but we can't give Sara hot dogs 'cause she's a vegetable."

"A vegetable?"

"She only eats vegetables. Isn't that silly?"

"Oh, a vegetarian. I see."

"And Gil likes Christmas because his heart grew three sizes this year. I think he looks like Pap. Do you think he looks like Pap?"

"Hmmm, not really."

"He does so! He looks just like Pap."

"Okay, if you say so."

"Can we stop at McDonalds on the way home?"

"You just ate lunch."

"But I want a Happy Meal."

"We'll see. Maybe for dinner."

Grissom looked over at Sara who was still watching them as they walked down the area until they got to their own picnic basket, which they collected and took with them when they started toward the parking lot.

"I hope you're ready to paint a fence tomorrow." Grissom told her.

"It might help if we knew her address. Anyway, she wanted "you" to help. She just wanted to convert me back to eating hot dogs."


	114. Chapter 114

I know it took forever, but not only did it take quite a while to get my laptop back, but since starting back to school, I haven't had much spare time. I will try to keep working, but it may take several days to get a chapter up. I hope you all haven't forgotten about the story. Enjoy.

Chapter One-Hundred-Fourteen

"Sara?"

Sara stood at their bedroom window, looking out at the approaching nightfall. It had been a nice day, pleasant and restful. The episode at the lakeside was a little unnerving; the thought of "some woman" sending that little girl over to her and Grissom made her initially look for this "phantom female." But, upon the explanation of an imaginary friend in Samantha or Jeanie, and now Lily and Morticia, Sara decided she would be much better off to disregard any notion that she or Grissom was being stalked. Instead, she focused on the charm the little imp exuded as she happily chatted away with them.

She heard him coming into the bedroom but she continued to watch the first spatters of rain as it darkened the skies even more. She became mesmerized by the drops that began hitting the window and sliding down glass, casting slithering shadows from the streetlight. She glanced back at him as he came up behind her, and when he put his arms around her and kissed her neck she leaned back against him. He simply pulled her back more tightly and let his left hand slide up, over the satin of her short nightgown until it met the black lace that covered her breasts. She leaned against him more fully as he squeezed and massaged her tender skin and soon she felt his desire begin to grow as he pressed himself against her rounded buttocks. She brought her hand up to take pleasure in the texture of his curly hair, still damp from his shower, and sighed with contentment as his lips worked their magic on the area where her neck joined her shoulder. He moved his right hand down over her tummy, then on to where he inched her nightie up until he reached beneath it and slid his fingers under the lacy elastic band of her panties.

"Mmm, this is nice," he whispered against her neck. She turned and slid her hand up, over his bare chest until she rested it on his shoulder, forcing him to move his hands to her behind as he pulled her hips against his. "Well, I guess this is "nice" too."

She looked up into his eyes; eyes so blue she could drown in their depths, and her hand automatically moved to stroke his face.

"You are such a beautiful man, Gil. I don't think I tell you that enough."

He gave a slight roll of his eyes and a little smile then seemed to disregard her words as he walked her backwards until she was pressed against the window sill. His hands were on her firm backside, sliding over the silkiness of the cloth covering it as his mouth moved to hers. She drew her head back and smiled at him, making him moan with disapproval.

"If you're going to stop every time I start–we're not going to get very far."

"We're standing in front of a window," she told him.

"So? No one's out there. It's raining." He moved his touch to her thighs and lifted her until she was sitting awkwardly on the sill. "And if you don't kiss me right now, I won't be responsible for my actions."

She chuckled as she brushed her lips against his. "What actions would that be? Considering you've got me up against the window, do your plans include shoving me out?"

He laughed at her as his lips played with hers. "Now, what kind of satisfaction would I get from that? I need you right here, with me."

"Right here?" She asked playfully as she spread her legs around his hips.

"No," he mumbled as he turned her the slightest bit and stepped in where he pressed himself against her. "More like right here."

"Mmm," she sighed as his lips moved over her cheek and down to her neck. "That "is" better."

She placed her hands on his hips, pulling him against her even more tightly before plucking at his button and zipper of his jeans. He began a slow gyration of his hips, then hastily pulled back long enough to yank the pants down, out of his way. He watched her as he slowly lifted her nightgown higher, then slid his fingers down the waistband of her panties. His expression made her pulse race and he dipped his head to cover her mouth with his own as he began stroking her. The jolt of pure desire speared through her and made her moan into his mouth as her hand clutched at his neck.

"Tell me that you want me," he whispered against her lips.

"Always," she whispered back and he pressed his whole hand beneath the elastic band and inserted his finger inside of her.

He looked at her with a slight smile in his eyes as he seemed to be studying her. He inserted another finger and started stroking within her, then he grabbed onto her nightgown with his other hand and started to lift it over her head.

"Get rid of this," he told her as he helped get it completely off of her then tossed it behind himself.

Grissom bent slightly and took a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard that the pain/pleasure was sending jolts of fire through her. She quickly removed her sling and managed to grasp onto his hair with both hands, stroking its curliness as he massaged her other breast with his free hand.

"Mmm, Gil. . .," she coaxed, bringing his head back up as he smiled crookedly at her.

"What, Sara? What do you want."

"I want you," she reached down and pulled his hand from her panties. "Now."

"Anything you say, my dear."

With a quick grasp and a pull, her panties were pulled from her as he tore the elastic lace.

"Gil!" Sara complained, but when he gave her one of his little-boy smiles, she growled in defeat and yanked him by his shirt until he was standing between her legs again.

If there was a sight that she could mark down as being the most erotic in her life, it was Grissom as he would grasp onto his hardness and guide himself to her opening. The anticipation tingled through her as he grabbed her hips and slowly slid his thick length inside of her. The second most erotic, would be when he looked at her, as he was now, with half-lidded eyes and he moaned through grit teeth in an attempt to control his desire. He lifted her legs around himself as she leaned back against the window sill, feeling the chill of the glass against her shoulder. His strokes were exquisite torture as he took his time, watching her the whole time, then turning his face toward her hand that she reached to his cheek. The pad of her thumb moved to his lips; lips so perfectly formed that she couldn't resist touching to the point of nearly brailling them. When his tongue darted out and touched her, she groaned her desire for him. With a quick shake of his head, he removed her finger and leaned down to brush his lips over hers.

"Do you know, there is absolutely nothing in my life that is as perfect as when I'm making love to you," he said quietly as his lips played with hers.

"You really know how to butter a girl up," she breathed.

"I don't need to do any such thing–I'm already where I want to be."

"Ahh, Gil, faster. . .," she told him as she leaned more fulling against the wall, her climax approaching as she clenched her muscles around him.

Grissom grabbed onto both sides of Sara's face and kissed her deeply as his hips began moving to a much faster tempo. She could feel his need as his thrusts became harder, and soon she felt her climax washing over her as she threw her head back and called his name, loudly. She felt him releasing himself within her and after several more thrusts, he leaned toward her, holding himself off of her as he leaned his hands against the window sill and the wall. Sara gave one last shiver before opening her eyes and looking at the man who watched her with a smile.

"I needed that," he said simply.

"I'm glad I could be of service," she said with faux indignation.

"I'm glad you could be too," he chuckled as he pulled himself from her and readjusted his pants, then took her hand and assisted her from the window sill.

"I think you put a permanent crease in my butt," she complained as she reached behind herself and rubbed the abused area.

"Ahh," he said as he pulled her into his arms again and kissed her forehead, then put his hand down to replace hers as he rubbed over the roundness. "I'll rub it for you. I'll take the crease out of it. Why don't you lie down and I'll make it all better."

"No," she laughed at him. "You'll get horny again."

Again, his brow raised as he looked at her. "And your point is. . .?"

She smiled widely, then turned in his arms and started toward the bed where she climbed up and sat on her haunches. She watched him move to the side of the bed where he toed off his shoes, then lay down with his fingers interlaced behind his head.

"You're looking extremely confident," she teased.

"Why shouldn't I be? I made you scream, didn't I?"

She moved until she was lying next to him and he put his arm around her. "I wouldn't exactly call that a scream–more like a loud moan."

"Whatever you want to call it–I made you do it."

"Yes, you did," she said as if reassuring a child as her fingers slid over his chest..

She lay next to him and after a few minutes, she could tell he had fallen asleep. She was quite content lying with him like this, and nearly fell asleep herself, until she felt the jolt of anxiety rush through her. Her eyes popped open and she took in a deep breath, hoping that it would just go away, but after a moment of feeling it intensify, she moved until she was standing next to the bed. She paced back and forth until she stopped in front of the window again, noticing that the rain had stopped. She looked down at the streetlight and saw a dark figure move back into the shadows and within seconds, a car started and pulled out of the parking area. Her first instinct was that it was Natalie again, but as she gave a quick look back to Grissom for reassurance, and saw him deep in sleep, she talked herself out of that. Natalie was in a hospital, locked away, never to see Sara again. Sara moved to the window and placed her hand against it, wondering if she would ever feel completely safe again.

"Come to bed, Sara," Grissom's sleep-tainted voice soothed her and she turned to look back at him again. She couldn't stop the soft smile that crossed her features and she moved back to the bed, taking her place at his side once again as he enveloped her in his reach.

As she lay her head on his chest, his even breathing soothed the anxiousness from her and she fell asleep, feeling, if not completely safe, then protected.

Many hours later, Sara woke to the sound of abnormally heavy breathing. She squinted her eyes against the sunlight streaming in through Grissom's bedroom window and heard a slight whimper. After a few seconds, her sight adjusted and she saw a large brown and white face only inches from hers as it watched her closely.

"Hank," she smiled and in that instant of approval, the boxer jumped up and gave her a wet, slobbbery kiss.

"No kisses!" Grissom commanded, but the dog continued to show his appreciation of finding his long lost mistress finally at home and quicky slammed his big body down against hers then rolled onto his back, wiggling back and forth in his excitement.

The instant he became aware of the white bandages on Sara's arm he jumped back to his feet and started a thorough investigation of the new arm she had obtained. He turned fearful eyes on Sara, his own thought being, "Oh, my God! Where's your top leg! Why did you change your soft skin for this cloth that smells like medicine?" But upon seeing the ease at which she looked back at him, he decided that if she was okay with having a new and different top leg, then he would be too, and wouldn't draw any more attention to it that could possibly embarrass his mistress. He started to lie down against her again, but yelped with surprise when his master tugged on his collar and pointed toward the floor.

Hank looked at him in distress. He had finally found his mistress. Why would he want to leave her side already? But, the master was boss, so Hank slowly moved until he stepped off the bed and onto the floor. When he turned sad eyes back toward the mistress he saw her smile at him and he knew he couldn't stay away from her any longer. He was back on the bed in an instant and lying against her side. This time when the master said his name sternly, Hand decided that the master must be mistaken and simply didn't know what he was talking about. So, he ignored him.

"I missed you, too, Hank," the mistress chuckled and allowed him to lie his head against her tummy as she stroked his ears.

"Ahhh," Hank sighed as he closed his eyes. He missed her. Her missed this. He knew things were going to be fine now. Everything was as it should be, even if he did notice the puppy was gone. So, he gave her tummy a quick kiss, then proceeded to fall into a very comfortable sleep.


	115. Chapter 115

Hello to all who have been waiting for this chapter (actually, I inserted chapter 114 a few days ago, but it didn't alert anyone–I'm hoping the alert goes out for 115). Please go back to 114 and read the chapter there. I'm going to keep working on this story, but the chapters will come slower as I've started back to school. But, I see some exciting things on the horizon–so keep watching and keep reading–there's a confrontation coming up soon!

Chapter One Hundred-Fifteen

Grissom didn't realize how much it was going to bother him when he went back to work, nor did he realize how hard it was going to be once Sara went onto day shift. They seemed to be passing one another in the hallway as one would be returning home and the other would be heading off to work. Their days off over the next few weeks were even interrupted as one or the other would be called into work. He hardly had time to notice when the bandage was removed from her arm. He seriously thought that if he hadn't woke up that night with her injured arm around his waist as she slept next to him, he probably would have gone to work and never noticed a thing. He couldn't say that he was very fond about this arrangement, but for now, it seemed to be the best thing to do.

He wasn't exactly sure when the thought first occurred to him. Perhaps it was as she lay sleeping in bed the night before, as he got up and prepared to go in to the lab. He studied her relaxed features, suddenly knowing that he never wanted to be without that sight next to him. He knew she was very tired, so he declined waking her, but still, he couldn't seem to stop himself as he reached out and touched her face. And of course, once he touched, he couldn't stop himself from leaning over her and nibbling on her lips until she moaned and turned more fully against him.

"Do you have to leave now?" She asked sleepily, without even opening her eyes.

"Yeah, it's almost time."

She groaned in disapproval as she cuddled against him. "I don't want you to go, yet."

He held her in his arms until she fell back to sleep, not wanting to leave, either, but knowing it was the condition of their agreement with the lab. He often wondered if he hadn't opened his mouth all those weeks ago, would they still be working together; still hiding their relationship. But, he knew that even if he had never uttered a word to his crew, they couldn't have missed his despair over her disappearance. Anyway, he kinda liked being able to take her to dinner without worrying about who saw them together. It was nice going to the movies and walking down the street in open view of anyone who cared to look.

So, he left for work and spent the night wondering what she was doing; if she was dealing with their separation any better than he was. The next day when he saw her walking through the lab with her new co-worker, Ronnie, he had to stop in his tracks as he looked at the loveliness before him. He knew it was the polite thing to do, to address the younger girl, but Ronnie could barely hold his attention for more than an instant with her constant chatter. His eyes were automatically drawn back to the woman in the white tank top and black hand brace. She stood before him like a goddess and didn't seem to be aware of it. When she looked back at him, he could see the weariness of the day fade a little and her smile begin to shine only for him.

He knew the thought was weighing heavily on his mind by then, but he didn't know when he could broach the subject. He knew what he wanted to say; knew how very much he wanted to make his wishes known–but exactly how and when he was to do it was a puzzle to him. It was many hours later that he finally worked up the nerve and blurted the words out; certainly not the way he had planned; but out they came.

And what happened? She gets stung by a bee! He never hated insects as much as he hated them at that moment as he scraped the stinger from her palm. Oh, not for actually stinging her–that was nature. But the fact that it interrupted him during the most important question he had ever asked in his life! Finally, he worked up the nerve again to ask her what he needed to. And when she answered and he looked up into that smile that stunned him, he forgot everything else; where he was; why he was there; and especially what he was wearing. Sara was going to marry him! So, what does he do to further prove just how inept he was at this "proposal" thing? Crashes his netted face headgear into hers as he tried to kiss her.

They both went back to working on her sting; both seeming to be calmly content with the fact that they were going to be married. Then she started laughing. He glanced up at her as he finished removing the stinger from her hand and was blinded by the brightness of her smile. She had a way of doing that to him. He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his features as he looked at her. She looked authentically happy; appier than he had seen her in months.

"You're laughing at me," he said quietly, although his amusement showed in his tone.

"It wasn't only you," she giggled. "I tried to kiss "you" too."

"How's your hand?" Grissom asked as he restored the bee hive then turned toward her.

She still smiled at him as she watched him. "I'll live through it."

"I'm glad."

He took her hand in his and walked with her until they were out of the area, then he pulled off his headgear and pulled her palm up to his lips and kissed it. She watched him with her eyes glowing and he reached for her hat and removed it. This time when he leaned into her, their lips met in a tender kiss. He pulled away and started removing his coveralls as she removed hers and hung them in their appropriate spot, then he put his arm around her waist and walked with her toward the door.

"No," she told him as she stopped before he opened the door. "Not yet."

He looked at her and understood that she wanted to prolong the moment. He turned her into his arms and held her as she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing him to kiss her forehead as he stroked her back.

"So, what would my bride like to have for her wedding?" He breathed against her hair. "White gown and tux?"

She quickly lifted her head and looked at him. "Is that what "you" want?"

"I–don't know. I guess I haven't actually thought about that part of it. I've only been thinking of being married to you for the rest of my life."

"Me too." She rested her head against him again. "That's all I want to think about right now. I'm having a little trouble wrapping my mind around that much. I'll think about the details later. Right now, I only want to be with you."

It was early evening when Grissom finally got home. Hank joined him immediately as he closed the front door, then after a few quick pats, returned to where he had been lying in the living room. Grissom looked around, noticing the light coming from the direction of his bedroom, but also noting that it was a dimmer lumination than the ceiling light or even a lamp. He removed his jacket and placed it on the back of the sofa as he walked past it, then moved through the small hallway that led to the lighted area.

He stopped in the doorway as he saw Sara pouring champagne into two glasses. The sight of her standing in candlelight with her hair gently pulled up and loose tendrils framing her face took his breath away. Her pink satin shortie-pajamas showed off her long legs and the rest of her figure to perfection. She looked up at him almost shyly.

"I hardly feel like I'm dressed appropriately," he told her.

She gave another smile as she took two steps toward him, then started opening his shirt. He remained still as she continued to undress him until he was only wearing his tee-shirt and boxer/briefs.

"The rest is up to you." She took a few steps back and leaned against the dresser as she openly admired him.

He looked from her to the two glasses of champagne, then back to her again. It only took a moment's thought before he pulled the tee-shirt up and over his head, then dropped it with the rest of his clothes. He picked up the glasses and handed one to her then took one for himself and walked with her toward the bed. She climbed to the middle where she watched as he moved until he was sitting next to her and she sipped at her drink.

"What?" He teased. "No toast?"

"I don't believe in toasts. We'll make our own luck and good fortune."

His eyes crinkled as he watched her drink more of the champagne, then he drank his in three quick gulps. The expression that covered her face when he slid his body down into a lying position made him chuckle.

"What?"

"You drank that too fast!" She complained lightly and he shrugged his shoulders as he continued to watch her

She took another sip of her drink then sat it on the night stand and moved to lie next to him. He studied her face, seeing the smile in her eyes as he pulled her closer until her leg was raised up over his hip and he pressed his thigh between hers. He palmed the silkiness of the shorts that covered her bottom as he leaned closer and tasted the champagne still lingering on her lips. His tongue slid between them, but he didn't speed his approach, simply tasted her repeatedly as she sighed and leaned even more closely to him.

She had a way of moving her hands over his body that would either relax him completely, or excite him beyond compare. Tonight it was a combination of both.

"Have you given our wedding any thought?" He said as he lay his head on the pillow again and watched her.

"I–don't know what I want. Would you be offended if I only wanted it to be you and me–and a judge?"

He thought about it a moment. The fact was, he didn't care where they were married, as long as the deed was done.

"I'd only be offended if you "wouldn't" marry me." He kissed her again. "That–or getting married by Elvis on the strip."

This made her giggle against him. "Ahh, I was counting on Elvis–or the space alien. I hear we can get the Rat Pack to show up if we give them enough notice."

"Just you–and me. I think we'll avoid the strip, altogether."

"Gil?" She asked as he moved his kiss to the side of her neck.

"Hmm?" The sensual feel of her satin-covered bottom wasn't enough anymore and he slid his hand under the cloth to caress smooth skin, occasionally touching her in areas that would make her moan or catch her breath with desire.

"I–uh–um. . ." She started, and he knew she was having trouble forming a thought so he gently pushed her onto her back and looked down at her again, this time sliding his hand up beneath her camisole top until he palmed her breast.

"You are beautiful, my dear," he told her, then lifted the top over her head and pulled it from beneath her.

After a second's worth of taking in the sight of her, he lowered her shorts and removed them as well. He gave her a tiny, teasing smile, then reached behind himself until he grabbed her glass of champagne and lifted it over her chest, threatening to spill it over her bare skin.

"No," she warned.

"No–what?"

"Just–no."

He smiled again and tilted the glass more, sloshing some onto her chest. "Oops."

"Now, clean it off."

"I'm planning on it."

He moved the drink lower, spilling some onto her stomach until it pooled in her navel. He glanced back up at her face when he saw how she shuddered and her hands grasped onto the sheets beneath her. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue against her belly, cleaning the liquid from its resting spot. Then moved his kiss upward to clean the trail from her breasts. He spent the next minutes dipping his finger into the champagne, then circling her nipples with it, to which he would then proceed to lavish his attention on them as he removed the liquor with his tongue and lips.

"Gil," she breathed as her fingers moved through his hair. "Don't stop."

But he did stop, and lifted his head as he watched the glass he held in his hand, then lifted it over her stomach, but instead of pouring its contents onto it, he moved lower. A quick glance at her face showed him how she was watching him intently–waiting with anticipation for him to proceed, until he slowly, opened her thighs and poured the fluid down over her. She moaned his name again and he moved until he was lying between her legs with his forearms beneath her, lifting her hips for his satisfaction. So involved, that he wasn't sure if she actually yelped when his lips and tongue met her sensitive skin, he proceeded to taste her and make love to her until she was thrashing beneath him. The sound of her voice, moaning her desire for him, was as intoxicating as the liquor he was removing from her body. He felt her clenching around him, her fingers grasping onto his hair and tugging at it and when she stopped trembling, he moved his kiss up her body. He gently kissed her tummy, then moved up her chest and on to nip at her neck as she spread her legs around him and he guided himself into her.

He never ceased to be amazed at how truly euphoric it felt to sheath himself inside of this woman. She fit him like she was made especially for him; an extension of himself, almost, that he would connect with.

"I want to be like this forever, Sara."

She lifted her head to capture his lips with her own until he took over and pressed her into the pillow. Their physical expression of love consumed them and when he felt her climax around him for a second time, he, too, erupted in ecstacy.

She gently rubbed the back of his neck as he lay on top of her until his heartbeat slowed to normalcy. Then he lifted his head and looked down at her, wearing his little-boy smile that suggested he was enjoying himself immensely. She felt so right beneath him and as he looked into her eyes, the adoration he saw there made him feel god-like. She had to know that he felt the same way when he looked at her; his goddess.

"What are you laughing about?" She chuckled as she held him to her.

"I'm not laughing about anything. Well, maybe the way you accepted my awkward proposal."

"You found that funny?"

"No–not at all. I found it enchanting. You really meant it. We are definitely going to "do it."

"If you mean, get married–yeah–we are."

Again, she flashed him such a brilliant smile that he felt lightheaded. He rolled with her until he pulled her on top of him, then he held her to him tightly. He didn't think he could ever let go.


	116. Chapter 116

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixteen

Sara looked in the full-length mirror as she listened to Grissom tinkering about in the apartment. She had kept him waiting a half hour so far and up until now he seemed to be taking it fairly well. She knew he was now past the point of finding something to do in his den, and had moved on to pacing the living room. Now she heard him opening the cupboard and knew what he was up to.

"Get out of the peanut butter, Gil. You'll spoil your dinner."

"Dammit," his voice murmured and she could hear an impatient shutting of the cupboard door again as he quite clearly did as she ordered and put the jar back in its resting place.

She looked back at her reflection, taking in the blue knee-length dress and wondering for the millionth time if she was up to this. A dinner at the Bellagio; a charity for needy children in the area. She had never been invited to an event such as this and the thought of the extremely formal dinner the following week for Congressman Hughes was nearly sending her into a panic. But, she did promise Grissom that she would go.

She wondered if she had on enough make-up. She didn't like wearing a lot of cosmetics; she didn't usually need to, but tonight she wanted to cover the still visible scars that marked her otherwise flawless skin. Her fingers moved up to trace over the lines where the stitches had been and they seemed to stick out like a neon sign along the strip. So engrossed in the marks was she that she didn't notice Grissom approaching until he stepped behind her and watched her over her shoulder. She looked back at his reflection and saw his raised brow as he reached around and pulled her hands down from her face.

"They're not there, Sara. They've faded so much you can barely see them. The way you have them covered tonight, they're completely invisible and you're completely enchanting." He put his hands on her waist and turned her to face him. "Now, can we go, or there will be no stopping me and I'll go out with strawberry preserves smeared over the peanut butter. I won't even go for the bread–I'll lick it straight from the spoon."

She looked into his blue eyes that was shown off to perfection by the blueness of his shirt and darker tie. His suit fit amazingly well and she felt herself quiver when she remembered him getting dressed the hour before. Tie still undone, collar up, and fixing his cuffs; the memory sent another shiver through her.

"Well, at least you won't be spreading it on your fingers."

"Not yet. But, if you stay in here another minute, I wont be responsible for my actions."

She smiled gently at him and they started out of the bedroom and on to his car. He opened the door for her and held her hand as she lowered herself into the seat, then moved around and got behind the steering wheel. She spent the first part of the ride leaning back in her seat as she watched him drive. He looked over at her twice before reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

"You okay?" He asked and received a tiny shrug in response. "We'll just eat, then make our excuses and leave if you want to. Any time you start to feel stressed, just let me know and we'll head back to the car."

"I'll be okay. But if "you" don't want to stay. . ."

"We'll see how it goes."

The remainder of the ride was a comfortable silence but when they were driving through the busy streets and the lights began reflecting off of their windows, she could feel her stomach begin to stir. Grissom stopped the car and handed his keys to the valet then came around and joined Sara as he took her arm in his and they proceeded to the appropriate dining area. She saw a few familiar faces, some more familiar than others, but for the most part, they were all people who knew Grissom, not her. They were about to go to their table when the first interruption came. It was by a tall, slender, man as he approached Grissom. Sara watched how he was looking at her as he came closer to them. By the time he was shaking Grissom's hand, he was openly admiring Sara with an inspection that made her slide her hand up the inside of Grissom's jacket and grasp onto his back pocket.

"Gil, it's been awhile. How long has it been? Two years? Three?"

"Phillips," Grissom acknowledged the tall, dark-haired gentleman. "I'm not sure, probably at least three."

"So, what's been keeping you away from our fine establishment? I notice you've sent your donations, but have declined actually attending. I can see that you've got a reason to come this year." Phillips turned more fully toward Sara. "I'd be out and about town if I had someone as enchanting as this on my arm."

"Phillips–Sara Sidle. Sara–Mark Phillips."

"Hello," Phillips gave Sara an inviting smile as he took her hand in his. "I must say, Gil has immaculate taste."

"Thank you," she said quietly, a bit self-consciously.

"How long have you been hiding this one up your sleeve, Grissom?" Phillips asked.

"I'm not sure," Grissom responded, clearly not wanting to be in the conversation. "I don't know–two years? Ten years?"

This turned Phillips' eyes back to Grissom with amusement. "You're not sure if you've been together two years or ten? That's a bit much." He turned back to Sara. "Well, I hope for your sake that it's only been two, because if I would've had you, I never would've had the need to bring any other woman here."

"That's taking a bit of a chance, don't you think?" Sara asked him with a smile. "I mean, if we had been together for ten years, then you just informed me that he's been cheating on me, for–how long?"

"Ah, this is true. And I'll stick my foot into my mouth no farther. Since you won't let me know exactly how long he's had the good fortune to call you his, then I'll not comment on the last time I've seen him with other beauties on his arm."

"And were there "many" of these beauties over the past ten years?" Sara asked, her tone remaining friendly, playing the same game the gentleman was playing as he mildly flirted with her.

"Even "one" would be too many," Phillips told her and pulled her hand onto his arm as he started walking with her farther into the room.

Sara walked with the man as Grissom followed and soon they were moving into a group of other people who were standing in a circle conversing. Sara found Mark a bit overbearing but amusing in his attention he was showering upon her. He introduced her to various people in the group and before she realized it, nearly fifteen minutes had passed since she last spoke to Grissom. She glanced around the large room but saw no signs of him until she was getting closer to the center.

"Uh-oh, looks like we better go break this up," Mark said as they approached Grissom and the women.

"Don't forget, Dr. Grissom–I owe you a drink–or two," flirted a blonde-haired beauty whose breasts were straining to topple out over the low-cut bodice of her dress.

"You don't owe me anything, Dr. Wilson. There's no need to feel obligated toward me, really."

"No, no, no," she continued in an overly gay voice as she leaned in even closer to him. "It's only fair play. . ."

"So, Gil, how have you adjusted to your return work? I know you were more than happy to be with us last winter." The woman with auburn hair stood very close to Grissom, so close, in fact, that her shoulder was brushing against his upper arm.

"Well, Gil," Mark broke in and turned Grissom's attention back to Sara. "It looks as though we can't leave you alone for a single minute without your attracting trouble."

Sara immediately dropped her gaze because she knew if she saw that look of guilt on his face; the same guilt he wore as he entered Heather's hospital room; she'd never be able to get over it. Instead, she turned her attention back to Mark and watched his expression turn to one of disapproval as he looked at the two women.

"I wouldn't exactly call us trouble," remarked the blonde. "But we certainly have been attracted."

"Really?" Sara looked at the woman but still refused to look at Grissom. "I can't imagine why."

"Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to Sara–Sara Sidle." Grissom interrupted.

"Dr. Grissom," the auburn-haired woman said as she reached over and playfully tugged on his jacket, clearly ignoring Sara. "I believe they're going to begin serving very soon. I'd really enjoy it if you'd be seated with me."

"Thank you, Dr. James, but. . ."

"I think he'll be sitting with his fiancé, ladies," Mark told them, bringing both sets of eyes back to sharply look at Sara.

Dr James looked from Sara back to Grissom, and gave another playful tug on his jacket. "There's no reason we can't still be on friendly terms. If you'll excuse me now, it's time for dinner."

"Of course," Grissom finally managed to get out and tilted his head in dismissal as both women turned and walked away.

"Well, I see you handled that rather gallantly, old boy," Mark commented as he continued to watch the two ladies disappear into the crowd, then looked back at Grissom, then to Sara. "Sara, I'd be honored if you and Gil would be seated next to me. I found your company quite enchanting."

"I think that would be very nice," Sara told him as she allowed him to walk with her toward the tables.

She still refused to give Grissom the satisfaction of knowing that his interaction with the two professors from Massachusetts was a bit intimidating. She took her seat with the assistance of Mark Phillips, then heard, rather than saw, Grissom take the seat on the other side of her. There was a minor commotion as they were served their dinners and it wasn't until she was actually reaching for her glass of wine that Grissom made his first attempt to break the silence between them. He dropped his left hand as he lifted his drink with his right, and as he passed the amber liquid over his lips, his fingers found their way to Sara's thigh.

"You must know that I didn't initiate that conversation with Dr. Wilon and Dr. James," Grissom finally said in a voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Must I?"

Although his hand rested on the cloth of her dress, she felt his skin burning her as his fingers lazily massaged the top of her leg.

"Mmm-hmm."

His hand moved more firmly on her thigh and he actually jerked it toward him until her legs were spread slightly. Her eyes flew downward to see what was exposed to Mark, who sat on her other side, then pulled the edge of the table cloth up, over her legs.

"What are you doing?" She asked in a hurry.

"Trying to get you away from the leech on the other side of you, and next to me, where you belong."

"I "am" next to you! There's no need to. . ."

"Let's just say I felt the need to be near."

Grissom moved his chair closer to the table and closer to Sara at the same time. When their thighs were touching, he seemed satisfied and loosed his grip, merely letting his hand lie on her lap. They went about eating their dinner; each time Mark would begin a conversation with Sara, Grissom's fingers would lightly dance across her thigh, reminding her whom she arrived with. "As if," she thought to herself as she would glance over at him and see the blue eyes that nearly matched the blue of his shirt. She barely had time to finish her meal before Grissom was getting to his feet and taking her hand to escort her from the table.

"Grissom!" Came another male voice as they were walking away from the dining area.

Sara looked up to see a brown-haired gentleman approaching then taking his hand in a friendly shake. This time, Grissom introduced Sara immediately as his fiancé and soon the men were in a discussion about the latest triple homicide that took place in this very building only the week before. Soon, they had moved toward the bar area and as the men conversed, the drinks began to flow. After about twenty minutes, another gentleman joined in their discussion and another ten minutes brought a fourth member.

Sara calmly listened to them, offering her perspective when asked, which was becoming more and more often as men drank their drinks. She was mildly concerned when she watched Grissom downing more than she was accustomed to seeing him drink, but when the latest member of their group began to show an inordinate amount of interest in Sara's legs, then allowed his hands to linger in places they shouldn't be, she decided they had stayed long enough.

"Gil?" Sara asked sweetly, bringing his smile back to her until they lowered over her body and he caught sight of an uninvited hand resting on her waist.

She almost laughed out loud as she watched his left brow rise immediately in irritation, but he remained calm as he took her hand in his and kissed it, then pulled her to stand next to him. His arms went around her, replacing the gentleman's touch with his own.

"I think it's about time we head home, my dear." His slur was very mild, but Sara noticed it with tolerance. "I've suddenly had enough socializing for one evening."

"I couldn't agree with you more," she told him and started away from the other men, smiling her farewell to them as she went.

Grissom walked with Sara, their fingers entwined as he leaned a bit more heavily toward her than normal. When the car was pulled around for them, Sara easily convinced Grissom to get in the passenger's seat as she took the keys and got behind the wheel. This time, as she drove them toward home, she was the one being stared at and whenever she would look in his direction, she could see what could almost be described as a "smugness" as he looked at her with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Did I tell you how wonderful you are tonight?" Grissom asked as his hand moved to her thigh, only this time, it didn't stop at the muscular appendage, instead, he trailed his fingers downward, between her legs.

Sara reached down and gently pulled his hand away, keeping hold of it as she rested it back on his own lap.

"Only tonight?" She teased.

"No, not only tonight. But tonight, you're exceptional. You're absolutely lovely, my dear. Do you realize that?"

"I realize that you've had a bit too much to drink."

"I was torn between being amused and being irritated by all the longing looks you were receiving from every man in the room."

"Now, I realize you've had a "lot" too much to drink."

"Sara, don't. I wish you could look at yourself the way I do. . .the way "they" looked at you tonight. I need you to know."

His voice was almost a plead as he watched her drive, then with a heavy sigh, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. His fingers tightened around hers as his thumb stroked her hand. The rest of the ride was silent and as she pulled into the parking lot, she knew he had fallen asleep. She got out of the car and moved around to the passenger's door but when she pulled it open, he awoke and turned to look at her. He removed his seatbelt then placed his feet on the ground, one on each side of her as his hands moved up the back of her dress, over the backs of her thighs. He pulled her more tightly against him and pressed a kiss to her stomach, bringing a short laugh from her as her fingers took their pleasure in the curliness of his hair.

"Am I going to have to carry you into the apartment?" She asked gently.

He gave a small grunt and waited for her to move out of his way, then got out of the car and put his arm around her shoulder, leaning close to kiss her neck before going for the door to the building. He would stop occasionally on their way down the hall and trace his finger along her jaw line, or place a light kiss on her lips, finally getting to the door to their apartment. She unlocked it and watched as he moved inside.

"Let Hank go until tomorrow," Grissom told her, referring to the dog that was now being watched by their neighbor.

"Are you sure? I can go get him and walk him."

"No."

She closed the door behind them and watched as he started loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

"No–you're not sure? Or no–don't get him?" She asked, a bit confused by his answer.

"Come to bed, Sara." He moved on to their room. "I don't want to share you with Hank tonight."

Sara followed him into their bedroom where he was already seated on the bed, having only removed his tie thus far. He was grasping onto the edge of the mattress and slowly allowed his gaze to travel up from her heeled feet, over her legs, up her body until they finally came to rest on her face. His expression showed his immediate desire for her and as she slowly walked over to him, he reached for her, pulling her between his legs as his hands slid up the back of her dress where his fingers grasped onto her stockings and started tugging them down.

"I think we need to get my shoes off first," she said quietly as her fingers stroked his hair, but instead of stopping and allowing her to move away from him, he slid his hands down over her legs, sending shivers through her as he moved on to the straps of her heels and easily slid them off.

Sara couldn't stop the quiver that went through her at the sight of him watching his hands move back up over the length of her legs. They paused at the waistband of her stockings, having already pulled them down over her hips, then he put his arms around her and turned her until she practically fell onto their bed. He got to his feet and lifted her legs as he pulled the nylon from them and tossed them onto the floor. She looked up at him through doe's eyes, the intensity of his gaze on her sending shockwaves through her. After a moment, he nudged her legs apart and knelt on the bed, crawling up the mattress as he dipped his head occasionally to nip at various parts of her body. She started to feel herself melt at the half-smile he was wearing as he pressed his lower half against her apex as he leaned over her, supporting himself on his hands. Her throat went suddenly dry and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, making him growl in response as he watched her. He immediately started trying to pull his jacket off as she wrapped her legs around his and tried to aid him in his endeavor.

"Jesus! It's like a damned straight-jacket!" He hissed as he continued to fight with the piece of his suit.

Sara's hands were tugging on the cloth just as frantically as his, and when she grabbed his pocket to try to pull it off, she felt the stiff note inside. He continued pulling it off as her fingers grasped onto the small card and when he finally released his arms and threw the coat across the room, she glanced at the object that had caught her attention.

#509/10:30. I'll remind you how effective my affections can be. I can taste you already, Gil–I can feel you sliding between my lips. I ache for you! Please, don't be late!

Sara moved the card into the light as Grissom came down on top of her, and went immediately for her throat as his hands yanked up her dress and pressed her legs farther apart. She absently felt his hand move between them as he tugged on his belt, then went straight for his button and zipper, but as lifted his hips to position himself, she moved herself onto her elbows so she could get a better look at the card. When she looked at his face, she could see his confusion as he looked at her. She moved the card in front of his face.

"What the hell is this?" She asked as she tightened her legs around him and heard him grunt with pain.


	117. Chapter 117

Chapter One Hundred-Seventeen

Grissom squinted his eyes as he pulled his face back from the note card. He quickly looked from the card to Sara.

"You've got to be kidding–right? You can't be serious!" He told her. "I'm in the middle of something here! I thought "we" were in the middle of something–and you want to talk about a "card?"

"It isn't just a card! Is it?" She said with rising ire.

"You are serious," he sighed and rolled off of her, and moved until his head was lying on the pillow. "Hand me my glasses–I can't even see the damned thing!"

She hesitated, then reached for the night stand and grabbed his glasses, handing them to him as she moved closer and lay with her head next to his as they both started to inspect the card. When he started chuckling, she looked at him and elbowed him in the ribs.

"What's so goddamned funny, Gil? I don't think this is funny!"

"Where'd you get it?"

"Your fuckin' pocket! I wonder how it got there! While I was out mingling with Phillips, you were back there setting up a rendevous with Drs. Bleached Blonde and Boob Job! Or perhaps I should say–Dr. "Blow" Job!"

He started chuckling more as he turned the card over only to find it blank, then he looked at her and smiled. "I did no such thing–and you know it. Neither one of them gave this to me."

Sara looked at him with irritation then snapped the card out of his hands as she looked more closely at it. "Oh, what would you know? Boob Job was hanging on you so much she could've climbed into your pocket, herself, and you never would've known it!"

"Jealous?" He turned on his side and put his hand on her waist as he pulled her closer to him, instigating another sharp look from her. "I guess I should be flattered that "someone" wants to have sex with me."

"Flattered?" She asked as she turned against him and shoved him onto his back. "Flattered! Maybe I should be flattered that Mark Phillips has wandering hands and I had to pull them off of my ass at least ten times before we came back and discovered you with your two Bimboes from Massachusetts! Maybe I should be flattered that Dr. Gibson asked me to meet him in the bar after he managed to get you drunk enough so that you wouldn't notice!"

"Gibson?" Grissom's brows drew together as he thought about it. "Jesus–he's got to be at least fifteen years older than me! Would he have even remembered what to do once he got you into the bar?"

"Don't forget, Grissom! I'm attracted to "older" men!" She poked him in the chest with her finger.

"No, you're not–you're simply attracted to "me."

"Don't change the subject! You've got an amazing way of doing that! Get back to this card!"

"Ah, yes," he sighed. "The mystery card. Should we send it to Mandy to print it?"

"Dammit, Grissom! If you aren't going to take this seriously–I'm leaving!" She moved to crawl over top of him but he grabbed onto her waist and pulled her back until she was straddling his lap.

"Not so fast. . .mmm, ya know, if you'd move to the right about two inches, this could be a very pleasurable experience for both of us."

"Grissom!"

"Alright! Give me the damned card." He took the note from her and inspected it again. "Okay, first of all–someone printed it on a computer, so we can't identify the handwriting."

"Jesus! You're right–for all we know, it might've been a man!"

Her remark made him look at her with a raised brow of indignation before looking back at the card. "It says "she'll" remind me how effective "her" affections can be. That insinuates that she's already had the opportunity to show me her affection."

Sara stared at him with irritation. "It sounded to me like "boob job" already showed you her affection–or the other way around! Didn't she say she owed you "a drink or two?"

He looked up at her again. "Dr. Wilson brought a thermos of cocoa to my office one morning when it was about twenty below. . .that could be considered affectionate, couldn't it? And Dr. James brought an extra heater into my classroom. You can probably count the time that I brought coffee in for everyone in our meeting–and that included two other professors–and Dr. James sent out for pizza. Other than that–I don't recall them doing "anything" but flirting."

"And you did absolutely nothing to make either one of them believe that you'd rush to room 509 at 10:30?"

"No! I swear! Scout's honor," he smiled as he put his fingers up in what appeared to be a Boy Scout salute.

"You're despicable," she mumbled as she tried to climb off of him again but he pulled her back down until she was lying next to him and he leaned over her. "You're not taking this seriously!"

"Of course, I'm not. I don't give a shit who wants to give me a blow job–unless it's you." He let his gaze travel over her face. "So–uh–what do ya think?"

"I think someone's going to be waiting for you at the Bellagio at 10:30," she told him, then a thought occurred to her and she pushed him off as she hopped to the floor and searched for her shoes.

"That's not what I was talking about," Grissom pouted as he watched her. "What are you doing?"

"Get up–we're going back to the Bellagio."

"Why! I want to stay here–right here. . ."

"You're still horny?" She asked in disbelief. "After all this?"

"Yes," he answered, then saw her intimidating gaze. "No. . .well. . .maybe."

"Would you hurry? We've only got about forty-five minutes until 10:30. Whoever this is, had it planned out ahead of time–otherwise it would've been handwritten." She moved to the side of the bed and looked down at him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her until she was sprawled across the bed again. "Gil!"

"It's too late. She's not there. She didn't show up."

Sara slowly moved until she could see his face, horror spreading across her features as she realized he knew perfectly well where the card came from and evidently already checked into the opportunity to take the woman up on her invitation. She moved her body off of his and stared at him through large eyes; eyes that threatened tears. She didn't even know how she managed to word her thoughts, but she did.

"Was it. . .the blonde?"

"No. Not the blonde."

"The one with the. . ."

"Boob job?" She saw the corners of his lips twitch and she was half tempted to slap him. "No, no boob jobs for the one who gave me the card. She doesn't need one."

The only other person to immediately pop into her mind was Heather Kessler and she wanted to scream.

"Brunette?"

"Very."

"Then maybe you better give her a call," Sara spat at him. "Who knows, maybe she's there, after all!"

"If she ever worked up the nerve to show up, she would've left by now. I can't imagine she'd wait nine years."

"You didn't know Heather nine years ago."

Grissom looked at her as if wondering where she got the idea that it was from Heather Kessler. "No, I didn't. I knew you."

"Me. . ."


	118. Chapter 118

Chapter One-Hundred Eighteen

"I found it in an old journal I needed for court about a month ago. I found it while I was sitting in the courtroom, so I put it in my pocket before anyone else saw it. You "really" don't remember this–do you?" When she stared at him blankly, he easily pulled her close enough to look at the card again as he held it above them. "Look. If you'd have used your investigative skills you would've seen that it's aged a bit more than something that was just slipped into my pocket tonight."

"I–don't understand."

"Okay," he said with tolerance as he placed the card on the night stand then took off his glasses again and put them with the card. "Let's see, it was the night you decided to give me a small going-away party. I always figured you brought your friends along with you for some extra courage. What were their names? Jody and David?"

"Jody and Brian," Sara said hesitantly, recalling the "idea" of sending Grissom off in style with her two friends, but getting very inebriated instead. "But we. . .never made it."

"No. You never made it. Instead, I got a telephone call informing me that the three of you were causing a disturbance at Knight Tracks, the bar that was situated between campus and my hotel."

"The bar called you?"

"No, actually it was Jody. She said you knocked out a guy who got a little over-attentive, and when they tried to get you out of the bar, you said you wouldn't go with anyone but me."

Sara's hand slowly moved to cover her mouth. "I didn't–God, tell me I didn't say that and Jody didn't call to tell you."

"I had no other choice but to come down for you–I mean, after all, I couldn't allow my most attentive student live the rest of her life in a dive like Knight Tracks. By the time I got there, you had fallen asleep, so I carried you to my car, and Jody and David. . ."

"Brian," she corrected.

"Brian. . .got into the back seat with you. The hotel was close and I thought the three of you would be safer if I kept an eye on you through the night, so I took you there. Jody and. . .Brian. . .went inside easily enough, but I had to help you walk to my suite. I put you in the extra bedroom then came back out and found your friends had made their way into my bedroom and were in a rather compromising position."

Sara slowly nodded her head as she continued to stare at him. "They're married now."

"I'm so happy for them," he said unenthusiastically before continuing with his story. "When I hurried back to the living room, you were sitting on the sofa, looking at me as if you were having a hard time between trying to keep from vomiting and falling onto the floor. So, I helped you back to the bathroom."

"Oh, God!" She said, feeling just as ill at the thought of having become sick in front of him back then. "Please, don't tell me that I threw up."

"All over my jeans."

"Your jeans? What was I doing down at your jeans? Was I. . ." She started fearfully.

He smiled at her. "Um–no. Not then. You stumbled as we crossed the doorway and landed on your knees. You grabbed onto my legs for support and sort of lost it all over my thighs."

"Oh, my God!"

"So, I helped you over to the toilet where you continued drying heaving and I peeled off my jeans and cleaned up the floor as best as I could, while still keeping an eye on you so you didn't drown in the toilet bowl. When you finally stopped, you turned around and leaned back against the wall. I remember trying to decide whether I should leave you there so I could jump into the shower to clean myself off, or try to get you back to the living room."

"You were standing in front of me without your pants?"

"Mmm. I had my underwear on. . ."

"Boxers or briefs?" She asked quickly.

"Does it matter?" He half laughed at her.

"No. I'm sorry. Go on. Was I absolutely horrible? I mean, other than vomiting on you–I guess I couldn't get much more horrible than that. . ." She looked at him with fear and went on hesitantly. "Could I?"

"No, my dear. You managed to get to your feet, leaning on the toilet and sink until you grabbed a towel and you wet it, then came back to me and started wiping off my legs. I must say, there wasn't much more you could've done to excite me than kneeling on the floor and gently stroking my thighs. That was when I couldn't stop myself and put my hands in your soft hair and you looked up at me through the most amazing eyes I had ever seen. Your smile made my heart skip a beat, and you said, "You like me. . .you really like me."

"I quoted Sally Field?" Sara asked with disbelief.

"You did. And you started giggling at yourself, then you started to laugh and sort of fell onto the floor. That was when Jody started banging on the door and demanded to know if you were alright."

"But I thought. . ."

"Yes, well, about that, I remember pitying Jody, thinking David. . ."

"Brian."

"Brian, must've been the fastest man alive."

"Did she come in?"

"Yes. And I grabbed the towel you had been using and wrapped it around my waist and she gave me a very threatening look as she helped you to your feet and back into the livingroom. Brian joined them and I quickly became the target of two irate drunks who were threatening to castrate me if I had done anything to cross the barriers of student/teacher relationships. I tried to tell them that I didn't and Brian said that "he" would've, then Jody started hitting him, saying he wanted to cheat on her, but he denied it and said that. . .well, anyway. . .as I was watching those two lunatics argue in front of me, you left the room again. I didn't know where you were until you came out of my bedroom, carrying that card. Then the other two decided they were going to make up."

Memories slowly washed over Sara as she continued to watch Grissom. "I–I knew you wouldn't do anything with Jody and Brian there–so I made a reservation before we even left for the bar."

"I went into my bedroom to grab clean pants and when I came out, you were gone–so I thought you were waiting for me in room 509. But when I got inside, you weren't there. I waited until nearly two o'clock. Then I realized you weren't going to show up. When I went back to my suite, Jody and Brian were gone. I left the next day. I figured you sobered up enough to realize what you were going to do and changed your mind."

"I don't remember, Gil. I only remember going to the bar, then waking up at home, in my own bed. Jody later told me that she and Brian had brought me home in a taxi."

"So, uh–about reminding me how effective your affections are. . ." He started to unbutton his shirt.

"Did you really wait nearly four hours for me?" She raised herself up on her elbow and pulled his tie from around his neck.

"I did."

"So, um, just how "excited" were you before I screwed everything up by falling into a giggling fit?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she asked gently as she assisted him in removing his shirt. "Were you just a bit enlarged, but enough to catch my attention? Or were you seriously standing at half-mast?"

He tossed the shirt onto the floor, then reached for her and pushed her dress down over her shoulders, exposing her white lace bra. He pushed her onto her back and smiled as he looked down at her.

"There was no "half-mast" about it. I was standing at full attention."

"Then I probably started laughing because I was nervous–I had never seen anything so immense before."

"Well, between you laughing and your friend barging in on us, that immenseness shriveled so damned fast that it was rather painful."

"I'm not laughing now," she told him but couldn't stop the little giggle that escaped from her.

"Well, guess what. . .I don't care anymore because, now, I know how to make you stop laughing." He maneuvered himself until he was lying between her legs while still holding his upper body up with his forearms as he continued to watch her.

She spread her legs farther around him as she smiled up at him. "I'm really touched that you kept that note–even after thinking that I stood you up."

"I'm glad you're touched. Now, if you stop talking, I'll touch you more."


	119. Chapter 119

Chapter One-Hundred-Nineteen

He lifted his himself and slowly slid inside, making her sigh with contentment. He began rocking against her and the small shocks he was sending through her as he simply watched her made her respond by pressing her hips against him. Her mind took her back nearly ten years before and the incredible infatuation she had with the guest lecturer. She didn't doubt that she had gone to such lengths to try to get him alone before he left. In her mind, she thought if she could give him something memorable, then he'd be more reluctant to leave. But, at the last minute, she lost her courage and blurted out to her friends that she was going to give Grissom an official send-off. Jody and Brian, both being into anything involving alcohol, thought it was a magnificent idea, but the closer they got to his hotel, the more nervous she became. They all stopped in for a drink to take off the edge, and before they knew it, that one drink turned into many. The last thing she remembered was thinking that if she made a reservation at another room in his hotel she could get him alone and give him the memory she wanted him to have.

Sara remembered that intense feeling of need that she had for him all those years ago, such a raw and exciting yearning that she didn't want it to ever end, and as she looked up into the blueness of his eyes, she felt herself shiver at the knowledge that he was inside of her, where he wanted to be.

"Touch me," she whispered to him, all signs of humor gone as she was mesmerized by those eyes.

"I wanted to," he whispered as he took her face between his hands and moved down to kiss her, moving from her lips, across her face as he started moving his hips. "God, Sara–I wanted to. If that girl hadn't come into the bathroom, I'd have been on the bathroom floor with you, and you wouldn't have been laughing anymore. Then when I thought I had a second chance. . .I would've waited for days if I didn't have to leave."

Her hands found their way down around his waist and began gently running over his back, feeling the muscles tense and release as he continued his movements inside of her.

"I "have" waited. . .for years, Gil."

She suddenly felt a tear slide down her cheek, grief of the unfairness of it all washing over her. He wiped the wetness with his thumb as he looked at her again, then gently traced that thumb down to the fullness of her lower lip. She moved her head slightly and took the thumb inside, tugging on it as he continued to watch her, then clearly having sent him to a new horizon in their lovemaking, he grabbed her jaw and resumed his kiss, thrusting his tongue between her lips as his strokes became stronger and longer. He moved his hands down her body until they were under her knees and he pulled them up on each side of him, then as he propped them over his arms, he lifted himself and began thrusting into her. The burning she had for him had her clutching at him and when he lifted his head from their kiss, she refused to stop touching him, grasping onto his shoulders as she partially lifted herself to shower his upper chest with her attention. He soon pushed her down and she moved her kiss to his neck until he took over the exchange again, thrusting his tongue into her responsive mouth as their moans were filling the room. The thought of a younger couple, only forty-one and twenty six, wouldn't escape her and the same sensation of absolute adoration filled her as she had when she was that twenty-six-year-old who was desperately in love with that forty-one-year-old man. She opened her eyes and looked up into Grissom's face and saw something there as he stared at her. She could almost feel like that young woman again and knew that he was seeing her that way; perhaps he always did; perhaps he always will.

The explosion, when it came, was so intense that she screamed through it and the next thing she could conceive was her lover who was lying heavily on top of her; his sweat-covered body entwined with hers as they both tried to regain their normal breathing. She could feel his heart beating against her chest and she knew it was racing. After several minutes he pushed himself off of her and rolled onto his back, allowing her to roll against him and cuddle against his side. Soon, they both left the events of the evening behind and fell into a deep, comforting sleep.

Her dreams took her back to that hotel room, memories and fantasies taking over and she didn't know which were true and which were a manifestation of her own desires. She could see herself on her knees before him, but there were no signs of her being sick, only very tipsy. He was telling her something, telling her that they couldn't do this because he was leaving and would probably never see her again. He told her that she was too young and would be hurt, because he knew that once she gave her heart, she gave it completely. All he could promise her was pain if they went through with it. She looked at their surroundings, noticing that it was a duplicate of his hotel suite, but clearly not having been occupied as everything was still pristine and in its place.

"You don't understand," kept ringing through her mind as her hands ran up the soft denim of his jeans, sliding over his muscular thighs until her fingertips stopped at the bulge hidden behind his zipper.

"I "do" understand. You're going to get hurt!"

"I don't care," she breathed and he looked at her, his heavy breathing belying his indecision until something changed in his face and she could see that she had won the battle.

"So be it."

His anger at lack of control showed as he reached for his belt and unbuckled then unbuttoned his pants. Her fingers were already stroking over the part of him that was aching to burst out through the zipper. He brushed them aside and lowered the metal then pulled the front open farther until he could pull himself free.

Sara swallowed as she looked at the size of him, but after only a moment, she leaned into him and took hold of him. Her lips moved around him, over him, and she knew at that moment that she would never have enough of this gorgeous man. He seemed to think he was in control of the situation as his hips began to gyrate and he held her head by her thick hair, but she knew better. She was controlling him and he was petrified by it. She worked her magic on him, sliding him in and out of her mouth, titillating him with the movement of her tongue, driving him completely mad with the way her lips tugged at him. She continued on him, enjoying this intimate act, thinking he had such amazing staying power, until finally he started to tense and she knew he was extremely close. She immediately removed herself and sat back on her heels as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"What are you doing?" He asked breathlessly.

"Now, it's my turn."

She got to her feet and started to turn, prepared to move to a piece of furniture to make it easier for their intercourse she had planned, but before she had moved even two steps, she felt herself being pushed up against the wall. Her jeans were being tugged down so roughly that they scraped her hips. He held her against the wall as his hand moved down over her rounded buttocks and she could feel him breathing against her neck. She felt him sliding up behind her and spreading her legs and in one swift movement he was sheathed within her core.

"You started this. Now, you're not going to walk away as easily as you think."

Sara's eyes popped open as she became aware of two things; the heaviness of Grissom's body as he leaned on her back and the fact that she was on her stomach, looking toward the windows. She could feel his breath on the back of her ear.

"What did you say?" She breathed as she felt his erection pressing against her backside.

"I said, you're amazing, my dear–and tonight I'm going to prove it to you."

She was barely awake when she felt him lifting her hips and nudged her legs apart until he was entering her. He moved with her until they were both on their sides and he continued his massage of the front of her body, going from her breasts to her stomach and then lower. She felt somewhat helpless in this position, but it didn't matter because she knew he was going to take care of her, and when she started pressing herself back against him, he took the sign and slid his finger over the hardened bead at her apex. He was filling her completely while his hand moved with her and when she heard him start panting, it sent her into euphoria as she clenched around him.

Ever so slowly, she turned to look at him with a shy smile.

"I wasn't awake, you know."

His smile lit his eyes as he put his arm around her. "I figured that out after I started–but by then, you weren't complaining. So, I figured you were awake enough to know that you were giving me a very specific massage before turning onto your stomach and wiggling your gorgeous backside at me."

She smiled then tucked her head against his chest, letting sleep tug at her again. "I'm glad you liked it."


	120. Chapter 120

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty

Grissom entered the large ballroom, seeing a wide array of gowns accompanied by tuxedos. He tugged on his collar as he walked through the room, nodding to various acquaintances along the way. His search for Sara continued, knowing that since he had to be at the office to tie up a few loose ends, she would already be waiting for him at the event.

"Grissom! It's good to see you." The white-haired gentleman named Walters, turned toward him at the urging of his equally white-haired wife and grabbed his hand in a firm handshake.

"Ira," Grissom acknowledged.

"I heard about your latest fiasco with one of your team members. It was quite an ordeal, nearly losing one of your own at the hands of a lunatic."

"And which team member would that be? I think each one of them has been nearly lost at the hands of the insane." Grissom gave him a friendly smile.

"You know," Mrs. Walters stepped closer to them. "That girl. The one who was lost in the desert."

"Ah, that would be Sara," Grissom began explaining but Mrs. Walters interrupted when a blonde woman of around forty-five years approached them.

"You remember our daughter, Samantha, don't you Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom looked at the woman wearing a white gown accentuated with silver. "Um, I'm sorry. . ."

"We met at the dinner for Charles Mandrake a few years ago. You were just as anxious to leave then, as you appear to be now," Samantha smiled at him.

"Well, no. . ." Grissom started, this time being interrupted by Ira.

"He needs someone to make him feel comfortable, Sammy. A beautiful young woman on his arm should do the trick."

"I think that can easily be arranged," Samantha said as she put her hand on Grissom's arm.

Grissom didn't know which way to turn. He certainly didn't see this ambush coming–and where in the hell was Sara? His eyes darted around them until he saw the crowd still and almost separate before him. The sight of what was heading toward him made his mouth go dry. Jesus, but she was a vision. She wore a brown gown that split up the front, revealing a good portion of long legs that were set off by the heels she wore. Her hair was pulled up, allowing wisps of the brownness to flow around her long neck; the neck he loved to nuzzle. Her make-up was done to perfection–she could've been a fashion model walking down the runway. He barely noticed Catherine and Lily walking on either side of her, which seemed to amuse them both.

"I can't leave you alone for a single second, can I, Dr. Grissom?" Sara said lightly as she stopped next to him.

He really didn't recall how Samantha's hand was removed from him for he was enchanted by the sight before him. He vaguely remembered tugging at his collar again and Sara's gentle smile as she stepped in closer to him and straightened his tie for him. He stepped even closer to her as he placed his hands on her waist and leaned in very closely before kissing her cheek then moving on to her ear where he whispered his greeting.

"You look absolutely ravishing, my dear."

"I guess I'd have to, wouldn't I?" She let her eyes travel past him to the blonde woman who, rather than being embarrassed by her mistake, found the situation charming. Sara looked back at Grissom. "I have to keep up with you, don't I? I can't have you looking this good while I'm walking around looking like some old science nerd."

"Hello, Ira," Lily said to the man watching the interaction. "Jessica, how are you?"

Jessica Walters nodded at Lily but she was more concerned with the "catch" she was certain she had acquired for her daughter; not liking it one bit that he seemed to be reeled in by another. She looked at her daughter again.

"We were just discussing the fact that Dr. Grissom arrived alone, and perhaps he would like to have a companion for the evening so he wouldn't feel quite so uncomfortable."

"Doesn't look like he feels uncomfortable to me," Ira commented.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's impossible, Jessica," Lily informed her. "Gil may have arrived alone, but his fiancé was waiting for him."

"His fiancé?"

"I'm sorry," Grissom finally turned back to the small family. "I'm afraid my manners aren't at their best this evening. Sara–this is Ira and Jessica Walters, and their daughter, Samantha. . ."

"Gibson," Samantha finished for him, reaching for Sara's hand which she shook. "I guess my mother is going to have to track another suiter that she can try to push me off on."

"I'm doing no such thing," Jessica said indignantly, then turned back to look at Sara again. "Sara? You're the young woman who was lost in the desert several weeks ago? You–look–so different from the woman on the news."

"I should hope so," Lily told her. "She had just spent a harrowing experience fighting for her life. And, I'm sure it isn't something she would like to rehash. Come along, Jessica, I think I saw one or two single men near the entrance. Maybe Samantha would be interested in them."

Jessica looked at Lily as if she were going to stomp her foot in anger, but at the last moment, she turned and followed Lily through the crowd. "Samantha! Come with us!"

Samantha sighed, then watched her father join her mother. She glanced back at Grissom. "Since my parents decided to join me in Las Vegas, I've gotten the sudden urge to retire to Florida. If they follow me there, I can blame their mysterious disappearance on the alligators!"

They watched as Samantha disappeared into the crowd, then Catherine spoke up. "Christ, the way that old lady was eying you up, I figured she was almost ready to reserve a room for you and her daughter."

Grissom's eyes met Sara's and they both held secret smiles, recalling the "room" that was the topic of their discussion the week before.

"That's an excellent idea, Catherine," Sara told her as she turned to face her, allowing Grissom's hand to move to the small of her back. "Why didn't I think of something like that?"

"Like what? Reserving a room for you and Grissom?" Catherine asked with raised brows, then made a face. "I don't even want to let such a thought enter my mind! I'm just getting used to the puppy-dog gazes you both send to each other–I don't want to imagine you reserving a room to do the nasty!"

"I–think we should proceed," Grissom told her as he assisted Sara farther into the room.

He couldn't seem to keep his hands far from her. He noticed how she was attracting attention as they walked along. She was the most beautiful woman in the room and he didn't let her stray very far from his side as the men blatantly admired her. He introduced her to old acquaintances but most of the time preferred keeping her entirely to himself. When he became overwhelmed with the amount of attention they were receiving, he managed to maneuver her toward the back of the room where he more or less secluded her from everyone else.

"You've been tugging on this all night. Is it uncomfortable? Is it too tight?" Sara asked as her hands went to straighten his tie again.

"The fact that it's a tuxedo makes it uncomfortable. I'd rather be at home in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt."

"And what would you have me wearing while you're in your sweatshirt and jeans?"

"Why, my dear, you'd be wearing nothing at all." He smiled at her when she raised her brow at this comment. "Okay, how about your favorite football jersey and sweats?"

"That does sound inviting. Shall we make an early exit and make a run for our sweats?"

He let his eyes wander over her, then reached for her and pulled her closer before dipping his head and kissing her temple. "Don't tempt me. I'm supposed to be here and make my presence known."

"Gil!" Called a gentleman of about forty years as he approached them. "I've been looking for you. Congressman Hughes has arrived and has agreed to some photos."

"And that involves me. . .how?"

"They're getting as many departmental heads as they can. . .to show that he's supported by our local law enforcement system while at the same time, we, being on the lower end of the totem pole, represent the common population."

"And if I "don't" support the good congressman do I still have to stand next to him and play the part?"

"I suspect that if we "don't," our teams will be paying the price in one way or the other." The man looked at Sara, and they both knew he was referring to the security of her job. "Go ahead, Gil. I'll watch over Sara until you return. I'll make sure the big bad wolf doesn't come down and steal her away."

"Thank you for your very charming offer," Sara said with faux appreciation. "But I can take care of myself for the few minutes it will take Gil to have his picture taken. But, maybe Catherine could use a chaperone."

"Catherine?" He man turned and looked in various directions. "I haven't seen her. Is she here?"

"Over by the bar," Grissom told him then watched as he went off in search of his co-worker. He looked back to Sara and held his arm out for her to hold onto. "Shall we?"

The fact that he survived the photo shoot was due mainly to the chocolate-haired vixen who stood to the side and didn't hesitate to send mocking smiles to him. They had trouble keeping him focused on the camera, but he didn't care. He would much rather watch the way Sara's thigh peeked out from the slit in her dress, or the way her tongue slid over her lips in a gesture only for him. When they finally gave up and released him from their custody, he gladly stepped down and joined the woman waiting for him, bypassing several attempts at conversation by various members of the party.

The music began playing and as his fingers reached out and touched hers, he quickly maneuvered her toward the dancing area and pulled her into his arms.

"I think there were several of those men who planned to talk to you," Sara said quietly as she rested her hands on his shoulders and toyed with the curls at the back of his head.

"What men?" He asked with a boyish smile shining from his blue eyes. "I didn't see anyone who wanted to speak to me."

"You didn't look."

His hands held onto the slimness of her waist as they swayed together to the music. "I was busy looking at you, my dear. You're much more appealing than Frederick Winterstein."

"I'm happy to hear that." She looked into his eyes with a mischievous half-smile. "So, I wouldn't mind hearing you elaborate on that subject."

He looked at her as the slightest of smiles turned up his lips as he studied her face. "I want to touch your hair, Sara. I want to put my fingers through its softness and hold you close. . .but I know you'd rather not get it messed right now. I want to kiss every centimeter of your face. . .but you don't want me to smudge your make-up. I want to slip my hand inside the opening of the sheerness of this dress and touch every part of your soft skin that I can reach. I want to push you up against the wall and spread the split of this dress open and wrap your legs around me as I open my pants and fill you with myself. I want to make love to you with such ferocity that you don't know whether to scream or pass out."

"Do it!" She breathed quickly, making his smile widen.

"Or. . .I could simply spend the rest of the evening drowning in your beauty that is radiating from you in waves. I could hold you tightly and not let go. I could take you to our table and hold your hand as I sat next to you, looking very much like your confident fiancé, but showing enough threat in my expression that any young jerk who thinks he can take your attention from me knows I'll rip his head off and shove it up his fucking ass if he looks at you too long."

She giggled as she put her arms around him a little tighter in an affectionate hug. "Oh, you romantic-talking devil, you!"

Her comment made him laugh as he hugged her back then turned with her as they moved across the floor and finished their dance. He remained under her spell as they danced for the next hour, then moved with her again until they were seated at a table near the wall and they watched other couples dancing near them. Within fifteen minutes Catherine approached them, showing that she had been hitting the bar a little more than they had been.

"Lookie who I found! All by himself!" Catherine told them as she plopped down in a chair on the other side of their table with Jim Brass tolerantly following her.

"I wouldn't exactly call it "all by myself," Catherine. I was actually with a lovely woman named Delores."

"You're seeing someone, Jim?" Sara asked as she watched how Catherine seemed to turn a shade pinker at the mere thought of it.

"Not yet, but possibly. . .even if Catherine found it necessary to inform her that I'm already married to a woman in New York and another in Miami."

"And Seattle," Catherine supplied.

"Oh, yeah. And Seattle."

"So, Delores doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that you're participating in bigamy?" Sara turned to look at Grissom with a smile. "Oh, wait–there are three wives–would that be called "trigamy?"

"Yes, dear."

"See–you don't want to hook up with some woman who thinks it's alright to share you with two other women, Jim!" Catherine told him with a dismissive flip of her hand.

"I'll keep that in mind as I'm explaining to her that my red-headed friend is going through a lunar phase and can't be expected to behave rationally until the moon is no longer full."

"Sit down, Jim. You're being ridiculous!"

"Fine," Brass sighed and took the seat next to her. "I'll sit down."

Grissom watched his friends sit across the table from them, not exactly feeling like company at the moment as he held onto Sara's hand beneath the table. The fact that their hands were lying on her bare thigh that he had exposed by pulling her dress apart until he felt her skin was hidden by the tablecloth.

"Sara–Jim," Sophia's voice came from several feet away as she approached the table with a tall, dark-haired young man in tow. "Catherine–Grissom."

"Hey, Sophia," Brass acknowledged her.

"Jeb, go get us a drink, will you?" Sophia told the younger man as she moved to stand close to Catherine and Brass before looking back at Sara. "It's good to see you. I haven't seen you since your stay in the hospital. I'm glad to see you looking so much better."

"I should hope so," Sara said a bit self-consciously as she used her free hand to touch her faded scar. "I was horrendous while I was in the hospital."

"No," Sophia assured her with a gentle touch of her hand on her shoulder. "You weren't horrendous."

"I never thanked you for finding me. I guess I owe my life to you."

"No more than to the rest of the crew." She looked at Grissom. "Even this one had a bit of a hand in finding you, ya know."

"So, I've heard."

Grissom listened to the two women interchange comments, then soon Catherine and Brass joined in and it turned into a gossip session that he was letting amuse him. He watched the sincere affection that was being shared among the four of them as they joked with one another and almost didn't notice how the crowd was separating around them. Finally the lack normal chatter around them made him look up in time to see the last few people move aside as the dark-haired beauty slowly approached their table. Grissom couldn't say exactly why he removed his hand from Sara's thigh and placed it on the tabletop. He didn't know if it was the way Heather was watching them as she stopped only inches from the table, but he knew the stress level intensified so quickly that he felt as if he were being smothered.

"Gil," she said as she glanced at his hand. "I see that you made it this year. It's good to see you're socializing again. I can expect to see you out and about more, I trust."

"I–uh–um. . ." Grissom sat straight in his chair as he continued to look at her, the black dress complimenting her in a way that only she could carry off.

"You better close your mouth, Grissom!" Catherine spoke up as she watched him. "You don't want to get your tie all wet."

Grissom's eyes darted to Catherine then back to Heather, feeling as if his face were suddenly on fire. "I haven't had much time to get out lately."

Heather's eyes moved from him to Sara and back again. "I understand. Perhaps things will soon get back to normal for you. Are you planning to attend the dinner for Senator Phillips next week?"

"I–I work next Saturday," he said simply as he looked down at his hands.

"You don't work Saturday," Catherine told him. "I'm scheduled–you're not."

Grissom vaguely heard the chair next to him as it scraped across the floor, still, he looked up at Heather who was looking at him with approval. "Well, I guess you're free to attend, after all–aren't you?"

Grissom finally turned to look at Sara, wondering what she was doing as she moved her chair. The sight of her getting to her feet and moving away from him made him reach out and grab for her, but he missed and she continued on her way. Sophia was looking at him through eyes that could be classified as lethal as she also got to her feet.

"I think I need some fresh air, too. The stench in here is becoming a bit overwhelming." She turned and left them as well.

Grissom looked back at Heather and saw the regret flashing in her eyes, clearly feeling the insult of Sophia's comment.

"I'm so sorry," Heather told him. "I didn't mean to disrupt your evening. I should have known better. I truly only wanted to say hello. I'm sorry."

Grissom watched her walk away then looked at Catherine who was now ordering another drink, then he looked over at Brass who sat quietly and refused to return his glance. After several awkward seconds Brass got to his feet and left the table.

"Does the phrase "asshole" mean anything to you two?"

"What did "I" do?" Catherine asked with shock as she watched him walk away.


	121. Chapter 121

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-One

Sara worked her way across the room and out the side door. She searched for the closest exit into the night air and became frustrated when she couldn't find one. Dammit! She's been through this building on numerous times on numerous cases–she knew where the doors were! Finally, she saw an escape and pushed her way through it. She exited onto a small balcony that overlooked the city and moved as far away from the door as she could manage. She breathed the cool air deeply, finding the oxygen revitalizing as she tried to regulate those breaths.

When would she ever become accustomed to her fiancé becoming tongue-tied and presumably brain dead when confronted by a beautiful woman whom he is involved with in some way or another. She could accept that it was an uncomfortable situation. She could accept that he stumbled all over himself as Catherine spewed her remarks about him drooling over the other woman. What Sara couldn't accept was how he pulled himself, both physically as well as emotionally, from her upon sight of Heather. The moment he pulled his hand up from her leg and practically yanked it out of her grasp, she looked at him in apprehensive surprise, but received no acknowledgment as he gazed at the black widow in front of them.

She grasped onto the railing before her as she continued to stare sightlessly into the neon-filled night. She supposed it looked to everyone as if she ran off in fear of the leather-queen, but the fact was, she left when she feared herself. Her reaction to Grissom's responses frightened her more than anything she could have faced from Heather Kessler. Thoughts of slapping him back to some kind of state of consciousness from the obvious scatterbrained oblivion he was trapped in, flicked through her mind. She could envision herself depositing not only "her" drink on his curly-haired head, but all the others sitting next to them. The thought of grabbing the table and upsetting it on him also occurred to her. That was when she knew she had better separate herself from the scene. She certainly couldn't control what was going to happen between Heather and Grissom and she had no desire to stay there and watch it unfold.

She wondered at the security she was feeling all evening as he never left her side; complimented her at every turn. But the carpet was yanked out from beneath her when he reacted so strongly to Heather's appearance. She continued to breathe in the air, trying not to think of what they could be talking about right now. After Catherine's comment, she knew she would be no help. Hell, Catherine practically worshiped the ground that Heather lay on. She was a practically a role model in Catherine's opinion!

Sara took another deep breath, then saw the dark figure from the corner of her eye. She jumped with startled surprise when she realized it was a person standing only ten feet from her, also evidently preferring the cool night air over the bright lights inside. Slowly, almost tentatively, the gentleman walked toward her until she recognized him as the man who had offered to keep an eye on her as Grissom had his photo taken.

"You look a bit frazzled," he said gently after blowing smoke into the air. "Don–Don Rogers."

Her eyes moved to the cigarette he was holding, then back to his face. "It was a bit hot in there. I needed some. . ."

"Fresh air," he finished for her. "I can understand. I guess the fact that I'm practically blowing smoke onto you doesn't provide you with that "fresh" air you're in search of."

"It's alright," she said, then tried to stop him as he pressed his cigarette into the ashtray next to them. "No, don't. Really. You didn't have to do that."

"It's not a problem. I'm trying to quit anyway." He moved toward a small table with two chairs next to it and pulled one out, gesturing toward it. "Come, have a seat. It's a known fact that you can inhale more air in the seated position."

She looked at him a moment and knew that under normal circumstances she would have returned inside without associating with him, but the memories of what waited for her in there, turned her toward the chair. She allowed him to seat her, then watched as he went to the other side of the table and sat down.

"Aren't you going to be missed by someone inside?" She asked.

"Me? Not really. I imagine anyone who's looking for me will assume I'm hidden away with some beautiful lady."

"I guess they're in for a surprise then, aren't they?"

He chuckled as he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette, offering her one, then lighting his own when she declined.

"You're absolutely lovely, Miss Sidle. But anyone who has any sense at all knows that you are quite taken. I don't need to get on the bad side of Gil Grissom by trying to steal a few kisses from his girl."

"I–don't know that he would notice at the moment," she commented dryly.

The man studied her for a moment, then reached down to the side of the table, pulling two objects up that had been hidden from her sight.

"You look like you could use this about right now."

Sara's smile tugged at her lips when she saw that he pulled up two bottles of beer and opened one then handed it across the table to her.

"Is it that obvious that I'm a down-to-earth beer chugger and don't belong in there with the uppity wine sippers? You sure you don't have a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt hidden down there too?" Sara took the bottle and drank from it.

"Um–I'm not sure I know how to answer that one," he told her as he opened his own bottle then drank from it. "Ask another question."

She laughed softly at his unwillingness to put his foot in his mouth. "Okay. Is there some reason why you're hiding out here instead of inside with the others? Aren't you allowed to smoke or drink? Someone going to ground you if they find out?"

"I like to take little breaks from the performances that take place in there. I've got to be someone I don't like very much when I'm in there. Out here, I can kick off my shoes, pop the cap off a Budweiser and belch into the wind if I want."

"And what happens after you've done all that? Does Prince Charming return and you go back in with the glass slipper in search of the princess?"

"Ah, but if you remember, the princess he chose wasn't inside the palace anymore. She was scrubbing floors and cleaning out the cinder pile. But, to answer your question. . .sometimes. Some times I'll go back in and step back into the persona that's expected of me. Some nights, I stay right here and open another Bud, and another, and another." He looks over at her with a half-smile. "But I never take anything off other than my shoes. So, you don't have to worry that I'm going to flash you or anything."

She watched him a second then reached over and tapped her bottle against his. "Here's to the common man–and woman!"

He nodded his head then they both looked out over the railing into the night, allowing a comfortable silence to envelop them. When she finished her beer, he reached down to the side of the table and got her another, although she only nursed this one.

"So, you do know she's no real threat to you–don't you?" His voice came out of the silence and turned her attention back to him as he continued to watch the lights from afar.

"She?"

He looked over at her with a sad smile. "She's just a figment our imagination. There isn't a real bone in her body. Dressing up in a formal black gown doesn't take the trash out of her mentality."

"You know about Heather?" She asked dully.

"I saw her approach you and Grissom. I know what she's capable of. I know what she "isn't" capable of."

"I–don't understand."

Don began talking as if she almost wasn't there anymore. His speech sounded more like thoughts that had run through his mind, over and over again. Fragments of memories that he couldn't escape; or perhaps came out here to be alone with.

"I was having trouble in my marriage a few years back. I really only went to her place as a curiosity, at the recommendation of some guy who worked with me at the time. The novelty really wouldn't have taken me back for a second visit. I realized what I wanted was at home waiting for me, even if we were arguing at the time. But. . .well, lets just say that when Heather sets her mind to do something, she can be rather persistent."

"Are you saying she wanted you?" Sara asked with a slightly dry throat.

"Not really, not in any real sense. She wanted to play with me. She wanted to play with my wife. And she was very good at it. The enticement was always there and I returned several more times, feeling more and more guilty with each visit. Then when I stopped, the phone calls began, and soon Stephanie knew about it all. Promises were made, oaths taken. But it wasn't enough. Innuendoes were always present. Heather casts a large shadow and it darkens everything. Stephanie couldn't make it out from the darkness to see any light in our relationship anymore. The more I tried to convince her that there was nothing between Heather and myself, the more distant Stephanie became; more withdrawn."

"What happened?" Sara asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

The man looked at her with a faux smile. "Another marriage ruined, another life shot to hell, another trophy for Heather's mantle. She got her revenge on me for not wanting her the way she felt I should. She even had the goddamned balls to show up at Stephanie's funeral and give her condolences. I told her if she didn't get the fuck out, I'd wrap a rope around her throat and hang her. She only laughed. The bitch laughed. . .then told me that she never would be stupid enough to let that kind of foreplay go so far. . .she'd know when to stop–not like Steph."

"Your wife died from. . ."

Don looked at Sara again and slowly shook his head negatively. "No. She merely went into the attic and wrapped a cord around her neck then jumped. There was nothing remotely sexual involved, unless you want to consider the lack of trust that was created. If she would've only realized that Heather was nothing! If there's one thing Heather can do without flaw, it's make trust disappear into thin air. Once the trust was gone, Steph was left with nothing. I was left with nothing."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"So am I."

He took another drink from his bottle and leaned his head back against the chair and Sara did the same. She was in no real hurry anymore. She let the peace of the silence sooth her and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again she noticed that Don was gone, but he had left his jacket behind as it was draped over her shoulders in an attempt to keep her warm.

Sara moved back inside, still carrying the jacket in hopes of finding its owner and as she entered the commotion of the ballroom, she saw him with a scotch in his hand as he stood with two couples, talking with them. He glanced in her direction and gave her a smile and when she placed his jacket on the back of the chair she was standing next to, he nodded in response. She turned and worked her way toward the rest room where she stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. She was starting to warm up but was feeling a bit fuzzy and was half tempted to splash water on her face. Instead, she wet a cloth and dabbed at her neck. The sound of someone about to exit the room turned her eyes up to the mirror again and the sight of Natalie Davis jumped out at her. Sara swung around in time to see the girl go through the doorway but as she hurried to follow her, she was stopped in her tracks when the dark-haired creature of her nightmares entered the very same doorway.

"Well, we're certainly in a hurry, aren't we?" Heather's monotonous tone chilled Sara. "You look as if you've seen a ghost?"

"I was just. . ." Sara looked past Heather, still looking for Natalie, but just as horrified to come face-to-face with the Morticia-look-a-like. "If you'll excuse me. . ."

"You shouldn't be in such a rush, Sara."

"I–I need to. . ." Sara began, but felt the need to guard her "Natalie" sightings to herself.

" I know that's a problem with you, though," Heather interrupted.

"A–problem?" Sara looked at her a second time. "What are you talking about, Heather?"

"Always in a hurry. A major complaint, you see. When you're in as much of a hurry as this, you tend to frighten the person you're rushing." Heather took a step into the room, leaving Sara little choice but to step backward. When she didn't respond, Heather went on. "Grissom tells me that it can be stifling at times–suffocating, actually."

"He told you," Sara said skeptically. "I find that a bit hard to believe, especially since he hasn't spoken to you in months."

"Do you truly believe that?" Heather smiled at her. "A man like Grissom will always avoid a trap that he isn't prepared for."

"Are we having an insecure day, Heather?" Sara smiled venom at the other woman. "You need to embellish your delusions a little more than usual today?"

Heather's smile touched her lips and was as cold as ice, but Sara could see true enjoyment in her eyes as she moved toward the mirror and played at checking her makeup.

"So, how is that little seed that you thought you'd sprout? Appears to be barren soil, doesn't it?"

"You're a vile bitch–do you know that?"

"I know that your little scheme to push Gil into something he doesn't want didn't work. You may have pushed him into making an offer he didn't mean–but he regrets it already."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about." Heather turned to Sara. "You're the one who's wandering in the dark. While you're at home waiting for your straight-laced Gilbert to come home from work, he's escaping to the life he can feel comfortable with."

"You're insane."

"How do you think I know so much about the baby, Sara? Your attempts to make him feel guilty enough to propose has worked. He'll walk you down the aisle and play the dutiful husband because he "has" to. But at night, while you're home in your bed and you think he's busy at work, he'll come to me again and again and you'll never know the difference because he'll slink back into your bed and pretend everything's as it should be."

"You could have found out about my miscarriage from anyone."

"Maybe," Heather smiled again, then turned back to the mirror. "But what about your sightings of Natalie Davis? Does "everyone" know about those?" She glanced from her image to Sara's reflection. "Another little tidbit whispered on my pillow."

"Sara? Is everything okay?" Sophia Curtis' voice came through the door and Sara looked over to see her watching her with concern. "I saw you come in, and since you didn't come back out after "she" came in, I was wondering if maybe you needed some assistance in here."

"No," Sara said as she looked back at Heather, noticing how Heather's stance straightened and she eyed Sophia suspiciously. "I don't need assistance, Sophia."

Sara took a step toward Heather, but Sophia put her hand on Sara's shoulder and stopped her. "I think Gil was looking for you. Go on, he's worried."

Sara looked at the floor, then back up at Sophia seeing compassionate understanding in the other woman's eyes. She looked back at Heather, who wasn't looking quite as confident as usual right now.

"Do you want to know what little tidbits I hear on "my" pillow, Heather? Little things like "fucking a robot" make us laugh," Sara lied as she watched the other woman's already pale face, fade even more. "I've been told that if your face had any flexibility, it might actually fall off. I'm told that the heat that comes off of you is enough to cool a six-pack of beer. Ya see, Gil seems to prefer someone whom he can laugh with. He actually enjoys that. I bet you weren't aware of that. You're so focused on destruction and darkness."

"A darkness that Gil holds onto, despite what he tells you!" Heather spoke up defiantly.

"You are so full of shit, Heather," Sara chuckled at her. "He's grabbing onto the light with all his strength. Don't you realize how hard "he" worked so I would allow him back into my life? It wasn't "me" who chased after him, Heather. I was trying to avoid him–I was running away from him–but "he" wouldn't let it go. It must be a real bummer knowing that he's worked so hard to have me in his life again, when, I've been told more than once, that you're the woman men consider the worst mistake of their lives; something they want to forget; wash away from their memories. You don't threaten me anymore, Heather–you make me pity you!"

"Don't you pity me! Never pity me! Because he'll come back to me in the end!"

Sara walked past Sophia, leaving her inside the restroom with Heather. When she heard a quick scuffling behind her, a loud bang, and then the repeated flushing of the toilet she stopped. She turned to go back in, but Sophia came through the door, patting her hair in place and straightening her dress. She paused a moment to look at Sara then ushered her back toward the center of the room.

"Go on. I just needed to flush your toilet. You forgot to get rid of a load of horseshit, so I did it for you." Sophia stopped a waiter as he was about to pass by them. "Excuse me, but there's a woman who seems to have tripped and fallen into one of your toilets. You might want to send a towel and a mop in to assist her."


	122. Chapter 122

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two

Okay, so he handled it like a fucking idiot, as usual. So, he didn't expect to be confronted by Heather Kessler on this evening when his mind was so completely full of Sara. So, he wasn't expecting to have Catherine pointing out that he had been lying about having the following weekend off. That was no reason for Sara to take off and disappear for over an hour! Christ, he looked everywhere for her! No one seemed to know where she went and he was thoroughly worried. He had checked on the car and saw that she hadn't driven off, but that didn't mean she wasn't in a taxi somewhere. . .or more likely than not, he thought bitterly, off calling her knight in shining armor, Nick Stokes, to come to her rescue.

He stood in front of the restroom mirror, straightening his tie when he heard several bangs from the other side of the wall, then what sounded like a growl and screech that could only be described as coming straight from the depths of hell but after a moment it ceased and he went back to fixing his tie. He found it amusing that even in establishments such as this, there was still the possibility of a cat fight taking place in the women's bathroom.

He started on his search again, deciding that if she didn't pick up her cell the next time he called, he was going home and checking to see if she was already there. Finally, he saw her on the dance floor with Don Rogers, the man who alerted him that the congressman had arrived. Watching her dance with another man was nothing new to Grissom–hell, when they went out with the crew, she'd spend more time on the arms of Nick, Greg, Warrick and even Jim than with him. But there was something about the way she was looking at Don that irritated Grissom. There was a tenderness in her eyes and gestures. It only took a second to recognize that there was something passing between them that was more than should be present in two new acquaintances.

He moved to the side of the room where he ordered a scotch then turned and watched them dancing close. He took a large sip of the amber fluid when he saw how Don's hands were holding onto Sara's waist and his thumbs were stroking the smoothness of her gown. Another sip when she watched Sara lean closer to Don and laugh softly. There was a bigger sip when he watched how her hands rested on his shoulders. The gulp came when Don leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Sara's forehead.

He fully expected Sara to end the dance at that moment, but instead, she smiled at Don again, not even noticing that her fiancé was standing nearly ten yards away, watching her. He allowed this to go on as he finished his drink, then ordered another one which he drank a little faster than the last one. Another dance, which he thought might be the Rightous Brothers singing You Lost that Loving Feeling, but he wasn't sure. She wasn't even looking for him as she continued to dance with this dick head. The crowd around him was no longer of any significance. His focus was only on the brown-haired woman in front of him as the music was quickly becoming a song that was grating on his nerves.

When Don turned with Sara in his arms and leaned down to kiss her cheek, Grissom's drink was placed on the bar with a little more force than expected. When she looked up at Don and smiled, Grissom was on his way across the dance floor.

"I must thank you for taking care of my fiancé during my absence, Rogers," Grissom said as he placed his hand on Sara's waist, effectively ending the dance as Sara and Don released one another.

"Your absence?" Sara asked as she stood stiffly next to him and crossed her arms over her chest, a clear indication of irritated uncertainty. "Just where were you, that you were absent?"

"Alright, my dear," Grissom looked at her through half-lidded eyes in a manner that suggested that perhaps he wasn't as calm as he was trying to present himself. "Let me rephrase that--during "your" absence? You were, after all, gone for over an hour. I don't recall seeing "you" during that time, either, Rogers."

"Hmm," Don said thoughtfully as he glanced at Sara with a touch of a smile that made Grissom want to knock it off the man's face. "Perhaps you weren't looking hard enough, Gil. I'm sure if I had a woman as spectacular as Sara on my arm, I wouldn't allow my attention to be diverted by anything. . .or anyone."

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference," Grissom told him tightly as he started to turn away with his hand on the small of Sara's back.

"Future reference?" Sara asked as she stopped walking, bringing Grissom to a stop as well. "You plan on this happening anytime soon?"

"I'm not even a hundred percent sure what "this" is."

"Well, when you "are" sure. . ."

"We can discuss this in private, dear," Grissom told her with faux calmness.

Sara looked back at Don and the man held something in his eyes as he looked at her that Grissom couldn't identify; something almost gentle.

"You have many friends, Sara," Don said quietly. "I think that was proven to you tonight. Don't let your enemies ultimately win. You're stronger than that."

Sara looked at him for a moment, then dipped her head slightly before turning and starting toward the exit, allowing Grissom to fall into step next to her. The walk to the car was a silent one as he released her as soon as they were outside and she made no attempt to re-connect, either physically or verbally. For nearly half an hour she remained quiet as she continued to stare out the windshield and he would occasionally glance in her direction. As he parked his car and she got out almost before he turned off the ignition, he wondered if he was going to receive the silent treatment for the rest of the night, or if she was just waiting to get inside the condo for the explosion to take place. He took his time about getting out and locking the doors, then strolled up the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets as he watched her lithe body moving a good distance ahead of him before disappearing inside the building. By the time he stopped at his neighbor's door and picked up Hank, then was inside his own condo and closing that door behind him, he could hear the sounds of the shower being turned on. Hank immediately went into the bedroom to look for his mistress, then promptly returned to the living room where Grissom was removing his tie and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. His jacket came next, then he moved to the sofa where he sat and leaned his head in his hands for a moment, then leaned back and waited.

"Come here, boy. It's gonna be a long night," Grissom sighed as Hank jumped up on the sofa next to him and lay his head on his lap, as if he sensed the tension in the air.

He waited silently as he stroked Hank's head and listened to the shower that seemed to go on much too long. This isn't how he had this evening planned. Right up to the moment Heather approached him, he had plans of coming home and sharing a "very" romantic evening with his fiancé. Any attempts to do that right now would be met with more arguing and innuendoes, and yet, if he allowed it to go on without confrontation, it would harm their relationship to a point that he didn't have the energy to repair.

He must have dozed off for a few moments because the sound of his door bell opened his eyes. He was about to get up to answer it but heard Sara walking behind him on her way to the door. Grissom leaned forward and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, in no apparent hurry to get up to join her, until he heard the young man's voice from the doorway.

"Wow!"

The tone of his voice got Grissom to his feet and started toward the door, quickly noticing what the "wow" was about as Sara stood in a nightshirt that could've been a man's button-down dress shirt, opened to partially expose her breasts. The collar was pulled up to accentuate the length of her neck and her hair was haphazardly clipped back. The fact that she stood in her bare feet and bare legs is what quickened his step. Granted, the bottom of his the flowed over halfway to her knees, but it was obvious that she was wearing next to nothing beneath it.

"Wow?" Sara gave a throaty chuckle. "Does that mean I don't have to give you a tip?"

"Only if it includes tipping you onto your back and. . ."

"That won't be necessary," Grissom pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a twenty, then handed it to the young man who appeared to be roughly thirty years old. "Keep the change."

He watched as the man barely noticed him as he gave Sara another looking over. Grissom took the small box of pizza from the man and pushed the door closed between them.

"Don't lose my number, sweetie," the very New York accent came through the doorway. "Ask for Mikey to deliver next time your old man aint around!"

Sara turned toward Grissom with her smile diminishing, then grabbed the box from him and started toward the kitchen where she sat at the island, opened an iced tea, took a slice of the white pizza then went back to the forensics magazine she had been reading. She was quite effectively ignoring him as he went behind her and began making a pot of coffee. By the time he pressed the start button on the coffee machine, she was putting the last piece of her first slice of pizza into her mouth. The box originally only contained four pieces of the personal-sized pizza; now only leaving three, and she proceeded to close it and take it to the refrigerator. She started back out of the kitchen, but he stepped in front of her and stopped her.

"Going somewhere?" He asked as he tried to look into her eyes but she wouldn't look up at him.

"Obviously."

""I think you should stay here, with me."

"Really?" She finally looked up at him. "Imagine that. I guess its completely acceptable–as long as Heather isn't here to see it."

"I didn't ask you leave the table, Sara."

"No," she sneered. "You didn't "ask" me. You "shoved" me away."

"I did no such thing."

"You do realize that the sad part about that statement is that you truly believe it, don't you? You were so mesmerized by her presence that you had no idea what you were doing. So, you really don't recall pulling away from me so she couldn't see you showing me any kind of physical affection–after all, she wouldn't like your disloyalty, now would she?" Sara said dryly as she walked around him and went back to the bedroom.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Sara,."

"No, I rarely do where Heather's concerned–do I?" She began getting her work clothes out of the dresser and putting them on a pile, then went into the bathroom where she got a bottle of prescription sleeping pills and put them on the counter, then filled a glass with water.. "I "never" know what I'm talking about compared to that fuckin' nit-wit."

"Sara, stop it. I'm so tired of defending myself and Heather."

As soon as the words escaped him, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Perhaps if he had drank a little less tonight, he wouldn't have allowed such a thing to slip out, but out it came and he could see the fire in her eyes as she looked up at him. The water in her hand was dripping off the front of him in an instant. She stormed past him as he stared at the front of his shirt that was soaked, then he turned and entered the bedroom just as she was yanking on her jeans. It was clear that she was going to leave, and his reaction wasn't typical as he moved up behind her and lifted her from behind.

"Put me down!" She said as she started to kick but thankfully her bare feet had little effect against his shins.

He dropped her face-down onto the bed and grabbed the bottoms of her jeans, easily pulling them off of her legs and tossing them across the room. He barely knew where they landed until he heard Hank rush toward them and toss them into the air, adding his own creativity to this new game between the master and mistress. The dog was about to jump up onto the bed with her when Sara grabbed onto the pants and yanked, creating a loud ripping noise that stopped her immediately. Hank, though, enjoyed the added excitement and began a severe game of tug-of-war with her. Sara immediately released the article of clothing and stared wide-eyed at Grissom. Hank, with tail wagging madly, sat beside her and stared at his master, wearing the same expression of expectation. Grissom noted the tear along the right thigh of the pants and knew they were ruined anyway, so he slowly reached for the jeans but Hank stood his ground and started to tug back.

"Hank! Down!" Grissom took the pants that the dog released as he moved to stand next to the bed, then he tossed them into the hallway and as Hank ran out after them, closed the door and turned back to find Sara still sitting on the bed watching him.

"You're buying me a new pair of jeans!"

"Not a problem," he answered as he slowly started walking back toward her. "I'll buy you a new pair of jeans. But not right now. I think we have more important matters to discuss."

"Like what? Anything I say seems to abuse your tender feelings where Heather Kessler is concerned."

He started to unbutton his wet shirt, then toed off his shoes as he dropped the shirt on the floor. "You know, if anyone has the right to be angry tonight, it's me, considering that you disappeared for over an hour and when I find you, you've quite clearly become very familiar with Don Rogers."

She watched him as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head and walked back to her. "Are you angry, Gil? I doubt it. If anything, you were relieved that I wasn't there to interfere with your discussion with Heather. You should be thanking me."

"Hmm, no. . .I can't say that I felt like thanking you while you were dancing with him."

"Don't you turn this around on me! Not when I was only trying to escape the humiliation of having you shove me away so Heather couldn't see you touching me!"

Grissom sighed, then moved onto the bed until he was lying next to where she was sitting. He propped himself up on elbow as he looked at her.

"Lie down."

"I'm not lying down with you," she told him quietly, but when he pulled her down, her struggles were minimal.

He looked at her lying flat then let his eyes wander down over her body. He wasn't about to let this stupid mistake in judgement come between them, so when his free hand moved to pluck at the buttons of her nightshirt, he looked back at her questioningly.

"May I touch you?"

"Now" you want to touch me?" She asked snidely.

"Always." He pushed her nightshirt open then trailed his fingertips down the center of her, between her breasts, over her tummy, and stopping when he met with the lace of her panties. He made no further attempt at intimacy. "I was touching you tonight. I wasn't doing anything inappropriate, but, if anyone other than one of our friends would've seen where I had my hand, it could've been judged very differently than merely the "cute touch of an old jerk in love." If a stranger, would've seen me with my hand so far up your thigh, they would've thought the worst. It wasn't something that I wanted to share with anyone, but the fact that Catherine noticed didn't bother me. It was almost a testimonial of my claim on you, chauvinistic as that may sound."

"And we couldn't have Heather seeing that testimonial, now could we?"

"I can't explain my actions, Sara. All I can tell you is that what felt right to share with my friends, suddenly seemed cheap and distorted when Heather approached. And I don't want what we have to be represented as cheap or distorted. I didn't want to give anyone the idea that I don't respect you completely and would do anything to compromise your reputation."

She turned her head and finally looked at him. "You can't be serious? Are you telling me you didn't want her to think of me as cheap because you had your hand on my thigh?"

"I didn't want anyone to see anything that would diminish the dignity of our relationship. I really wish you would've simply stayed there with me and not run away."

"You could've fooled me. You were stammering so much that it was quite evident that you were nervous with me sitting there."

"You weren't the one who was making me nervous. If you remember, Catherine opened her goddamned big trap and said I was drooling over Heather."

"Well? Weren't you?"

"No!" He quickly pulled her onto her side and against him. "I was unnerved because I didn't want to be there. If I looked nervous, it was because I knew you were put in that awkward position. Jesus, Sara! Everything I said, Catherine had to throw a wrench in and make it sound worse. Don't let Catherine's manipulations distort what really happened. I answered the woman's questions–and yes, I lied about working next Saturday, but I thought it would be the fastest and easiest way to end the conversation. But, Catherine didn't allow that to happen either. If she hadn't been feeling so tipsy, I'd be looking into assigning her some of our worst decomps over the next few months."

"Catherine was an ass tonight." Sara put her hand on his as it rested on her hip.

"Yes, Brass informed us of that fact. I believe he also called me one, but I'll overlook it."

"No, I wouldn't be so fast to overlook it. Maybe you better hold onto that thought and think about it."

"Okay," he sighed as he rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. "I'm an ass. I'll be the first to admit it."

"You do that."

He held onto to her as she lay her head on his chest and moved her hand to slide up over his still damp chest until he felt her relax into him after several minutes. "Honey?"

"What?" She murmured.

"I don't want to fight anymore."

She turned on her other side, facing away from him and allowed him to put his arm around her waist and spoon against her. "I know."


	123. Chapter 123

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty-Three

Grissom sat at his desk going over some paperwork when Catherine entered and took a seat in front of him. He glanced over his glasses at her then put down the paper he was working on and sat back in his seat. He watched as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her legs.

"You wanted something?" Catherine asked as she looked at him.

"Catherine, I know this isn't the most appropriate place to take care of this, although the event was a mandatory-work-related occasion, the problem was more of a personal one."

"Yeeessss?" She prolonged the word as she waited for him to go on, but saw he was having trouble getting it out. "Come on, Gil. What's on your mind?"

He leaned back in his chair. "I want to know why you can't seem to stop and use your head when you're confronted by Heather Kessler?"

"I beg your pardon?" She looked shocked. "If anyone has trouble using their head–it's you. You turn to mush and practically sit up and beg."

Grissom looked at her a long moment. If she truly believed this, he doubted there was much he could do to convince her otherwise.

"Even if this were true–and the fact that I have to point out that it most certainly is "not" the case, which makes the whole situation even more dangerous–why in the hell do you feel the need to point any such thing out to Sara? Don't you think she's been through enough this year?"

"I–know I had a little too much to drink last night–and I said some things I shouldn't have said. I guess, I was out of line."

"Out of line? Catherine you spoiled our evening together. You had no right, to not only say such things in front of Heather and myself–but to say it in front of Sara was utterly cruel. I have to tell ya, Catherine, if it comes down to going out with friends or protecting Sara from malicious comments like that–I'll simply stop associating with you in social settings. And if I hear of any comments like that made around her at work, it won't just be a verbal reprimand that you'll be dealing with the next time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she said, seeming to be appropriately ashamed of herself as she slowly got to her feet. "I'll–I'll apologize to Sara when she comes in tomorrow morning."

"She doesn't work tomorrow–and I don't want you bringing the subject up to her again. To apologize now would only reopen the wound."

He looked back to the paperwork in front of him, silently letting her know she could leave. The rest of the night seemed to drag for him and by seven o'clock he was already walking out of the lab and heading for his car. He remembered back to the other night when he held Sara through the first part of the night, comforting her, until he had time to stop and consider how close he was to actually losing her again. That was when he stiffened and his hold on her tightened significantly. He couldn't exactly say it was a panic attack, but fear definitely surged through him. His physical response must have awakened her because she slowly turned to face him and looked at him through sleepy eyes. After a moment, she started stroking his hair and hushing him back to sleep. When he woke up in the morning, she had already left for work, and she was in the middle of a case when it was time for her to come home. He left for work early in the hopes of running into her, but had just missed her as she made a stop at the grocery store before heading back to their apartment.

Today, he drove through the early morning and damned the morning traffic that delayed his return home. It seemed to take forever, but was merely forty-five minutes before he pulled into his parking space and found her outside, walking Hank. She glanced up and gave him a short wave, indicating that she would be along shortly, so he went inside and poured himself a cup of the coffee she had just brewed for breakfast.

By the time she returned to the apartment with him, he was already halfway through the daily crossword puzzle. He looked up at her in question as she unhooked Hank's leash.

"Hank seemed to take a sudden liking to the game catch-a-squirrel," she said breathlessly. "We were nearly to the door and he saw an especially plump one that he liked and jerked the leash out of my hand. I had to chase him nearly two blocks. Thank God the squirrel stopped on top of some shed roof so it could sit there chattering at Hank, teasing him into a frenzy, otherwise I don't think I could've ever caught up with them."

Grissom raised his brows and looked at the dog over the top of his glasses. Hank evidently got his point as he whimpered slightly, moved to his bed and promptly lay down with his chin on the floor, watching Grissom for any signs of forgiveness.

"I'll take him out in the mornings from now on. You don't need to be chasing after him and be late for work some day."

"And what if you're working a double?" She asked as she moved to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.

"I'll call and let you know."

"Mmm-hmm," she said doubtfully as she sipped at her coffee. "I know how that works with you, Dr. Grissom. If you're elbow deep in a corpse with Doc Robbins, the last thing on your mind is whether or not Hank needs to pee."

"Alright, then I'll call if I'm "not" going to be late. How will that work?"

"Probably better. I noticed that I have him marked on the calender for an appointment at the groomer's in two weeks. I think he's about due for a nail trimming. He practically slices through my jeans when he jumps up on me."

Upon the mention of the groomer, Hank lifted his head with interest as it was their custom to buy him specialized treats on his way home from the establishment, but when Sara ratted him out regarding his "jumping" habits and Grissom gave him another "look," the dog promptly dropped his head again.

"I don't know why you allow him to jump on you like you do. Every time I try to break him of his bad habits, you turn around and spoil him rotten."

"You don't complain when I allow "you" to jump on me," she told him with the hint of the smile he hadn't seen in several days.

This time when he looked over the rims of his glasses, "she" was the recipient of his raised brow. But instead of reprimanding her, his own smile tugged at his lips. He pulled his glasses off and grabbed her belt loops, gently pulling her toward him. He took her coffee from her hands and put it on the table, then slowly started to move up her body as he got to his feet, pausing at various areas to nibble with a playful growl until he was fully standing and nuzzling the area where her neck meets her shoulder. He knew it was a ticklish spot for her and her response was predicted as she moved back from him, giggling as he followed her until he stopped her with his hands on her hips. He started to walk her backward through the small hallway until he had her inside his bedroom and closed the door behind them. As his nibbling turned from playful to something more heated, he could feel her hands moving over his arms and across his chest, opening his shirt and pushing it from his shoulders.

The lack of intimacy over the past few days seemed to have intensified the yearning they were feeling for one another and he wasted no time removing her blouse and jeans. She turned to crawl onto the bed, but he impatiently moved with her until she was lying on her stomach with him lying on top of her. He was kissing her shoulders and her back as his fingers glided over her arms, raising them over her head as he held them there and entwined their fingers. His groin was pressed against the firmness of her backside as she pressed back against him, the friction they were creating was incredible and he instantly started rolling his hips against her. She moaned her pleasure and the sound seemed to go straight to his groin, making him so hard that the confines of his pants was becoming unbearable.

He quickly reached between them and opened his pants, pulling himself free and allowing his length to initially probe her rounded cheeks before he pushed himself against her again, pressing against her sensitivity and pulling her more tightly against him. She turned her head to the side and reached behind herself to stroke any part of his skin she could and he kissed her cheeks and jaw line.

"Mmm, this is nice," she moaned.

"We need to get these off. I want inside you."

He quickly lifted himself and started shoving the back of her panties down over her bottom as she pushed the front down. He was about to pull them off completely when the first notes to her cell phone blared from the night stand. She stopped moving beneath him an started to lift herself on her elbows.

"It's over there. I can't quite reach it."

"Not now!" Grissom almost growled. "They can call back."

"Gil," she moaned, then stretched a little farther and grabbed it. "It's Ecklie."

"Don't answer it!" He told her desperately, then dropped his forehead onto her shoulder when she did just that.

"Sidle," she answered in a strained voice and Grissom rolled off of her until he was lying flat on his back with his arm thrown up over his eyes. "Alright. I'll be right in."

He listened to her close her phone, then there was silence and he knew she was watching him. Still, he refused to remove his arm from his eyes.

"I told you not to answer it," he said dryly.

"You would've never tolerated that, if it had been you calling someone else in to work," she said simply, then moved to get off of the bed. "They've found the body of Congressman Hughes. He was found in a dumpster."

This attracted his attention enough to actually look at her. "How was he murdered? Do they know yet?"

"How do you know he was murdered? Maybe he died of natural causes." She started to put her clothes back on that he had removed.

"Well, I don't think he died of a heart attack while sorting through garbage in a nearby dumpster. Even if it was natural causes, someone had to put him there."

"They're not sure yet. All they know is that they found him wearing a leather vest and shorts, and there was a full-head-mask with the body."

"The mask was leather, too?" Grissom asked as he looked at her and when she reluctantly gave him an affirmative nod, he immediately moved into a sitting position and started to adjust his pants to cover himself. "Do they need extra help?"

He looked up as she was buttoning her jeans but she didn't answer as she turned and started out of the bedroom. He grabbed his clothes and came out to the kitchen in time to see her picking up her keys and go toward the front door.

"Should I come in, too?" He called after her again.

Without looking back, she replied, "You do what you need to do."


	124. Chapter 124

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Four

Sara was taking photos of a dead congressman who was wearing black leather intermittently from his booted feet up to his masked head. She took special attention to the marks around his wrists and throat that screamed out erotic asphyxiation. The fact that his hands were unbound but showed signs of bruising around them proved a partner was involved, and the fact that they moved him to a public dumpster said he was either left by someone who was unconcerned with his public image or was sending out a message.

She spent extra time going through the rest of the garbage, hoping to find something that would connect the victim with whomever had a hand in his death. A large part of her wanted to find something that proved Heather Kessler was involved; anything that could connect her with all the other suspected deaths that seemed to surround her. But another, even larger part of her wanted the evidence to point in an entirely different direction–that way Grissom wouldn't become involved with trying to prove her innocense again.

She thought back to how he went from the midst of showing her how very much he wanted her with no interruptions, to nearly jumping out of the bed to assist her on the "bondage" case, and she couldn't stop the way her heart turned a little colder. She left the condo before he could get completely re-dressed, so she had no idea if he planned to drive himself to the scene or if he stayed home.

She worked the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, and by the time she made it back to the lab, she saw Heather leaving after having been questioned by Brass with Ecklie assisting. Her first instinct was to avoid a scene by turning down an adjacent hallway, but that option was taken from her when Heather approached her.

"Sara," Heather hissed. "I see you're still trying to find things to damage Grissom's opinion of me. I should think that you'd know by now that all it would take would be a whisper that I'm in trouble and he'd come running to assist me."

"Funny," Sara turned a cold smile toward the woman. "I don't see Grissom here."

"Who's to say that I didn't get a phone call immediately after he found out the congressman was dead, warning me that Jim would be coming? You might not see him here–yet–but you have no idea what he was up to while you were out rummaging through the garbage." Heather started to walk past Sara, then glanced back at her. "You might want to try shower and then maybe a little. . .oh, that's right, you can't afford the fragrance that Gil prefers."

"Did you say something, Ms. Kessler?" Sophia asked as she came down the hall toward her, swinging Heather's attention back to the front of her.

"No. I didn't say anything." She walked past Sophia. "Excuse me."

"What's wrong, Kessler?" Sophia asked. "Doesn't Grissom take a liking to "eau de TOILET?" Something about that blue ring around your forehead that he finds unattractive?"

"I "said" excuse me!" Heather hurried her pace to the exit and Sophia slowly approached Sara with her hands shoved into her pockets and a smile tugging at her lips.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist it," Sophia started walking down the corridor with Sara. "That woman's so full of shit that I don't think she's had a bowel movement since she was a teenager."

"Always such a way with words, Sophia," Sara chuckled as they went on their way.

Sara worked through the rest of the day, determined to find the evidence she needed to find Congressman Hughes murderer, but by the time they wrapped everything up, it was two of his assistants who had been with him when things got out of hand. They both admitted that they were the only ones involved and that they panicked and disposed of the body. Just how two women no taller than five and a half feet dragged a man who weighed two hundred pounds through the halls of a busy hotel, down four flights of stairs and then lifted him up and into a five-foot high dumpster, the authorities couldn't explain. But, as was the case lately, there was no evidence to prove otherwise.

Sara trudged into the condo at nearly seven that evening, noticing that Grissom was in his office, rearranging his moth collection. But she didn't pause to make him aware that she was home, instead, she moved through the bedroom and into the bathroom where she stripped down and got into the steaming shower. She was letting the water beat down against her aching muscles when she saw the figure approaching then pause to start removing clothes. She took a deep breath, not knowing exactly if she was up to entertaining him in the shower, but remained quiet just the same.

"Ah–Jesus! Could you make it much hotter?" Grissom told her as he stepped in with her and immediately moved out of the line of the spray.

"I needed to get this smell off of me."

"They couldn't put anyone else in dumpster to sort through the garbage? Ronnie's day off?" He picked up her shampoo and poured some into his hand, then went about massaging it into her hair. He turned her so her back was facing him as he continued washing her dark locks.

"They wanted a more experienced member of the crew to cover it."

She closed her eyes as his massage went from her scalp to her neck and shoulders. When the shampoo was rinsed off, he grabbed her shower gel and spread it on her back.

"You're almost out of this stuff. You might want to pick some up today–unless you're calling it a night and staying in. I could pick some up for you before I come home in the morning."

She looked over her shoulder at him, noticing how his attention was completely on the task of washing her arms and shoulders, back and waist. "You're awfully adamant that I get some more–do I smell that bad?"

He looked up at her quickly and she read his expression of surprise that she would take it that way. "No, you don't smell that bad. I just. . ."

He shrugged his shoulders, letting her know his comment was hard to admit to.

"You just. . .what?"

"I like how it smells. It reminds me of you, and I like it."

Heather's comment regarding the perfume immediately struck her, and she turned to face him. "How much" do you like it?"

"What do ya mean?" This time he started rubbing the body wash over the top of her chest, then on to her breasts; a chore that he quickly seemed to get lost in.

"I "mean" how much do you like it? Wouldn't you rather smell Chanel No. 5 or something like that?"

"Why? I like this. You're not planning on going out and getting some different kind of perfume-smelling body wash, are you? I like this much better–it's light, it's fresh–it's you."

She continued to watch him as his hands moved lower, then he knelt in front of her and washed her legs. When he stood up and would have normally proceeded to wash her backside as well as her front, she stepped in closer to him, instead and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You don't like heavy perfumes?" She asked quietly.

"Why? Do you "want" to change to something else? I mean, go ahead if you really want to–I just prefer this stuff." He went back to rubbing her back as she leaned into him.

The sound of Grissom's cell going off brought a frustrated sigh from him, then he kissed her wet hair, rinsed his hands, and stepped out of the shower. She watched as he wrapped a towel around his hips and went to his cell, then she stepped back under the water and rinsed herself, went back to the water-massage mode for a few minutes.

"Sara?" Grissom called into the bathroom after her and she turned off the water.

"Yeah?"

"I just got called in. A kid killed his parents a week ago and they just found the bodies. I wouldn't count on seeing me before morning unless you get called in too."

"Ya know, you can always call me for help."

"Not unless I absolutely need you tonight. You need some rest. Try to get it while I'm gone. I'll see ya tomorrow morning."

She listened as he left and she moved out of the shower, deciding that she needed that rest more than she was willing to admit. She wrapped a terry robe around herself then moved under the blankets and was asleep almost immediately. She slept nearly ten hours before her alarm went off and alerted her it was time to go in for her usual day shift. It was during her shift that she was called out to a dead baby found floating in a pool. Upon searching through the surroundings, they found the child's mother drugged and asleep in the recreation room. They rushed her to the hospital but she arrived DOA. Sara stayed on that case until Grissom came in again that night, before he sent her home for some rest. She was beginning to feel as if they were in a revolving door as one would leave as the other would enter.


	125. Chapter 125

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Five

Grissom got out of his Denali and looked up to see the willowy brunette walking toward the house that supposedly held a double murder. They hadn't seen one another a great deal over the past two weeks, so he was glad he had to call her in to help him. He had seen so little of her, in fact, that he didn't know if their lack of amorous activity was due to their work schedules or if she was still harboring ill feelings regarding her latest run-in with Heather.

Sara glanced up at him and nodded her acknowledgment but he noticed that the secret smile that she used to send him when greeting him at a scene was missing. They went into the house and processed it, then when they were finished they both returned to the lab. Together they came up with ideas as was their usual custom and together they finished the case, allowing him to go home ahead of her as she stayed to finish out her shift. This allowed him to grab a few hours of sleep by the time she was due home. By four-thirty he was showered and waiting for her in his tee-shirt and jeans, and pulling a mushroom and bell pepper quiche out of the oven. By five he was sitting in the dimness of the living room and watching her enter the condo with him.

She let out a deep breath and dropped her pack on the floor where she stood, then came closer. He let his eyes travel from her head to her toes and back again and then without any warning, she almost flowed toward him until she was straddling his lap with her arms around his neck as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Automatically, his hands moved up the back of her blouse and he gently rubbed the exposed skin.

"Rough day?" He asked quietly and she nodded her head yes. "Are you okay?" Another quick nod. "Okay, then are you hungry?" Negative shake. "Don't tell me, you stopped at Frank's on the way home."

"No," she said quietly. "I don't enjoy eating there anymore, not without you or the guys."

"Are you tired?"

"I just want to be with you; to touch you. Today when we were at the scene and I watched you standing there, the thought of going inside that house and facing another dead body was almost unbearable. I just wanted to be able to walk up to you and have you wrap your arms around me and hold me as tightly as you could. I wanted to be able to touch you and nestle against you like I am right now."

"Then I guess dinner can wait. Do you want to stay here? Or would you rather go to bed?"

"Lets go to bed. I want to settle in."

She took his hand and he got up and followed her into his bedroom, closing the door to Hank, then moving to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at her as she stood near the dresser then slowly approached him. He put his hands on her legs and pulled her until she stood between his thighs, then pressed a kiss against her stomach. Her fingers went to his hair, running through it while at the same time, pulling him against her. After a moment he moved back on the bed and spread his length across it and she crawled up beside him. He was a little surprised when she resumed her position and straddled his lap while laying on his chest and nestling against him. Again, he resumed his exploration of the soft skin covering her back. They lay quietly for nearly twenty minutes and the evenness of her breathing informed him that she had fallen asleep, but when he tried to turn with her, she grasped onto his shirt tightly.

"No! Don't go!"

"I'm not "going" anywhere. I was only moving you."

She slowly moved until she was on her back next to him, then she tugged his shirt until he turned to face her.

"All the way," she urged as she continued to pull at him until he was lying on top of her with her legs around him. "I need to feel you."

He held himself up on his forearms as he looked down at her. The need he saw in her face was as seductive as anything she could have done and when she spread her legs even farther and started rocking beneath him she stirred a longing in him that took over. He reached between them, attempting to open her pants, but she shook her head negatively.

"Okay," he whispered as he slid his lips over hers. "We'll do it your way. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to want me. I want you to "need" me."

He gave a short nod as his lips brushed over hers again, then he let his tongue slide out and tease her lips before sliding inside and taking command of the kiss. His legs moved on their own, coming up until he was practically sitting on his calves as his knees went on either side of her. He didn't take any time to try to remove their clothes again, he simply started rubbing against her as his arms grasped onto her head; his fingers tangling in her hair. They rocked against one another as their kisses became more and more heated. They continued their erotic dance until she almost whimpered and pulled her head back from his. He knew he needed more and he lifted himself up on his knees and yanked open her jeans.

"Get these off!" He ordered and within seconds he was peeling them off of her long legs, another few seconds and he had his jeans opened and pushed down over his hips.

Even as they remained clothed in their underwear, he urgently moved back to the position they had been in and he found the simplicity of their act was practically making him see stars. Suddenly, she threw her head back and released a cry that was a combination of a moan and a laugh and without missing a beat, she pushed him off of her and onto his back. She was on him in an instant, pushing the cotton of his boxer/briefs down to expose his throbbing erection.

"Gil, I need you so badly."

Her hands were on him, positioning him as she lowered her mouth to him, licking the heat that radiated from him. He moved farther up on the bed and grabbed onto her legs, pulling her body over on top of him as if she were weightless. He guided himself with his right hand and laced the fingers of his left hand through the thickness of her hair until he felt her mouth devouring him. He moved his hands to her thighs and spread them, needing something to aim his desires at, and wasting no time moving his heated kisses up the sensitive skin until he met her moist center. He had to hold her to him as she thrashed above him, but there was nothing lacking in the attention she was giving him as her head bobbed in rhythm with his hips. Her urgency pushed him on, stimulated him into the need of responding to her as she was to him. The noises she was making around his shaft was sending him farther than he could remember going and after what seemed to have been forever, he couldn't stop himself and flipped them over until he was on top. He could feel her responding to his hands and mouth, he could feel her tensing up and then the orgasm spreading through her, arching her back up against him again and again as she continued working with him until he, too, succumbed to the explosive ending she had brought about.

Immediately upon completion, guilt invaded him and he quickly turned and flipped around, his hands capturing her head and stroking her hair back from her face as he repeatedly kissed her through his comments.

"Oh, God, Sara! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to . . ."

He watched her as she looked up at him, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"You're sorry?"

"I didn't want to hurt you. It couldn't have been comfortable for you with me on top. Jesus, I didn't mean to put you in such a position, but I couldn't hold back–I couldn't stop myself."

She smiled gently at him and stroked his cheek with her palm. "You were fine, Gil. You were more than fine. You showed me how much you needed me; so much that it knocked away some of that composure that you like to hide behind."

He gave her a half-smile of relief. "So, you like it when I lose my composure, huh?"

"You turned into a real animal," she teased lightly. "Don't be sorry. Please, don't feel bad because you wanted me so much that you got a little rough. I needed to feel alive; and you did that for me. I love you, Gil."

He gave a soft laugh as he looked down into her eyes. "Really? Then I guess I'll have to make a habit out of showing you just how very much I want you–you'll have no room for doubt."

"Just love me, hold me, make me feel safe for now."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her tightly against him, then stroked her skin until he felt her drift off into sleep.


	126. Chapter 126

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Six

Six women killed by their husbands or lovers; two women killed by their lover's wife; a nine-year-old who walked in on his mother prostituting his twelve-year-old sister in exchange for crack; a four-month-old baby girl who just wouldn't strop crying for her mother's boyfriend; three prostitutes; two businessmen who over-indulged to the point that their hearts couldn't take it; three businessmen who thought it was perfectly fine to do enough cocaine to practically mummify them then go out and drive down the strip, taking out a family of five with them; and, oh yes, how could she forget the seventy-nine-year-old woman who got trampled by a crowd spooked by gunfire as a fifteen-year-old boy attempted to hold up a small casino–of course the boy only got as far as shooting his gun twice before his head was splattered across the slot machines behind him. The owner of the casino wasn't very happy that those machines would be taken in for evidence–he said he was only a small fish in a big pond, why couldn't it have happened to one of the sharks in the industry–three slot machines would have meant nothing to them.

This list of cases over the past three weeks was running through Sara's mind as she entered the lab. She had managed to get a few hours rest before being called in to work. Her first stop was to inform Grissom that she picked Hank up from the groomer's before she came in and dropped him off with their neighbor. He didn't look very comfortable as he spoke to the FBI agent in his office. Well, what else was new. His weeks haven't been going any better than hers. She tried to lighten her mood when she spoke to the gentleman and Grissom. She knew Grissom was very busy and didn't need to deal with her insecurities right now.

She went to her scene and found that it was a couple. The sight of the woman lying in front of her sofa seemed lay another weight on Sara's shoulders; although it felt more like it was on her chest, restricting her lungs and her ability to breathe. She moved forward with the investigation, needing to simply hover above everything that was taking place in the home. It wasn't very long and Grissom was in the house with her, as well as Doc Robbins. That was when it was discovered that the woman was raped and murdered while her husband was made to watch before he was also murdered. The thought of it struck Sara like a sledgehammer, and she had to get out of there. As Grissom quickly followed her, she stopped upon his request. All of a sudden, Sara wanted to know "why." After years of working on the question of "how" and "who" and "where," suddenly they weren't as important to her as the "why" of it, and when Grissom couldn't give her a feasible answer, she found the thought of such a reality unbearable. She turned and walked away, needing to be alone to compose herself. When she finally stopped and looked back to find Grissom, the sight of him walking in the other direction, behind the house, wasn't really surprising, was it? After all, this was his job–and they all knew how important his job was to him. Another stone was added to her weight-laden shoulders as she drove away.

She ran into Grissom several times over the next few hours, each time he would pause and look at her with questions in his eyes, but he never asked them, so she never told him. Instead, she went home and waited for him, hoping that once they could sit with one another and calm down; relax and let their minds come back from that hell that's become their job; she'd be back to normal and ready to face the next day. She waited until nearly five o'clock, at which time she took the broccoli alfredo off the stove as it was beginning to resemble something she might find in one of her dumpsters she is forced to go into from time to time. She finished putting the food away, then moved to the sofa where she waited for her fiancé, but after another hour, sleep found her.

The telephone woke her and as she wiped her hand over sleepy eyes, she glanced at the clock to see that it was almost nine-thirty.

"Yeah, hello," she said groggily.

"Sara, the case took a major turn. He left the area and we know where he is, but. . ."

"You need to go find him," she finished for him without enthusiasm.

"It's part of the job–and we're very close."

Sara remained quiet as she stared at the dog who was looking back at her. "Where is he? Phoenix? Reno?"

"New York," Grissom told her.

"New York," she repeated dully. "So, I guess you'll be gone longer than merely overnight." When he didn't answer she nodded her head to herself, then went on. "I–um–have something on the stove I better tend to. I have to go right now."

"Sara," he started, but she hung up the telephone.

She took a deep breath as she patted Hank's head, then turned back toward the bedroom where she dressed for bed and climbed in. As she lay there watching the ceiling, she couldn't say that she was angry with him for going to New York. It was his job and she knew. . . She couldn't even say she was angry about him alerting her at the last minute. She couldn't even say she was angry at all. It was just another stone on her shoulders.

Another day at work and things were becoming less and less clear to her. Reasoning wasn't something she was grasping on to–at least a reasoning to keep fighting for these people. She wasn't even sure she wanted to characterize them as people anymore. Ronnie's enthusiasm for the job, whether it be good or bad, wasn't lost on Sara–not really. She was aware of it, but she also found it absolutely futile. So, she did her job, went home at the end of her shift, walked Hank and took a shower. She climbed up onto the bed again, needing the escape that sleep could give her, not noticing the red light blinking on the telephone that indicated there were messages.

The next day went much like the previous one, this time adding a slightly interesting twist when she discovered that the person who killed the woman and her husband in the condo was actually their thirteen-year-old daughter and two of her friends. When asked why, she simply said, "They were freaks. They thought they could keep me prisoner in this dump while they went out every day." "Yes–they went out because they both worked." "They wouldn't let me go to Braden's house!" Braden was the twenty-one-year-old brother of one of her friends whom she thought she should be staying with. Her parents thought otherwise, thus they were overbearing and prison guards.

Sara listened to the girls explaining this to Brass behind the mirror, then she turned and headed back home. Another stone on her shoulder, but she wouldn't think about that anymore. What difference would it make? She walked Hank, took a shower and went to bed.

In her dream she was in what looked to be a coal bin, but instead of coal, there was a pile of bodies. She figured there must have been at least twenty-five bodies stacked upon each other. She looked at each body very carefully and it would dawn on her with each body, what the cause of death was and she would pull that body off the pile. When she would get about five bodies pulled from the pile, another ten fell down the coal shoot. She tried to get to the bodies faster, moving them so quickly that she couldn't catch her breath, but every time she'd pull two away, four would come toward her, until finally, they surrounded her and filled the room. She was being crushed by the weight of them and she couldn't breathe anymore. She started pushing at the bodies, shoving them away with a superhuman strength until she hit one body that grabbed onto her arms. She screamed, not daring to look at this body, knowing it would be worse than all the rest. She fought against its grip and kicked and bit.

"Sara!"

The voice stilled her instantly and she opened her eyes, escaping the nightmare she had been trapped in. She looked around the brightness of the room before she actually focused on the face above hers. She had to calm down. She couldn't let him see how upset she was, so she merely looked into Grissom's face as stood next to the bed.

"Gil," she said as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

"You haven't checked any of the messages. I've been calling but you weren't answering."

"I–I've been working–and walking Hank. I–just forgot to check the messages–that's all." It took a moment to notice that he was in the process of removing his shirt as he looked down at her. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Are you going in to work tonight?" She asked as he walked toward his dresser and got out some clean clothes, then started toward the bathroom.

"Actually, I'm just coming from the lab. I dropped off my equipment and tied up a few loose ends." She could hear him turning on the shower before calling back out to her again. "Do we have anything here to eat? Or do you want to order something in?"

"I'm surprised you didn't stop on the way home for dinner," she said more to herself than to him as she got up from the bed and left the room in search of something to make for their meal.

After standing in front of the refrigerator for nearly five minutes and having nothing scream out at her, she simply closed the door and went to the phone and ordered Chinese. She went through the kitchen then and cleaned up the things she had left undone for the past two days; things she hadn't felt like taking care of while he was gone. She then went to the bedroom and picked up his bag of dirty clothes he had brought back with him. She went to the bathroom and got the clothes he had just taken off and threw them into the laundry with the others. By the time she came back out, she found Grissom wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and tee-shirt as he answered the door in his bare feet. He paid the deliveryman then brought the bag of food back to the table and distributed it between the two of them.

Sara took her seat and looked at her plate without enthusiasm as she poked it with her chopsticks. She noticed that Grissom had no problem eating, even if he was watching her closely as he was doing it.

"You're not hungry?" Grissom asked.

"Not very."

"Then why did you order so much food?"

"I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach," she said as she shrugged her shoulders then stood up and started putting the food back in the boxes. "I'll put it in the fridge for later."

"Sara?" Grissom went back to eating his meal.

"Hmm?"

"Are you still angry?"

She looked at him. "Who says I was angry?"

"You didn't pick up the phone. You didn't check the messages. Now, you don't want to sit with me and eat dinner. I think it's clear that you're not pleased with me."

She sighed as she came back to where he was sitting and took the seat next to his. "I'm just not hungry."

He reached over and put his hand on hers and squeezed it, then continued to hold it until he finished eating. They both put the leftovers away and when they were finished, Grissom took her hand again and pulled her along to the bedroom where he turned on the television and sat down, pulling her down next to him as he sat back against the headboard. She moved until she was lying with her head on his lap and watched as he turned the channel to the History Channel. As she lay there, she could feel him rubbing her back and she felt her body relaxing. It was her desire to get the anxiety out of her mind that pushed her to lift her head and push the top of his pants down.

There was no foreplay. Tonight, she wasn't up to it–she only wanted to satisfy him and satisfy herself in the fact that she was satisfying him. She noticed that he had a semi-rigid erection when she pushed the pants down, and when she moved and slipped her lips down over it, it began growing immediately.

"Sara," he whispered to her. "You don't have to."

She gave an irritated grunt as she continued to bob her head and she felt him slide lower on the bed so he was in a half-reclined position. He used both of his hands as his fingers slid through her hair and before long she could hear the low rumble of his exclamations as his hips tensed and then started moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She slowly took him over the edge and when he was through, he immediately reached down and grabbed her beneath the arms, pulling her up against him and immediately finding her mouth with his. His hands started roaming over her back and buttocks and he pressed himself against her in an attempt to work on another erection so she could have a climax with him the next time.

"No, Gil." She pulled his hand from her backside and entwined her fingers with him. "Not tonight. Tonight it was for you."


	127. Chapter 127

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Seven

"_Gil. You know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. The truth be told, I'm tired. Out in the desert, under the car that night, I realized something and I haven't been able to shake it. Since my father died, I've spent almost my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close friends and out there in the desert, it occurred to me that it was time for me to bury them. I can't do that here. I'm so sorry. No matter how hard I try to fight it off I'm left with feeling that I have to go. I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid that I'll self-destruct, and worse, you'll be there to see it happen. Be safe. Know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only and I miss you with every beat of my heart. Our life together was the only home I've ever had. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you. I always will. Goodbye."_

Grissom's breathing grew shallow–or did he stop breathing altogether? He couldn't tell you if he was sitting in his office or, for all he was aware, he could be drowning in the middle of Lake Mead, fathoms beneath the water. That had to be the explanation, the reason why he couldn't seem to find any oxygen to fill his lungs, the reason why he was having this nightmare.

He wanted the door to burst open and Sara to stand before him, shining her radiating smile, releasing her infectious laugh. He wouldn't care if it was a joke that was in the most extreme of bad taste. He just needed her to tell him it was all an extremely ill-mannered trick. Please, just a bad joke.

But as he stared at nothing in particular, he knew it was no joke. He knew that he had been watching this come for weeks–hell, if he wouldn't have been fooling himself, he would have known it was coming for months. But, he refused to face it in the beginning–then, he didn't know "how" to face it–and then, during these past days, when he should have spent time with her, to help her through "this" he went to New York City, instead. Again, his desire for his job came before Sara. He should have been here for her, instead of being so involved in someone else's life. By the time he tried to pull her back to investigate what was lying just beneath her surface–she was already too far gone–too injured to allow him to try to heal her, to heal them. In the end, he had failed her, just as he always knew he would.

He leaned back in his chair and his brain seemed to freeze. He couldn't focus his thoughts and he didn't really know just how long he sat there, gazing at the shelves across from him. She was leaving. And he knew, this time, there was nothing he could do to stop her. But. . .maybe. . .maybe. . .she could have a change of heart. She had before. How many times had they gone through this–and she always came back. . .

He dropped his head in defeat. This time was different. He knew that this time, the fire of hope was gone from her eyes. They had been growing blanker and duller every day since . . . Since when–exactly? When was the last time he saw her "truly" happy? He remembered back to a promise to have an extravagant Easter breakfast–a time for them to share. He remembered the hope in her eyes, the trust in her eyes, the peace in her eyes.

Grissom glanced down at his hands, noticing for the first time that he wasn't holding her note any longer. Instead, he was holding a glass he had retrieved from his bottom desk drawer. In it was the amber liquid he had poured into it. He looked at his desk top and saw the bottle of bourbon sitting on its edge. So lost in his thoughts, was he, that he didn't even realize he was getting himself a drink, let alone displaying that fact for anyone who happened to come into his office by leaving the bottle out for their inspection.

The thought occurred to him, again, that he may just be overreacting. Maybe he would go home and find her there, waiting for him to come help her through this, but not wanting to impose on him. He put the bottle back in his desk drawer and left the glass as he grabbed his keys and hurried out of his office. He heard his name two or three times, from different people, but he continued on his way. He didn't have time to stop right now. They didn't attempt to call him back, so it must not have been overly concerning.

He knew, even as he pulled into his parking lot, that he wouldn't find her car there. But there had been that spark of hope. He got out of his car and went inside, hoping for. . .anything. . .but finding only Hank as he pranced inside his cage, anxious to get out.

"Not now, buddy," Grissom said absently as he moved through the apartment, glancing in various areas for any signs of another note, then moving into the bedroom.

He opened closets and bureau drawers, but there was nothing missing. Perhaps she really hadn't left after all. He picked up his cell in the hope of finding her and telling her to just come home–they'd figure something out. There was no answer. His heart sank deeper.

This time when he went to the living room, he absently opened Hank's cage, then sank down onto the sofa. He sat in a daze, then leaned his head back until it rested on the sofa's back and closed his eyes. He barely noticed as Hank moved to lie next to him on the cushion, having sensed his master's despair. The dog simply lay his head in Grissom's lap and waited, just as the man did. They waited.

And waited. . .and waited. . .

OoOoOoOoOo

It was time for Grissom to leave for work. He had walked Hank three times since his arrival home that morning. He had tried to eat something for lunch and failed miserably, then at dinner time he merely opened his refrigerator and grabbed a container of Sara's yogurt. He drank enough coffee to keep him buzzing for the next three days, which was just as well, considering that he knew he wouldn't be sleeping much anyway.

He looked at his watch for the third time in the past five minutes. He didn't want to leave–just in case she called. But she didn't. After waiting another half hour, he knew he had to leave for work or he would be extremely late. He turned off the lights and pulled the door closed behind him. He heard the mechanism of the lock click into place and took two steps down the hall when he heard his telephone begin its call to him.

"Dammit!"

He grabbed to pull his keys out of his jacket pocket, but they got stuck. He pulled again and again but in his frustrated frenzy they ripped the cloth and then went flying onto the floor. Desperate to get inside, he grabbed the metal objects and brought them up to the door. "Damn! Why did he have to have so many keys on this damned ring?" He searched for what seemed like an eternity before finding the correct one and tried to slide it into a very unwilling door. He could hear the sound of Sara's voice coming through and still he was fumbling with the key. Finally, the door banged open and he rushed inside, just in time to hear the click at the other end of the line.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He raged as he ran for the telephone.

He grabbed onto it in hopes of a return number, but knew, even before he dialed, that it was most likely a public phone. Sighing deeply, he pressed the "play" button on his answering machine to hear a fairly despondent Sara.

"Hey. I–um–guess I should've let you know where I was going. The truth is that I wasn't quite sure myself, until just now. Actually, the truth be told, I didn't have a clue until tonight. I caught the first flight out of Vegas this morning. The fact that it took me to San Diego made me consider going farther north and making peace with my mother. I–have to admit, it took a lot of soul-searching and a final burst of courage to get me here–but here I am. I think this might be what I need–a beginning to an ends–an attempt to try to heal the past so I can work on my present and hopefully my future. I–can't tell you any more than that. I know it doesn't seem fair, but I have no answers for you right now. I won't have any answers until I find them for myself. I love you, Gil."

Grissom briefly closed his eyes, then turned and went out the door again. Work was waiting. He knew what to expect there, no matter how chaotic–it would be there, waiting for him.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Have you been in touch with Sara?" Brass asked as he walked down the lab's hallway with Grissom next to him.

"We've talked a little," Grissom answered somewhat reluctantly. He hadn't actually discussed Sara with anyone since he found her car in the lab's garage the first night he went back to work.

"So where's she at?"

"San Francisco, visiting her mother."

"No. That's nice. But I mean, where is she at emotionally with respect to the two of you?"

"I can't speak for her."

"So, speak for yourself."

"I can't talk. I'm really busy."

This was only the first of many avoidances that Grissom had to make during the week following Sara's departure. At first everyone seemed to be in as much shock as he had been in. Then they all went into an apprehensive state whenever he was around, as if they didn't know what to expect from him. Then, after so many days of that, the concern began to show on their faces, and he wasn't up to dealing with it. He worked almost continuously, only going home to sleep, and even then, sleep evaded him as he would wake often, reaching for the woman that was no longer there.

He had gone over the situation a hundred times, hell, probably a thousand times! But each time, he couldn't see any way around their separation. He couldn't think of any way he could have avoided losing her. He didn't want to remember back to the loss of their child and the circumstances surrounding it, just as he didn't want to remember back to the trauma of her abduction. He had no control over any of it. What was done was done–and he couldn't change it. The scars that were left were cut so deeply that he couldn't see how they were torturing Sara on the inside–not until now. When she was dealing with her own hell, he thrust her into the nightmares of the city–day after day–showing her everything bad that life had to offer. Why couldn't he see that she needed to be shown the flip-side of that life? Why hadn't he been able to understand that she couldn't simply turn on and off her emotional buttons as well as he could.

He cringed each time one of his friends would bring up Sara, in their own, delicate way. It seemed that the only one who didn't make him cringe was Greg, who let it be clearly understood that he blamed Grissom for Sara's departure. The unhappiness and bitterness he saw in Greg almost mirrored his own, but at least it was honest and what he felt he deserved.

It was another week of working on senseless cases that held very little interest for Grissom, but still, he only went home when absolutely necessary. Thank God he had a neighbor who would dog sit for him, otherwise he didn't know what he would do with Hank at this point. Every time he went home, he would sit in the silence of the building, waiting to hear Sara's footsteps padding across the hardwood floors to greet him, waiting to feel her sit next to him and slide up next to him in a fit so perfect that it was as if they were two halves of the same person, waiting for her to put her hands and fingers on his face and neck and ease the tenseness that made his head throb with pain. But there would be nothing. He would take short walks with Hank, but every little thing he saw of interest, he couldn't stop the urge to turn to her as she walked next to him and discuss it–anything from the way Hank seemed to be deathly afraid of the squirrel that was determined to tease him with its boldness, to the fact that one of their neighbors had evidently had an accident as she was maneuvering herself with a set of crutches. He would be cruelly reminded that she wasn't walking right next to them as he would glance at the empty side of the sidewalk, but by the time he was nearly halfway home, his intentions would taunt him again as he would eagerly mount the steps in anticipation of filling her in on what she had missed on the walk. It never ceased to amaze him how each and every time he entered the solitude of his apartment after these walks, the disappointment would be just as intense upon finding that she was indeed, not there. These were the times he would feed Hank, then go to his bedroom and try to lose himself in sleep. When that didn't work, he'd grab a shot or two of whiskey in the hopes that it might dull his senses. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time it didn't. He would return to the lab and catch a nap on the sofa in his office.

Warrick's involvement with the next case ripped through Grissom. He didn't need this! Goddammit! Why in the hell couldn't Warrick keep his life in order long enough for Grissom to take a descent breath. But no, he practically dove right into that catastrophe and was accused of being involved in that girl's murder. Grissom did what was expected. Grissom did what he needed to do to ensure Warrick could walk away with his name intact. Grissom did all this, then, when he needed to go home to be revitalized by the arms of the woman who could give him the strength he needed, he crashed. He knew he couldn't take another moment of this without knowing what was going on. He had waited long enough.


	128. Chapter 128

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Eight

It took a little investigation, but Grissom gathered the information he needed and by Friday morning he was standing at the door of a hotel room. He paused a moment, then brought his hand up and knocked sharply. When there was no immediate answer, he looked at his watch, noticing that it was only seven o'clock and he wondered if perhaps she was still in bed. He was about to knock again when the door opened down the hall and a man stepped out in what appeared to be jogging clothes. He seemed to be relatively young but with reddish hair that showed a tendency to premature balding. He paused as he looked at Grissom, almost as if he were debating whether to stop long enough to talk to him or proceed on his way. Finally, after a moment or two, he approached Grissom.

"You won't find anyone home this time of morning. She's usually out at least a half hour before I am."

"Do you know where she goes?"

He shrugged then eyed Grissom suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm a friend. I need to find her. . .I need to. . ."

Grissom could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment travel through the young man's eyes before he pulled his iPod out of his pocket and began preparing it for his run.

"I take it you're the reason she's out every morning, communing with Mother Nature–or the bay, at least." When Grissom didn't answer, he went on thoughtfully. "Yes, I can see that you are. Sara seems like such a sweet girl. She also seems as if she had been tough as nails at one time–but something. . .or someone. . .has broken her."

"Excuse me," Grissom interrupted. The last thing he wanted was a lecture from an overenthusiastic fan of his girlfriend. "Do you know where she is?"

"I just told you. She's down at the bay. She goes down every morning. At first she starts with a run, but by the time she's finished, she's taking her time about returning back here. Almost as if she doesn't quite know where she wants to be or wants to go."

"Down by the bay? Can you be more precise?"

"Gil?" Sara's voice sounded from the elevator's doors as they opened and she stepped into the hall. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Grissom turned and looked at her, feeling as if his heart were going to burst in anticipation. She looked so frail and defenseless that he wanted to rush up and pull her into his arms, but he knew that would be the wrong thing to do.

"Sara," he said quietly as he watched her slowly approaching him, then struggle with something between a sob and a smile before putting her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. "Come on, we'll go inside."

He reached down to the key she had and held her close with his other arm as he ushered her to the door then went inside. Once he closed the door he turned toward her and put both arms around her again as she nuzzled against him. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do from this point–wasn't exactly sure what he "wanted" to do, so he simply stood there holding her until he finally felt her grip on him loosen and she moved her head back to look at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I know." Blue eyes searched brown.

"But, I can't. . .I can't. . ."

"I know. I'm not here to force you to do anything. I'm here because I needed to be with you. I needed to see for myself that you were alright."

"But, I'm not–alright–otherwise. . ." She began rambling while trying to talk with her hands.

"Shh," he said as he pulled her into his embrace again. "We can talk about it later, okay? Right now, just let me hold you."

He glanced at his surroundings and saw he was standing in an entry hall with a wooden chair. He sat down, pulling her into his lap and grabbing onto her face with both hands. He paused a moment to look at her again, then covered her lips with his own. Their kiss lasted only briefly before she pulled back and leaned her forehead against his.

"I–I–don't know what to say to you. I don't now how to explain. . ."

"You don't have to. Not now. Not yet."

"But. . ." She closed her mouth and looked at him again. "I think you need answers."

"Do you have them?"

She looked down at the floor. "No."

"Then how can you give me something you don't have? If you had answers, you would have contacted me one way or another by now. You didn't. So, I'm not expecting answers."

"What "are" you expecting?" She got to her feet and started into the living room and paused in front of a large picture window that looked down upon a grassy park with children playing on swings.

He moved to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "At this point–I don't think I'm expecting anything–or maybe I should say I don't know what to expect."

"You know that I love you," she said quietly as she placed a hand on one of his as she continued watching the children several floors below. When he didn't answer, she turned and looked at him. "Gil–please–you've got to know that I love you."

He dropped his gaze from hers and slowly nodded his head. "Yes. I know."

"But I can't. . ."

"Not now!" He interrupted her. "I've been thinking about reasons for this for nearly a month–I don't want to think about them anymore. At least not right now. I know that I've missed you and I need to be with you. If there are conditions for now–so be it. But I'd just rather not think about it. I want to spend time with you–not inspect why we can't be together."

She nodded her head once in understanding, then she gave him a weak smile. "Okay. Well. Are you hungry? Have you eaten breakfast yet? Would you like some coffee?"

He smiled back. "Yes, no and yes."

She took him into a small kitchen where there was a pot of coffee already made and she poured him a cup. He watched her get out the tools to make a mushroom and cheese omelet, then as she was preparing it on the stove, he moved up behind her again and wrapped his arms around her waist. He leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck, then pulled her hair back and moved her tee-shirt to kiss the top of her shoulder. She shrugged to avoid the ticklish sensation.

"If you don't stop, I'll either burn this or it simply won't get done." She smiled at him.

He rested his chin on her shoulder and watched as she finished the food for him, then plated it and got some for herself before they moved back to the table. He looked at her often as they ate. He knew he didn't want to rush her, but he also knew that he wanted to be constantly touching her. He didn't care if he was standing next to her, holding her in his lap or lying down and making love to her–he didn't want to let go. Finally, Sara spoke as she pushed her egg around on her plate.

"So, how's Ronnie doing?"

"Ronnie?" He looked at her blankly, then recalled the girl who had been working with Sara before she left. "Oh. I don't know. Alright, I guess. I haven't been paying particular attention to her."

She nodded then looked back to her plate. "I–usually take a shower after breakfast, then I go down to the park and read. Sometimes it gets a bit stifling just staying inside. So, I like to go out a bit."

"Alright. Would you like to do that today?" When she didn't look up at him, he became somewhat alarmed. "Sara? Do you mind that I'm here? Would you rather I hadn't come?"

"I'm nervous because I know I can't go back with you–and I'm afraid that's why you're here."

"I told you. I'm here because I need to be with you. But, if you'd rather I wasn't. . ."

She got up and put her plate in the sink, then drank the rest of her coffee as she watched him. "I've missed you, Gil. But, I . . ."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and put it on his plate as he got to his feet. "You'd rather I leave."

"No," she whispered as she stepped up to him and placed her hand on his. "I don't want you to leave. I want. . .to be able to function without being afraid I'm going to fall apart in front of you." She put her hands up to his face and stroked her fingers along his cheek. "Please, don't go. Finish your breakfast. Let me shower and we'll go for a walk."

He accepted her light kiss then nodded his agreement. He would give her a little space and time.

It took about half an hour before she indicated he was to follow her out of the apartment. She carried her key and shoved it into her pocket, then stood silently as they got into the elevator. Sara glanced awkwardly at Grissom. He took her hand, then stepped to the back of the elevator when they stopped on the fourth floor. They watched the young woman with a newborn in a stroller and another child hanging onto her hand enter with them. The older child, who seemed to be only slightly over a year old, had a rubber ball that he was struggling to hold onto as he moved to stand between the woman and Grissom. They silently watched the arrow turning to indicate their descent. The elevator trudged to a stop on the third floor and the doors opened, then hesitated and finished opening. The lady tried to push the stroller over the edge of the elevator car but the wheel got caught, causing her to give a quiet curse and take her hand from the boy so she could tug back until it was freed. Another attempt and she got it onto the third floor.

"Preston, come on. Mommy's going to be late to work. Janet's waiting."

Grissom watched as the boy began following her, but just as he stepped past the doors, he lost control of the ball and it bounced back into the car with Grissom and Sara. The boy turned around and ran back where he tried again and again to pick up his toy but his little fingers proved the job to be difficult. Just then, the elevator jerked and the doors closed before either Sara or Grissom could stop them. They could hear the lady calling the boy in bewilderment, then giving an exasperated sigh. The jerk of the elevator had knocked the little boy onto his rump where he happily grasped onto the ball with both hands, then looked at the doors to see they were closed, then searched the rest of the car.

"Mommy?"

"Preston?" The woman called from above them. "Are you okay? Mommy's right here. Excuse me–Sara?"

Grissom looked at Sara who was kneeling to help the little guy to his feet.

"Mommy?"

"Sara–would you mind bringing Preston back up to the third floor?"

Grissom pressed the number three, bringing Sara's hand to try to stop him but she was too late.

"Don't!" Sara said with dismay as the elevator came to an abrupt stop midway between the second and first floors, seemed to try to go back upward before there was a grinding of gears, then came to another stop. This time it jerked so hard that not only did Preston fall onto his rump again, but Sara lost her footing and landed in Grissom's arms. "Now we're in trouble."

"What do you mean–now we're in trouble?" Grissom asked with concern.

"It's an old building: an old elevator. You jammed it. Now we're in for a wait." She turned and looked toward the ceiling. "Brandy?"

"Yeah?" The woman called back. "This may take awhile."

"Sara!" Brandy seemed distressed. "If I'm late again, they're going to fire me!"

"Can you call maintenance?"

"Yes!" Brandy sighed in relief. "Preston–Mommy's going to work now. Sara will watch you until she can bring you back up to Aunt Janet's."

"Brandy?" Sara called again.

"Yes, Sara?"

"Does Preston have a bottle or anything? This may take a while and he might get thirsty."

"Oh! Yeah! Right!"

Grissom listened in horror as the woman rummaged through her various bags. He looked at Sara and whispered, "What is she. . ."

"Shh," Sara said. "We don't want to upset Preston."

The thud on the ceiling turned Grissom's attention to the escape hatch, then back to Sara.

"Good thing the doors didn't close up here, huh?" Brandy almost giggled. "I dropped down two bottles and a container of Cheerios. Can you reach it?"

"Give me a minute." Sara motioned for Grissom to aid her and he lifted her until she was reaching through the little door. "Got it–and Brandy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget to put a sign on the doors so no one falls."

"Okay! I've gotta go now. I'll drop Ginger off with Janet." Her voice was getting quieter, indicating she was moving away from them. "Thanks, Sara!"

"Mommy?" Preston asked with a trembling lip as he looked up at Grissom.


	129. Chapter 129

Chapter One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine

Grissom lowered Sara to the floor as he looked at the child as if he were an alien. The child was looking back in much the same fashion.

"Mommy?"

The boy screwed up his face and Grissom prepared himself for a full-fledged scream but Sara reached down and picked the boy up beneath his arms and turned away from Grissom.

"Hey, Preston! What do you have? Is that a ball?"

"Ba!!" Preston's eyes focused on Sara and his expression eased some as he tried to hold the ball out for her inspection, but it rolled off his chubby little fingers. He watched it bounce several times before rolling to the wall and stopping at Grissom's feet. Preston looked up at Grissom again and reached toward the item on the floor. "Ba!"

"What the hell is going on?" Grissom asked Sara, his tone making the boy look alarmed. Sara started bouncing with the youngster to calm him. It was Grissom's turn to become alarmed. "Do you think it's a good idea to be bouncing in an elevator that evidently has a tendency to malfunction?"

Preston turned his attention back to Sara as he pouted, "Ba. . ."

"He wants his ball," Sara told him as she continued to bounce.

Grissom stared at her for a second then grabbed the object and handed it to her. She handed it back to Preston who quickly brought it up to his mouth and tried to bite it, but when it wouldn't fit into his mouth, he turned back to Grissom.

"Ba. . ." The boy held the ball out toward Grissom and let it roll off his fingers, dropping it at Grissom's feet again. "Ba!"

Grissom automatically picked it up and gave it to Sara again, only to have the boy repeat his actions. After picking it up for the third time within a minute, he looked a little closer at the boy and handed it directly to him. "It's a ball–B-A-L-L--ballllll!"

"BA!" This time the ball was thrown more forcefully and it struck Grissom in the forehead, bringing an immediate laugh from Sara as she watched him. Preston turned and looked at Sara and smiled broadly, then turned back to Grissom and held his hand out toward him, opening and closing his grasp in a silent order to give his toy back to him.

"Gil–he wants . . ." Sara started.

"His ball–yeah, I know." Grissom picked it up and put it into his pocket, preferring not to be struck in the head a second time. Much to Grissom's mortification Preston leaned forward, away from Sara and toward him, with his arms extended. Grissom took a step backward until his heels hit the wall then he looked up at Sara when he heard her soft giggle.

"Ah, now he wants you. Isn't that sweet?"

"He wants his toy–not me."

"Oh, Gil–he's only a baby. He doesn't realize you put it in your pocket. He wants you to hold him. He must like you."

Grissom's eyes flashed several times between the boy and Sara. He slowly started to lift his hands to retrieve the child who was still smiling and reaching for him. "Da-da-da-da."

"Oh no, ya don't!" Grissom's hands went to his sides.

"Gil!" Sara reprimanded gently. "He doesn't know any better. He doesn't even know what "da-da" means. Just give me the ball."

Grissom took it from his pocket and handed it to Sara and watched as she lowered herself and the boy onto the floor where she started rolling the thing to him. This seemed to occupy his time for a while.

"How often does this happen?" Grissom asked.

"About once a week. It doesn't always stop completely like this, though." She rolled the ball again, this time going past the boy as it bounced off the wall and came back toward her again. Preston was quite impressed by this new trick as he giggled and attempted to run after it, then plopped down onto his diapered bottom when it bounced back past him again. "Preston and I are getting to be old friends, aren't we, Preston? You might as well sit down, Gil. It might take a while."

"And just what is a "while?" He asked as he moved next to her and slid down the wall until they were sitting side-by-side.

"At least half an hour. Maintenance lives in the building four blocks down, so it will probably take him at least fifteen minutes to get here, then another fifteen until he fixes it."

"And his mother just leaves him here like this?"

"Well," Sara started indulgently as she tossed the ball again and caught it before handing it back to Preston who was now squealing with delight. "We're lucky she didn't happen to get off the elevator and forget Ginger with us as well. She's been known to be "forgetful."

Several more throws and the boy lost interest when he glanced up and noticed the sunglasses Sara had propped on the top of her head. He climbed onto her lap and pulled the black frames from her hair and tried to put them on his own face. Sara was entertained by the child's antics as she held onto his waist to steady him but when he looked over at Grissom with his face screwed up in an attempt to hold the glasses on, while they were sliding down one side of his cheek, she couldn't stop her delighted laughter. Grissom looked at the picture they presented and had to smile in spite of himself as he reached out and straightened the glasses on the tot's head.

"Here, buster. This is better."

Preston looked at Grissom and without warning released a sneeze that sent the glasses flying onto the floor and sprayed the man with saliva. Grissom's eyes closed in disbelief and Sara tried to stifle her gasping laugh.

"Gee, I'm sorry, Gil," She rummaged in the bag of supplies that Brandy had dropped for her and pulled out a wet-wipe then proceeded to wipe the spittle from Grissom. "He couldn't have aimed that any better if he had tried."

"I think he "did" try," Grissom said stiffly, then grunted when Preston tried to take a step toward him and stepped directly on his groin. His eyes opened as he stared at the youngster but closed again when he saw the way the boy was trying to pull Sara's hand away from Grissom's face.

"No!" Preston objected as he started to lose his balance until Grissom instinctually grabbed his pants and held him up.

"Now, Preston," Sara soothed as she moved her hand toward Grissom's hair and started petting it. "Be nice. Gil's a nice man. So you be nice to him."

Preston looked back at Grissom then turned back toward the bag with the bottles and toys inside. He started rummaging through it and pulled out a small container with cereal in it. He grunted insistently and held it up for Grissom but Grissom simply raised a brow then nodded toward Sara.

"Get her to do it–evidently you "like" her."

Preston grunted again and pushed the dish closer to Grissom's face. "Ohssss!"

"What?"

"Ohs," Sara said quietly as she watched them. "They're Cheerios–ohs. If you give him some, he'll probably sit still for you."

"Fine," Grissom sighed and took the container from the child then opened it before handing it back.

Preston's attention went directly to the treats and he dropped down onto his bottom again, gaining another gasp from Grissom as he landed in his lap. Chubby fingers found the food and one by one they were inserted into his mouth until he either got full or became bored again. He looked up at Grissom and turned so he was climbing on his knees until he was face-to-face with the man.

"No." Grissom closed his mouth as the boy attempted to shove an "o" into it, then held it closed more tightly as he tried harder to shove it between his lips.

"Ohs!"

"I don't like ohs!" Grissom tried, but the boy was fast and managed to pop one into his mouth. "Sara! Would you take him?"

"No," she said with a smile as she watched him. "He likes you. And you do so like Cheerios!"

"Yeah, well. . ." Another piece of cereal was shoved into his mouth. "Not ones that were touched by fingers that could have been digging into anything–like his own mouth, or his nose."

"But he's being so well behaved. Just eat a few and he'll get tired of it soon."

Grissom eyed her suspiciously but did as she suggested and after another ten or fifteen "ohs" Preston decided that he was hungry again after all and began alternating between the two. The last one occurred when he put a piece in his tiny mouth, then pulled it out and looked at it, then attempted to put it in Grissom's mouth, making Sara laugh out loud when Grissom yanked his head back and hit it off the elevator's wall.

"Sara!"

"Okay," she relented. "Come here, Preston. Let's see what other toys you have."

Seeing that Grissom was no longer hungry, Preston piled four pieces of cereal into his own mouth as he attempted to get up and go to Sara, but just as he got to his feet, he paused. Grissom knew immediately what was coming but wasn't fast enough as he was successfully sprayed with a mouth-full of Cheerios. A second sneeze emptied the boy's mouth completely. This time, Preston sat back down and reached for the wet-wipe then tried to wipe Grissom's face with it. Grissom promptly got to his feet and moved away from the menace on the floor, making the boy's lip tremble as he looked up at him. He reached for something to wipe his own face then moved to the other side of the car.

"Now that he's succeeded in spreading his joy sufficiently, I think I'll take my leave and not inhale any more Preston-germs."

"Oh, its only a dust allergy. He sneezes a lot."

"Now you warn me."

"Here, Preston. Look what I found." Sara held up a small, plastic fire truck and rolled its wheels up her leg, gaining the boy's curiosity as he came over and started running it over her as well.

Grissom watched as the played with the truck on the floor, something that lasted for at least another five minutes before the baby decided it was time for a bottle and grabbed one from the bag. He held it up to his mouth with one hand while he grabbed onto Grissom's pant leg with his other, closely resembling a little drunk standing at a bar chugging a bottle of beer.

"If you sit down," Sara said gently. "I bet he'd crawl up on you and go to sleep."

Grissom looked at the beauty of her chocolate eyes as she watched him with the love he had been missing and he knew he'd do just about anything she'd ask at that moment. So, he moved with the boy until he was sitting next to Sara again and just as she suggested, Preston climbed up onto his lap and leaned against him as he continued drinking his bottle. By the time he was half-way through, he was already sleeping and Sara removed the bottle, allowing the boy to snuggle back against Grissom's chest.

"This isn't exactly how I had our morning planned," he said as he took her hand and kissed it.

"No, I don't suppose it is. Good thing we had nowhere in particular to go." She pulled her hand back and started collecting Preston's things and replacing them in the bag. "By the time we get out of here, we'll be ready for lunch."

"I just finished eating Cheerios, remember?"

"You were very tolerant–for you."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm always tolerant."

"Not in new situations like this." She moved until she was sitting next to him again. "Preston really took a liking to you. He doesn't get many male-figures in his life. His father left as soon as he found out Brandy was pregnant for the second time. He felt over-burdened and decided that he would be better off with his band, than working at Johnson's Dairy to support his children."

"And you know all of this–how?"

"Sebastian. You met him this morning. He knows everything about all the tenants, and he doesn't hesitate sharing this information. For instance, Janet babysits Brandy's children for free, because she feels responsible for Jeff–that's Preston's father–leaving. Because, you see, Janet's son is the lead singer of the band that Jeff ran off with. And then there's Mrs. Mobley, whose having an affair with Mr. Anderson, whose married to Jessica. The shocker there is that Mr. Anderson is sixty years old, his wife Jessica is thirty-five and Mrs. Mobley is fifty-four."

"You're spending your time gossiping with Sebastian? You weren't into gossip before. What happened?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm into it now–this is what I hear as I'm riding the elevator and I have the misfortune of having Sebastian sharing the ride with me. You'd be surprised how much information he can relay between the first and sixth floors." She stifled a yawn.

Grissom lifted his arm and put it around her, allowing her to snuggle against his side as he held Preston with his other arm. He kissed the top of her head and let his fingers caress her skin where he came in contact with her waist. After several minutes of silence he finally spoke what was on his mind.

"Sara?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be alright if we went back to your apartment instead of going out for that walk?" He nearly held his breath as he waited for her answer. "I can understand if you'd rather go for the walk. . .but after this, I think I'd rather . . ."

"I think that would be a good idea. I haven't been getting much sleep lately. I can think of nothing more inviting right now than my bed and having you there to hold on to."

She lifted her head and touched his lips with hers. What started as a gentle kiss, filled with tenderness and love, soon turned more heated as his tongue slid across her lips and demanded entrance. She moaned her desire as she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek and he attempted to turn more fully into her arms, but the small body pressed between them stopped him.

A slight jerk and a rumble of a motor indicated that they were on their way out of their predicament. Sara got to her feet and took Preston from Grissom so he could get up as well. The doors finally opened to the third floor and Janet stood waiting for the little boy.

"Hello, Sara," she said as she gently rocked the stroller to pacify the newborn girl. "How was your escapade with our little Preston? He wasn't too much of a catastrophe, was he?"

"Preston was a perfect gentleman."

She handed the bag to Janet, but before she could give the boy to the other woman, he woke up and whimpered. He rubbed his eyes, then looked at Grissom. Another whimper, more forceful this time, and he opened his mouth to release a stream of projectile vomit that sprayed across Grissom's shirtfront.

"Oh, my goodness." Janet took the boy from Sara. "It looks like someone's got a bug."

"That," Grissom looked at Sara with irritation. "Was not–a dust allergy!"


	130. Chapter 130

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty

Sara tried her best not to laugh at Grissom as she pulled wet-wipe after wet-wipe out of Preston's bag and tried to scoop the clumps of slimy milk from the front of his button-down shirt. Janet held Preston in complete horror as the youngster continued to voice his stomach discomfort.

"You can go ahead, Janet," Sara disposed of several nasty cloth-like papers into a plastic bag that Janet retrieved from the stroller. "I think we'll be going back to my apartment right now. We'll take care of the rest of this from there."

Sara attempted to step back inside the elevator with Grissom but he grabbed her by the elbow and ushered her out into the hallway past a wide-eyed Janet and a now-crying Preston. Grissom didn't pay any heed to the child and woman as he made a quick surveillance of the area and headed toward the door marked "EXIT."

"I don't want to risk that contraption again. We'll walk."

He removed his hand from her elbow and took her hand in his as he pulled her along up the stairs. A few more flights and they were walking down the hallway past a very interested Sebastian who, once catching a whiff of Grissom, scrunched his nose and went back inside his door. Sara opened her door and allowed Grissom to enter, then escorted him to the bathroom where she turned on the shower then went about getting him a clean towel as he removed his shoes and socks. When she turned to look at him, he already had his top shirt removed and was lifting his tee-shirt over his head. He looked absolutely appetizing and she supposed she couldn't hide the desire in her eyes as he handed her the last shirt, but he merely smiled before undoing his belt.

"I'm–uh–I think I'll go out and wash these clothes for you." She started for the bathroom door.

"Sara?"

"Yes, Gil?" She turned back toward him and averted her eyes as he lowered his jeans over his hips.

"You'll need to wash these too."

She took the remainder of his clothing and left the room. She wasn't sure what was going to happen between the two of them, so she didn't want to jump into a situation they both might regret. When she finished putting the clothes in the washer, she went to her bedroom and tried to find something he could put on–anything that might cover him and actually fit. She was searching through her drawers when she heard the bathroom door open then the sound of his feet as they moved across the hallway and into the room behind her. She slowly stood up and closed the drawer she had been searching in.

"I–um–can't seem to find anything for you to wear until your clothes dry."

She remained where she was, facing the dresser and suddenly feeling very shy, although she had told him earlier that she wanted nothing more than to be holding onto him. Even before he did it, she knew he was going to move up behind her and put his arms around her.

"This will do," he breathed against her ear. "Come on."

She slowly turned toward him and he pulled her to her bed then lifted the bedspread and sheet before sitting on the edge of the mattress. He moved his hands to her hips and stroked his thumbs over her abdomen. After a moment, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt and lifted it enough to lean forward andt place a kiss on her stomach.

"Gil," she whispered as her fingers automatically went into his damp curls. "I–I'm not sure. . ."

"Yes, you are. You're sure about this. How can you not be sure about this?" He stood up and turned with her until he was lowering her onto the mattress then put his knee next to her as he opened her blouse and pushed it over her shoulders. "If there is one thing we should be sure about–it's this."

She watched as he proceeded to take her blouse off, then moved on to the bra. When he moved down to her feet and pulled off her flip-flops her hands went to the waistband of her jeans of their own volition. He glanced at her, wearing that self-assured, little boy smirk that she loved and he grabbed her jeans by the legs and pulled them off. He moved back to the bed and situated himself until he was lying next to her then stroked the side of her face with the backs of his fingers as he held himself up on the elbow of his other arm.

"I'm–nervous."

His gaze traveled over her before settling on her eyes. "Don't be. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you."

She allowed him to pull her over until she was against him, front-to-front and she watched him look at her as if studying her.

"Won't you?" She whispered.

"Don't say no," he whispered back then leaned into her and placed his lips on hers, gently nibbling until she started to relax against him. "Don't say no."

This time he opened his mouth over hers, pressing against her as a man does when he's in extreme need of the woman he loves. His hands came alive as they roamed her body, caressing and rubbing her in places she had longed for, but had tried to forget about. His tongue slid between her lips as he pulled her knee up over his hip then positioned himself just so he would be pressed between her legs, letting his arousal tease her until she was responding to him with a renewed hunger.

God, how could she have ever doubted that she would respond to this man's artful touch? He lit a fire in her that only he could set ablaze, just as only he could extinguish. Her inhibitions rushed to the back of her mind and she was responding to every suggestion he made. Their coming together was turning past a gentle greeting as she felt the frustration he had been dealing with since she walked out of his life. His hands, although not actually harming her, were moving her in directions that were rushed and demanding. His kisses, turning past a show of love and becoming an extension of his hunger. He whispered things to her, pushed her past the point of thinking, past the point of being aware of her own verbal responses.

"Give me your hands," he whispered as he shifted his large body between her legs and pushed her onto her back. "Up here."

She did as he commanded and let him hold them, trapped in one of his large hands, above her head as he used his other hand to position himself and slowly slide his girth inside of her. She gasped at the intrusion. It was always a mind-blowing shock to her system when he would re-introduce her to his size after a lengthy separation. This time was no different as he barely gave her time to adjust to his size before he started his rhythm within her. His kiss quickly moved from her mouth, from which he drank thirstily, down to her throat and on to her breasts.

"Jesus Christ! You are ambrosia!"

His words intensified the already throbbing jolts that were flowing through her. She needed to touch him but when she tried to reach for him, he grunted and held her wrists firmly so she had to satisfy herself with her legs as she wrapped them around him, sliding her feet over the muscles of his legs as they worked on her. Before she had time to realize what was going on he was pulling himself from her.

"Turn over."

She barely had time to respond before he was lifting and turning her onto her stomach then sliding up between her legs. There was a moment of hesitation as he paused at her backside, his hands taking time to caress the firmness beneath him before he covered her body with his and nudged her legs farther apart. He quickly found her back and shoulders with his nips then soothing licks and as he held himself with one arm. He reached beneath her with his other, taking his pleasure in her breasts as his hands worked magic on her. He used his body to apply pressure on different erogenous zones throughout her body and by the time he slid into her velvety sheath again, she knew she was on the verge of an explosive climax.

He quickly maneuvered them so he could gain ultimate satisfaction while stimulating her to breathlessness and when she gave a low howl of complete satiation he only held her tighter and bore into her harder until his own climax struck him.

He took ragged breaths as he pulled from her and almost fell onto the bed next to her and she just as weakly turned onto her back and into his arms. It took several minutes for her to think clearly and she quietly started to giggle.

"You called me a fruit salad with coconut and marshmallows," she told him.

"I what?" He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "I did no such thing. Why would I ever call you a fruit salad?"

"You said I was ambrosia. That's a fruit salad with coconut and marshmallows!" She tuned more fully toward him. "I guess I should be flattered, shouldn't I?"

He started laughing at her when he realized what she was saying. "I wasn't talking about fruit salad. Ambrosia, my dear, is food of the gods! I was referring to that definition."

"Well, that's good to know." She took his hand in hers as she laced her fingers through his. "I'd hate to think that the next time we're in the throws of passion, you call me veal scallopini or better yet, tuna casserole."

Her comment made him chuckle and kiss her forehead. "I've missed you. I've missed. . .this."

"I can tell. You were very. . .powerful today."

"I wasn't powerful," he debated as he watched how their hands fit together so well. "I was. . .persuasive."

"Uh-huh," she agreed. "Like a steamroller."

He looked at her face as if he were afraid she had been offended by his actions but saw how she smiled softly at him. "If I was "powerful" today, it's simply because I lost control of my need for you. You are like a drug that I've been denied for far too long."

She didn't know how to answer him so she merely snuggled more tightly into his side and allowed herself to fall into a fitful sleep; the first in weeks.

When she woke, she stayed still, watching him sleep and knowing that no matter what she did in her life, she could never get her fill of him. He was the most beautiful specimen of man that she had ever met or ever had the desire to meet. She continued to watch him for a long time, taking in how he would stir before reaching out for her and pulling her close. Sometimes, though, all it would take would be a calming stroke on his forehead for him to relax again and continue with his slumber. And, sometimes he would go into his old habit of grabbing her knee and pulling it up over his waist. On the occasions that he actually opened his eyes and glanced around, he would focus on her then go back to sleep and she knew he was making sure he was really here with her.

Finally, as she watched the afternoon sun come in through the windows, she resigned to nature's call and got up to move into the bathroom. When she finished, she put on her robe and went to the kitchen where she started looking through her refrigerator and cupboards to find something to feed them for dinner but as she chewed on her thumb nail and stared into her freezer, Grissom moved to stand behind her and put his arms around her as he, too, looked at its contents.

"I think we should order in," he told her. "Do you have any take-out menus?"

"Several. What are you in the mood for?"

"Honey, you know the answer to that–but I'll wait until later, after we get some real food into our stomachs."

She smiled as she turned to look at him, bare from head to toe.

"I think you need your clothes from the washing machine. It might take another half hour in the dryer. I sort of got side-tracked before I got them out of the washing machine."

"I can wait. I'll use a towel again as long as you promise not to tear it off and take advantage of me again."

She chuckled as she watched his bare bottom leaving the kitchen. "I think you'll be safe for awhile–but I won't make any promises."

By the time their vegetable lo mein, moo shu shrimp, seafood delight, five fried dumplings and a small order of chicken and broccoli arrived, they were dressed again and finding a pleasant station on the radio to eat by.

"Um–Gil–do you really think you're going to eat all this?" Sara asked as she put everything except the small container of vegetable lo mein on the coffee table next to where he was sitting in front of the sofa.

"I worked up an incredible appetite. I can't believe how hungry I am. Anyway, it's commonly known that seafood stimulates your . . . creativity."

She looked at him as she sat next to him and began eating her small meal. "You're saying that seafood is an aphrodisiac?"

"Absolutely." He pulled her leg closer to him so that they were touching then he reached for his container of moo shu shrimp.

"Then why the chicken and broccoli?"

He stared at her as he put the first shrimp into his mouth and chewed it. "Okay–so it isn't an aphrodisiac. I was hungry. What can I say? Anyway, I figured I'd be working up more of an appetite before the night is over."

"I think your eyes are bigger than your stomach. There's no way you're going to finish all of this–and if you do–you'll be too bloated to move, let alone try to enter a sex marathon."

"Don't argue with me, woman," he leaned over and kissed her then went back to his meal. "What I don't finish tonight, I'll work on tomorrow."

Sara took a few more bites as she watched Grissom eat, then worked up her nerve to ask the question that had been bothering her since his arrival that morning. "So . .how long do you plan to stay?"

He seemed a bit reluctant to answer as he took a few more bites of his own food. "I'll be leaving Sunday afternoon so I can be back to work by Sunday night."

She didn't reply to this. She knew she didn't stand a chance in her competition with his job at that damned lab. But, to save her sanity, she decided not to think about it right now. For now, she was simply sharing her dinner with her lover, her best friend, and they would go hour-by-hour and if that didn't work, then they'd go minute-by-minute. She didn't have the energy to think about the future right now–even if it was only a matter of forty-eight hours.


	131. Chapter 131

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-One

Grissom held onto Sara's hand as they walked along the bay. He couldn't seem to release her, even when she went to a vending machine and purchased a bottle of water. He merely moved his grasp from her hand to her waist, then proceeded on their way as they watched the bay traffic and other people who were wandering about. He watched her move about and wondered how he was going to get through the next twenty-four hours, knowing that he was going to leave her here. If she'd only reconsider and come home with him. . .but he knew she wouldn't. She needed this space from the anxieties of the past year.

"Hey," Sara called to him as she pointed toward a boat in the bay with a somewhat dreamy expression. "Some day I'm going to go out and let the ocean take me some place exotic, where there will be no more rush of traffic, over-population and all the tragedies that go with it will be something I'll vaguely recall. And I'll settle back and enjoy nature at its rawest form. I'll let the beauty of it enrapture me."

He wanted to say "and where does that leave me?" but he paused and tried to rephrase it. "Not without me, I hope."

She turned and looked at him a moment then put her hand to his bearded cheek. "Of course not. How could I see the beauty if I didn't have you there to share it with me? Without you, it wouldn't be worth the effort."

"I don't need to escape to some faraway paradise to see beauty, Sara. I'm looking at it right now."

"Gil," she began slowly, then stopped and turned down the walk again. When she looked back at him again, she was wearing her smile. "I'm getting in the mood for some Italian. What do you think?"

"I think we still have some food left over from yesterday."

"No," she chuckled. "You" have food left over. "I" ate all of mine. But, if you would rather not. . ."

He stopped her and put his arms around her waist. "My dear, I'll follow you wherever you want to lead me."

"Just not permanently," she blurted then seemed to regret saying it as she changed the subject quickly. "Alright. There's an informal restaurant around the corner. I happen to know they make the best vegetable parmigiana I've ever eaten."

"Then vegetable parmigiana, it is."

She smiled at him again as she took his hand and started in the direction she indicated. "You don't have to eat vegetables for my sake. I also happen to know that they put three-inch meatballs in their spaghetti."

"How do you know their any good?"

"I don't. I thought I'd let that up for you to decide."

Dinner was as appetizing as Sara had suggested and he not only enjoyed the food, but enjoyed the ambiance as well. It wasn't a formal restaurant by any means, but was a quiet, classy establishment. He took his time over dinner, listening to Sara as she would talk about things she had done since she had arrived; places she had seen. When they were through he followed her out of the building and on impulse, grasped onto her hand and pulled her into a small walkway between two buildings. He gently, but urgently pushed her back against the wall of the brick building and held onto her waist with both hands as she looked at him. He didn't see fear or surprise, almost as if she could expect as much from him, but he did see something past passion. He saw love in its purest form and it titillated him in its innocense.

"God, I love you, Sara!"

His lips found hers and he knew he was moving more quickly than she, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He felt her hands move to his face, her fingers gliding over his beard as she held him to her. When he finally broke for a breath, she managed to speak breathlessly.

"You know I love you, don't you Gil?"

He smiled at her but the sadness never left his eyes. He lifted his hand to slide his thumb over her lips. "Yes. I know."

"I never stopped loving you."

He looked at the desperation in her expression then put his arm around her waist again and started walking back toward the sidewalk. "Come on, let's go back to the apartment. I think we've got some unfinished business to take care of."

The fact was that he wanted to make love to her so much that he was very happy to be wearing a pair of baggy pants for fear of giving the good people of San Francisco an entertaining sight, but, he also wanted to simply be alone with her and hold her to him and convince himself that he could never let her go.

Thankfully, the ride back up the elevator was uneventful but when she closed the door to her apartment behind them, he took the opportunity to push her back against it and start kissing her again.

"You taste like garlic," he said gently as he looked into her eyes and chuckled when she looked slightly embarrassed.

"Well, it isn't as if you gave me a moment to brush my teeth," she said indignantly.

"I like garlic, my dear." He dipped his head and began kissing her again.

The rapping on her door startled them both and he sighed in exasperation.

"Sara! Sara! I need to talk to you!" Brandy's voice blared through the door.

"Excuse me," Sara sighed with equal frustration then moved to open the doorway to find a frazzled-looking young woman holding onto a stroller with one hand and Preston's hand with the other.

"Oh, thank God!" Brandy pushed the stroller through the doorway and into the entranceway of Sara's apartment, then spoke to her son. "Preston, go sit on Sara's sofa."

Grissom stared at the girl with disbelief, then flashed his gaze at Sara to see if this had been some sort of prearranged appointment. The bewilderment he saw in her eyes told him that it wasn't.

"Brandy?" Sara said calmly, evidently trying to counteract Brandy's anxiety. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes! Please, Sara–I need someone to watch the kids until Janet gets back from the hospital. She cut her hand and is in the emergency department getting stitches right now. I thought she'd be back in time for me to go to work, but she isn't here. She said to ask you if you'd watch them–she said you would." As the words hurried out of her mouth, she was just as quickly putting the diaper bags into Sara's hands and pushing the stroller closer to Grissom. "I promise–when I get tonight's tips–you can have them all!"

"Brandy?" Sara said again, but the girl was already rushing out the door and down the hall. "Brandy?"

"HEY!" Grissom yelled after her. "Get back here!" Together, Sara and Grissom watched as the elevator doors seemed to magically open especially for her and she gave them a short wave before disappearing within. Grissom turned and looked at Sara again. "Are you sure you're not staying in some apartment building out of a Stephen King novel?"

Sara turned and looked at him blankly. "I'm not sure."

Grissom looked inside the stroller to see that, luckily, the baby seemed to be fast asleep. Preston, on the other hand, was very awake as they heard a bang and a crash come from the living room, followed by a second of silence, a huge intake of breath, and then a long and loud cry that threatened to shatter eardrums for blocks around. Grissom stood in absolute befuddlement as Sara rushed past him to the other room. The crash didn't seem to faze the newborn girl but how she continued to sleep through Preston's wails, Grissom never knew. He took several steps through the doorway and saw the lamp that had crashed onto the floor and a very red-faced Preston who was now being held and rocked back and forth by Sara.

"Oh, Preston," she cooed to him. "How could you manage to get into trouble in a matter of thirty seconds? Let me see–did it hit you?"

By now huge alligator tears were streaming down the little boy's face and he seemed to be searching around the room for something to comfort him. He found it when he spotted Grissom watching from the doorway.

"Ba. . . ." Preston leaned away from Sara and stretched his arms toward Grissom as he continued to cry. "Ba. . ."

"Shhh," Sara tried to sooth him but he wasn't interested as he squirmed in her arms and cried harder. She moved closer to Grissom until they were standing side-by-side and the boy leaned so far away from her that his body was pressed against Grissom's as he continued to hold his arms out to him. "I think he wants you to hold him."

Grissom looked at her doubtfully at first, then with disapproval. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he took the boy in his arms and allowed him to bury his face against him. The fact that the boy's nose was running profusely and was now wiped clean from its encounter with Grissom's shirt didn't pass by Grissom and he let out a groan.

"Oh! Let me get that!" Sara said as she quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped at the cloth, then threw it in the trash before coming back to them. "Can you hold him while I check to see if perhaps the lamp might have struck him?"

Grissom gave a short nod as Preston's cries went into whimpers, then the more that Sara looked at his head and through his hair, he gradually went from whimpers to soft hiccoughing sobs. Not long after that, his finger found its way into his mouth and he kept his head on Grissom's shoulder.

"Did you find anything?" He asked Sara.

"No, nothing on his head, but there's a welt on his shoulder. I think it might have hit him there before it crashed onto the floor." She looked back toward the broken lamp, then went back to it and picked up the pieces before taking it to the trash. When she came back, she turned on her small television and put on Curious George, then indicated that Grissom should sit down and let the boy watch the television.

"You're serious," he said dully.

"I would try to take him, but he seems to have attached himself to you. We'd be better of if we'd just try to pacify him until Janet get back and picks them up." She patted the rocking chair. "Go on. Get comfortable. I'm sure it won't take Janet very long, otherwise she wouldn't have told Brandy to drop the children off with me–especially telling her that I wouldn't mind. That indicates that she didn't plan on putting a burden on me. She'll be back soon."

"Fine," he grumbled then maneuvered himself and Preston into the chair and proceeded to rock the boy. He didn't know exactly when the child fell asleep, but by the time the show was over, Preston's thumb had fallen from his mouth. Grissom thought he'd get a reprieve from his duties, but when Sara tried to lift the boy out of Grissom's arms, he woke with a start and grabbed for the man with more whimpers. Finally Grissom decided that he could put up with a sleeping child, as long as Sara turned the television to the Discovery Channel and not make him watch any more child-centered cartoons.

It had only been a few moments after Sara got Grissom settled in that she pushed the stroller into the room with them, then unloaded the diaper bags, bringing out two separate types of bottles; one type was for a newborn and one type was for a toddler. Then she pulled out two different sized disposable diapers and little a little sleeper for the newborn and another pair of shorts and tee-shirt for Preston. Grissom wondered just why she was emptying the bag as much as she was if she really expected the children's grandmother to return soon.

She moved the bottles to her refrigerator but while she was in the kitchen, the little girl started to awaken and her cries started, only momentarily waking Preston, whom seemed only concerned that Grissom was still holding him before he went back to sleep again. Grissom wasn't quite sure what to do with the tiny thing, especially considering that her big brother was curled up against him, but within moments, Sara was back in the room and hurriedly lifted the baby from the stroller. Grissom watched how Sara seemed to know exactly how to handle something that small. Truth be told, the only children he ever came in contact with that were that young were already dead and he didn't have to worry overmuch about holding the head and limbs just right. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but the thought that he would have had to actually pick up the smaller child intimidated him. But Sara didn't seem to have any problems as her hands went in all the correct places and she wrapped the small blanket around the baby.

"And just what do you want to fuss about, little miss Ginger?" Sara whispered to the child as she held her against her cheek, then pulled her back to look at her. "I wish your mommy would've told us when you needed fed. Is that it? Are you hungry?"

Seeing as how she just put the bottle into her refrigerator, she didn't need to warm it as she retrieved it then brought Ginger back into the room where she sat on a chair close to Grissom and proceeded to feed the child. Grissom watched Sara, looking for any signs that these children were upsetting her, but if they were, she didn't let it show. Her face was of complete contentment as she watched the little girl drink her fill, then turned her and proceeded to burp her. After a few moments she went ahead and changed the girl's wet diaper, then wrapped her in the blanket again and cooed her back to sleep.

Finally, all was quiet and Sara and Grissom looked at each other, each holding a child.

"This isn't what I had planned when I suggested we come back here," Grissom told her glumly.

"I know." She watched him as she got to her feet and moved closer to him then leaned down and kissed his whiskered cheek. "I'm sorry. It really shouldn't be that much longer."

He nodded in silent agreement. He just wished that she wasn't such a pushover where this "Brandy-person" is concerned. He found it a bit disturbing that she couldn't say no to her and in the process put him and his needs in the background. How difficult could it be to turn away from the young girl so she could be with him.

He looked back at Sara as she lay Ginger back in the stroller, then moved to spread a small blanket across the bottom half of her sofa. When she turned back to Grissom she took Preston and lay him down, then covered him with the other end of the blanket and when he started to fuss in his sleep, she ran her hand gently over the curls at the top of his head, then traced her fingers down across his cheek, lulling him back to sleep. When she stood up, she looked a bit uncomfortable, as if the silence was too much for her as she nervously looked around the room.

"Sara," Grissom said quietly and when she looked at him, he held his hand out for her to take.

He guided her back to him until he had her sitting across his lap and he held his arms around her and together they watched an episode of Myth Busters. Before they had proven their first theory though, Sara had her head back against Grissom's shoulder and he had his against the back of the sofa, both sleeping along with the children.


	132. Chapter 132

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Two

Sara fed Ginger another two ounces of formula as she watched Grissom cutting up tiny pieces of what closely resembled Vienna sausages but in a toddler size. She couldn't suppress her smile as he lifted one of them to his nose and sniffed, made a face of disgust then replaced it with the others as Preston looked on with complete interest. They had placed Preston on the sofa with a tray propped up in front of him, representing the closest thing they could come to a high chair for him.

"Okay–now–eat."

Grissom handed a yellow, plastic baby fork to the youngster but instead of digging in to his meal, he simply banged it against the tray.

"Ba. . .! Ba. . .!"

"No ball!" Grissom said sternly. "Food. Now eat."

Preston looked up at him through large eyes and threw the fork onto the floor then placed a piece of the meat into his mouth with his fingers. Grissom looked from the child to the fork, then retrieved it and was about to wipe it off to give it back.

"Gil," Sara interrupted. "I doubt very much that Brandy's had the time to actually teach him how to use a fork."

"Then why does she have it in the damned bag?"

"Dam–dam!" Preston mumbled as he grabbed onto another piece of meat then looked up at Grissom.

"Sure–that you can say. Here–use the fork." Grissom placed the fork in the boy's chubby fingers and watched as he banged it against the tray then sent it on its way to the floor again, but Grissom caught it mid-air.

"Maybe, if "you" show him how to use it," Sara suggested.

"Are you telling me "Brandy" doesn't have time to use a fork when she eats in front of the kid?" Grissom asked sarcastically.

"Would you rather take the baby?" Sara asked him.

"I've got a baby–only more active."

"Would you like to trade?"

Grissom looked at the tiny creature Sara was holding then back at Preston. "No–she's too small. I wouldn't know how to hold her. I'll work with this one. Now, look. . .you take the fork and push it into your food. . ." Grissom tried to do what he was telling the child but ran into difficulty with the blunt ends of the fork tines. He tried two more times, then looked back at Sara again. "Well, it's no wonder he doesn't want to use it! How do they expect a child to put food on this when it won't even poke into it. It's too dull."

"Are you suggesting they put sharp objects into the hands of small children?" Sara asked with amused tolerance. "Maybe of you "scoop" it, it will work."

"If you scoop it–then you might as well be using a spoon." Grissom tried again, this time successfully sticking the food. "There! See? This is what you do with it. Now–you do it."

Grissom handed the meat-coated fork to Preston then caught it again as it went flying.

"You didn't show him what to do with it once he gets it. Give him a bite with it on." Sara lifted a bright-eyed Ginger to her shoulder and proceeded to pat her back.

Grissom did as suggested but Preston pressed his lips together and wouldn't allow the fork to enter. "Dam-dam!"

Grissom was rather fast on the draw as he slipped the meat into the boy's mouth as soon as the words came out. Preston looked at him through shocked eyes but started chewing the food just the same. Grissom stabbed another piece of meat and waited for the boy to swallow. This time Preston looked up at Grissom expectantly and allowed him to place it into his mouth. After three more tries, Grissom gave the fork back to the child and watched as he tried to stab the meat but only succeeded in smashing it against the tray. Finally, in exasperation, Preston picked up the meat with one hand and pressed it onto the fork, then looked up at Grissom expectantly.

"Good job–now eat it," Grissom told him, but Preston merely looked back at him with determination and held the fork up toward him.

"Dam-dam!"

"I think he wants you to take a bite now," Sara told him.

"I'm not eating that! It smells like something we dug out of a week-old corpse!"

"Well, tell him something like that and he'll never eat it again!" Sara scolded.

"He doesn't know what a week-old corpse is."

"Maybe not, but he can pick up on your tone and your attitude. Take a bite–and pretend it's good."

"Sara, I am not. . ." he began as he looked at her but stopped when he felt the fork hit his arm. He looked down at where the meat had dropped off and landed on his pants. When he looked back at the boy, Preston was placing another piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers then putting another piece on the end of the fork. He looked up at Grissom and held it out for him again then grunted.

"No." Grissom said stiffly as he picked the food off his lap and tossed it into the waste can.

"Dam-dam!"

"No. And stop saying that."

"Ba. . .!"

"No ball, eat your food."

Preston looked up at him and continued chewing, then tilted his head to the side as he stared at him with huge puppy-dog eyes, bringing an instant chuckle from Sara. "Oh, look at that face. He's so cute–how can you say no to that?"

"He's learning that if he puts on that expression for you, you'll give into whatever he wants. He's playing you, Sara." He looked back at Preston. "Eat."

Preston went back to stuffing his meat onto his fork, then pushing it toward Grissom and when Grissom refused to take it, he tilted his head toward him and gave him his "expression" but when even that didn't work, he started to whine.

"Gil," Sara whined as well. "He wants you to take a bite."

"I know that. You already told me. But if I give in to him now, then he'll think he can get away with it all the time."

"What "all the time?" She asked as she resumed feeding Ginger. "It isn't like you're here living with him. And who cares as long as you're teaching him how to eat correctly. You should be glad he's trying to feed you–most children his age wouldn't be able to comprehend such an accomplishment."

"Preston, stop whining," Grissom told the boy. "Eat your food!"

This time Preston's lips began to tremble as he looked at Grissom and soon a full-fledged cry escaped along with two large tears.

"Gil," Sara admonished softly.

"Alright–alright!" Grissom said as he quickly reached for the youngster and pulled him from his contraption on the sofa until he was standing on his lap and wrapping his arms around his neck, crying his eyes out. "Don't cry. I'll eat your food. It's going to be alright. We'll eat your food together, okay?"

Preston eventually slowed his tears and looked at the man holding him and soon his hand was investigating the beard covering Grissom's face. Grissom winced as he glanced at Sara who was now trying to hide a satisfied smile.

"Don't worry about your beard. You can wash his meat stick out of it when he's done eating," Sara told him.

"Fine. Do your worst, Preston," Grissom grumbled but Sara could see a hint of affection as he looked at the boy.

She silently finished feeding Ginger her bottle then attempted to burp her again as she watched man and boy taking turns putting meat stick on a fork, then taking bites of the food. Luckily, Preston didn't seem to notice that Grissom nearly gagged with each bite and soon the meal was over to Grissom's satisfaction. Sara glanced at the clock and noticed that Janet's hospital visit was turning into something much more lengthy than anticipated. She had already had the children at her apartment for nearly two hours. A quick diaper change and Ginger was put down for another nap then she took Preston and washed his hands and face while Grissom stood next to her and did the same with himself.

Another hour found Grissom sitting on the edge of the sofa watching the news as Sara was doing a few dishes. She came into the room in time to see him tossing Preston's small ball toward the other end of the room even though his eyes never left the television screen. Preston would squeal with laughter and run in his tiny toddler way until he picked it up and would bring it straight back to Grissom who would absently take it from him and toss it again.

"Gil," Sara said quietly as she moved to stand next to him and he turned his gaze up to her. "He's not a dog. You don't simply play fetch with him!"

"He likes it."

Grissom turned back to the news as Preston came back with the ball and put it in play again. Sara watched this go on for another five minutes before the doorbell finally rang and she responded to it.

"Oh, Sara!" Brandy rushed inside, clearly flustered as she went directly to Ginger and picked her up then lay her in the stroller. "I'm so sorry. I just got the call from the hospital. I thought Janet would be back by now, but they're keeping her."

"Keeping her for a cut hand?" Sara asked as the girl gathered things that belonged to her children and replaced them in diaper bags and compartments in the stroller.

"They said she cut through a tendon and they had to do surgery to repair it." Brandy shivered at the thought of it. "I don't even want to think about it. I nearly got sick at the restaurant when they told me. Thank God Jeffrey wasn't there or I know he'd have fired my butt for having to leave. His wife was in charge tonight. She's a bit more lenient. Although I don't like the idea of giving up six hours of tips and wages. . .but, whatcha gonna do?" She paused as she looked at everything in the stroller and took a deep breath, then started pushing it toward the door. "Okay. Thanks again, Sara! You're a real angel. I'm sure heaven's got a place reserved especially for you."

"Well, that's nice to know," Sara said as she watched Brandy open the door and walk out into the hallway. "Um, Brandy?"

Brandy stopped about five feet down the hall and turned to look at her with questioning eyes. "Hmm?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Brandy looked around at the stroller then Sara could see the girl realized she had walked out and left her son behind with Grissom. "Oh my God! Preston!"

She hurried back inside and picked up the boy who was about to hand the ball back to Grissom but was lifted into the air instead.

"Dam-dam!" Preston objected.

"What did he say?" Brandy looked at her son a moment before looking up at Sara as she shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"I'm not sure I caught that."

"Oh, okay." Brandy started walking with him in her arms but Preston tossed the ball back toward Grissom.

"Dam-ba. . . Dam-ba. . ."

"Damba? Damba? Are you saying Grandpa? No, Preston, he isn't your grandpa." Brandy said as she closed the door after her and her son.

Sara turned and looked at Grissom who was now watching the door as if in a daze.

"Are you sure she's capable of getting them back to her apartment without losing either one of them?" Grissom asked as he looked back at Sara.


	133. Chapter 133

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Three

Sara chuckled as she picked up the ball and sat it on the small table in the foyer, then returned to the room with Grissom.

"Okay, Gramps, what do you say we go into the bathroom and wash the aroma of baby vomit, old formula and nasty finger food off of us."

"He did not say "Grandpa" and you know it." Grissom took her hand and followed her to her bathroom where she turned on the shower.

"I know what he said–exactly what you taught him–damned ball."

"Well, at least something I taught him stuck," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off and watched as Sara removed her tee-shirt and bra, then kicked off her sneakers and pushed her jeans down over her hips.

Sara smiled as she walked up to Grissom and knelt in front of him to remove his shoes and socks as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. She pulled them down as he stepped out of them then stood up until she was looking into his eyes.

"You're not fooling me, Dr. Grissom. Preston managed to charm his way into your heart just as he does everyone else who meets him. He's going to grow up to be quite the lady's man. He already charms his way through his young life." She let her hands slide over his chest then stop at his pectorals.

"I'll remember that when he gets his first girlfriend and I'll "evidently" be watching from my wheelchair because I'm so old." His hands found their way to her hips as he pulled her closer.

"Ya know, he actually reminds me a lot of you in that way. You watch, he'll get any girl he wants with the simple raise of a brow."

"Really?" He dipped his head and kissed her nose. "Is that how I got you? By raising my brow?"

"That–among other things."

This comment brought a smile to him. "Are you saying it was other things that won you over, or my ability to "raise" other things that did it for you."

She chuckled at him. "Well, I "meant" other things won me over, but now that you mention it–you do have an impressive ability to raise things.

"I do–don't I?" He teased as he stepped inside the shower with her. "But I think most of the credit must go to you for that talent. After all, you're the one who gets a rise out of me."

"In more ways than one, I suspect."

"Like how?" He picked up her shower gel and squirted some onto his hands, then she breathed a sigh of relief as he started to spread it over her shoulders and arms, letting her muscles relax for what seemed like the first time that day. "Tell me the ways–and be vivid."

"I "meant" your temper, Gil." She turned around, allowing him to rub the muscles of her back, waist, hips and, of course, her backside.

"Mmm, you certainly can manage that. But I'd prefer if you'd describe other ways you entice me into rising for you."

"Well," she chuckled as she felt something nudging her from behind. "Evidently I can get you to rise by letting you wash me."

"Not always," he defended himself. "While you were in the hospital, I washed your hair and . . other things. . .and I didn't get an erection–at least not the whole time."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Are you telling me that you were getting a hard-on while we were in the middle of the worst period of our lives–and I looked like I had just been sent through a deep fryer then dredged in quicksand–and you found all of that attractive."

His soapy hands moved back up over her waist, then slipped around her until he was lathering her breasts as he pulled her back against him. "Sara, darling, I would think by now you'd know that I find everything about you attractive."

She gave him a timid smile as she turned back toward the front of the shower and stepped under the water, rinsing the soap from her body as well as his hands. She picked up a bar of soap and turned to face him. "If you turn around, I'll wash your back for you."

He stared at her a moment and she knew he was wondering why she was somewhat distant, but she couldn't help it. It had been on her mind ever since the arrival of the two children earlier that day. She knew that by this time tomorrow, he would be long gone, and she would be left alone again to face her demons. She knew he wasn't ready to leave everything behind–but some day. . .some day. Because really, how could one person love another as much as she loved Gilbert Grissom if there was no hope of ever being complete with him. And for the past decade her life existed on the basis that he was the half of her that she needed to survive.

She was already feeling the emptiness that she knew would invade her when she would sleep alone tomorrow night and the night after that, and try as she might, she couldn't stop her eyes from betraying her as she looked up at him.

"Sara?" He said softly but she shook her head and tried to smile brightly.

"Come on–how often does someone offer to wash your back for you?" She asked, then continued to tease him. "And the answer better be only when I'm there to do it, or you're in big trouble."

He continued to look at her then switched places and allowed her to wash his back as he let the stream of water run over his beard and rid it of any remnants of meat stick left behind by Preston. She didn't do more than wash his back and by now she knew he wasn't expecting it. When she stepped out of the shower and put her robe on with the intention of going to her room and getting dressed he put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

"Sara," he tried again. "I'm still here."

Sara dropped her gaze as tears began to well up and she didn't want him to witness them, although it was evident that he knew exactly how she was feeling. When he tried to pull her closer to him, she turned her face away.

"I'm fine," she said with a tiny gulp.

"Christ, Sara," he whispered in a rush as he bent and lifted her in his arms then carried her as he would a child in to her bed. "I told you–I'm still here. Don't shut me out."

"I'm not trying to shut you out." She pressed her face against his neck as her arms went around his shoulders. "I'm just–it's going to be time to leave before you know it–and–and. . ."

"Shh," he whispered against her hair as he lay her on the bed then lay next to her. "Right now we won't think about time. We'll just live for this moment and when you're up to it, then we'll talk about what we plan to do."

"But I don't know. . ."

"I know."

Sara lay in his arms as he stroked her arms and back, caressed her throat and face, and eased some of the tension from her body that had resurfaced again. She didn't know how long they lay quietly touching one another but she did know that he was showing a significant amount of restraint as the most he would allow himself was an occasional kiss on her forehead. As the evening turned her room dim she woke to find Grissom still sleeping next to her. She got up and dressed in sweat shorts and a tank top, then went to the kitchen and made some coffee then looked through her refrigerator for the makings of some sandwiches. After letting him sleep for another hour, she went in to wake him and invited him to come out to join her on the sofa so they could eat. The rest of the night was spent watching old movies that neither was really overly involved in and each time the silence became too overbearing, Grissom would bring her attention back to any subject he could come up with that would bring a smile to her face. Midnight came and went, and still they seemed reluctant to go back to the bedroom, knowing that if they were to sleep, it would take time from what little they had left. Finally by 3:30 Sara was starting to yawn and even though she swore to Grissom that she was "fine" he took her by the hand and escorted her back to her room where she promptly fell to sleep.

Sara moaned even before she became fully awake. The tingling in her body was setting her afire and when she finally became aware enough to comprehend what was going on she found Grissom near the bottom of the bed as he stooped on the floor between her legs. She slowly became aware that she was still dressed in her shorts and top when she felt the heat of his kiss through the cloth. When she glanced down to see his gorgeous face nestled between her thighs she felt a jolt slice through her so strongly she nearly doubled over with it.

"Gil," she gasped.

"Off," he mumbled against her as his large fingers slid beneath the elastic of her shorts and panties and with her assistance drew them down over her hips and long legs.

He was back at her in an instant and there were no preliminaries about it. She knew he could be quite aggressive when he wanted to be, but the hunger he lavished upon her was turning her breathless. She didn't have time to think about what they were going to do with the rest of their lives; she didn't have time to contemplate a life without him; she only had the thought capacity at that moment to become completely involved in what he was doing to her with his tongue, fingers, lips and teeth. She never understood what it was about Grissom that made this act so spectacular. Was it his technique or was it simply the contrast between dedicated scientist and the ravished man who would spend so much time pleasing her in this way that it wasn't unusual for her thighs to become brush-burned from his whiskers. She knew that today was going to be no different but she didn't care. He was consuming her with his positioning of her body to best suit both of them. He took her over the edges of bliss and still seemed unsatiated as he only gave her a moment to recover before beginning his ministrations once again, this time flipping her over onto her stomach and eliciting such reactions that she couldn't even think anymore. He did things to her that had her writhing on the bed as he held her in place with one hand and used the other to stimulate her even farther. When he finally lowered his jeans and moved up behind her she thought she was going to die of pure anticipation. He pulled her back farther so her legs dangled over the mattress's edge and finally she felt the tip of him pressing against her.

"Gil," she breathed with a combination of trepidation and frantic excitement.

"It's up to you, my dear," he said very quietly. "Completely up to you."

She couldn't stop the trembling anticipation shooting through her. She had never been so stimulated in her life and the fact that it was her Gilbert standing behind her made her want to scream with the need for fulfillment. She felt his large fingers gently stroking her hips where he held her and she felt the tip of him pressing against her, waiting for permission then without another thought about it, she raised her hips and pressed back against him. His fingers tightened against her flesh and he groaned loudly. The next few minutes were a blur to Sara and she wasn't exactly sure how they got more fully on the bed again with him lying on top of her but he had his arms around her in a bear-like hug and she wasn't sure if he was being affectionate or using this position to hold her in place as his hips thrust against her. She could barely breathe as the pleasure washed over her, their new positioning hitting her in areas she didn't know existed.

"God, Sara, you are so beautiful," he breathed against the side of her face as he continued slow, powerful thrusts. "You have no idea what you do to me–what you've done to me for years. You are my connection to innocense. The only pure thing I have left in this hellish world."

"Gil," escaped her mouth in a sigh but he leaned down and kissed her as best he could in their position.

"Shhh. Don't think anymore, honey–only feel."

He used his right hand to reach down and start strumming her steel-hard bead and between the movement of his hips and his fingers he had her teetering on the edges of something she wasn't sure she had the energy to survive, then just as she thought she could stand it no more, she heard his cry and felt him spasmodically emptying himself and it sent her over the edge into a climax so strong that she screamed. When she was finally aware again, she noticed that he had rolled her onto her side and was cradling her in his arms, soothing her back to sleep, and she never wanted to be with anyone as much as she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Gilbert Grissom.

When she woke again, somehow she knew he was gone. She sat up quickly and glanced around, hoping that she was wrong, but the stillness of the apartment told her that he wasn't there. She got up and pulled on her robe, slowly wandering about and wondering if perhaps this whole weekend had been a dream with just enough reality to torture her but the note she found on her television alerted her that it had been very real.

_Sara, my darling,_

_I couldn't bear to wake you and see the pain that our parting would cause you. Just know that you are in my heart and I am waiting for your decisions to be made. You know you are everything I want, but I also want you to be happy. _

_I am leaving today in the hopes that we can communicate more freely now. Just to hear your voice is a reassurance to me during days spent in doubt of my very sanity. You always seem to see things so much clearer than most, and as you are well aware, sometimes I get so caught up in the technical side of life that I need your vision to open my eyes to how life should be._

_You know where I am, Sara. Please, call and talk to me–even if it's to discuss nothing more important than the weather or the fact that Preston's "mother" has suddenly grown a lucid mind._

_Talk to me, my love._

_Gil_


	134. Chapter 134

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Four

He knew with the first sneeze, the first sniffle, that the little imp had successfully shared his germs with him. He had come down with the bug full force! He usually worked through such infections, but the truth was that he just couldn't bring himself to jump right back into the scheme of things when he returned from his sojourn with Sara. He remembered watching her sleep after they made love. . .Jesus! He still had trouble believing what he had done to her. He could only think that it was possibly a surge of testosterone blazing through his body that made him want to mark her–to make her his in a way they had never. . . God, he had taken a great risk but once he started, there was no stopping him. Afterward when she cuddled into his arms and slept, he knew he had satisfied her. He had felt her spasming around him with such intensity that he nearly blacked out when his own peak followed in rapid succession. The main thoughts going through his head as he watched her was that he didn't know how he was going to continue without constantly having her with him like this. She had a way of invigorating him and making him feel alive again after living a life of merely existing. He brushed her hair back from her face and saw stress that didn't use to be there. He remembered the fresh breath of air that breezed into his lecture hall all those years ago and he wondered if he had done more damage to her than good. He allowed her to continue sleeping but he couldn't seem to stop the constant caresses, taking in the softness of her skin, the way her flesh felt beneath his fingers, beneath his lips. And then it was time to leave and he couldn't bear to face her despair. He couldn't really say that they accomplished anything this weekend other than making him know that he needed more than mere "visits" with her. But he also picked up on her hesitation, her reluctance to approach anything that might suggest her returning to Las Vegas with him.

And so now he's back, wandering around his apartment in his pajamas and robe, cooking some soup from one of his mother's recipes. It used to be a sure cure for his ailments–or maybe it was just a comfort food he was craving. It had been days and he had heard nothing. He wanted to give her the opportunity to decide whether she wanted to renew frequent communication so he waited for her to contact him. He carried the phone with him from room to room in anticipation of her voice, so when it finally did ring, he grasped it up only to find Ecklie's name listed in the caller ID.

Madeline Klein. Powerful, beautiful and a royal pain in the ass.

"I've been waiting over an hour for you. What are ya, walking here?. . ." And so began her barrage of intimidation that did nothing more than irritate the shit out of Grissom. Yes, its true that he called her for assistance whenever one of his crew needed legal help. Hell, she could manage to scare the most hard-nosed attorneys he had come to face with. He often wondered with her more than masculine mannerisms if he traveled both sides of the road, but it never went any farther than a mild curiosity, even if she did tend to show a little more interest and boldness in her treatment of him than was considered friendly. And now she was storming through his door and pulling him into her latest case. Dammit! He knew his crew could handle this! Just once he wished he could be left the fuck alone so he could deal with his life. What the hell was he supposed to do if the moment he walked into the courtroom with Maddie, Sara called. Great! Now Catherine has to barge in. What the hell did he do to deserve this? Okay, he had to get ready for court, he felt like shit rolled over, every movement he makes to try to get dressed brings pain in his congested chest, and in the meantime he can hear Catherine inspecting his damned kitchen. He doesn't have time for this damned crap! He's being bombarded by females on both sides–and the only one he cared about seemed to have forgotten how to used a fucking telephone!

Yep! There she is, staring at the old picture of himself and Sara. Jesus, if he didn't escape he'd be in for the third degree. "Listen, Catherine, when you're done with your investigation, could you take Hank out for a pee? I gotta get to court."

He's almost out the door–just a few more feet and he'd be out the door.

"How long have you and Sara been together?"

_Dammit! How do I answer? Do I want to answer? Shit! None of your goddamned business. I don't feel good and I'm not in the mood to discuss my love life and certainly not with you. Okay–it isn't your fault I'm sick–just back off! _

"I gotta go," he said simply and made another dash for the door.

"And to think all these years I thought you were this lonely workaholic," she called after him.

_Yeah, well go right on thinking, because I'm not filling in the details. _Grissomgave her a short acknowledging laugh and this time managed to escape.

From there things began to escalate. He managed to get back to his place for awhile before having to leave to go in the field with Warrick at which point they both nearly got blown up. Many hours later he regrouped with Nick and Greg, noting that young Preston had managed to spread his joyous virus over hundreds of miles to two of his crew members. He was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to have the opportunity to get home again when he finally wrapped up the case and was informed that he was either a classic enabler or Maddie Klein's soul mate. The thought made him smile. How very little she knew him and yet she thought he could be her soul mate. Not once during their whole time together on this case did she mention Sara and he knew Maddie well enough to know it wasn't out of sensitivity to their separation. The fact that she found Sara so insignificant was enough to diminish any importance this woman thought she had in his life. So, he simply gave her an encouraging smile and got up and left the room. He was tired and needed some rest.

The next day he was returning from a quick walk with Hank. His breathing was much better. He was actually feeling pretty good other than wishing he could go to bed for a week. He made his way to his sofa with Maddie's words still ringing in his ears. His soul mate. He thought of his soul mate–the one who could sooth his soul and make him complete, and his weariness started to wash over him. The phone rang and he stared at it a moment, deciding whether he wanted to answer it or not. God, not another call from Maddie. He picked up the cell and relief flooded through him. He felt as if he could breathe again and he lay back on his sofa as he flipped the telephone open.

"Hi," he smiled.

"Hey! I thought I'd call and let you know Preston has now championed the enunciation of ball and there is now no doubt in Brandy's mind about what you taught him. He can clearly be heard coming through the halls yelling for his "dammned ball!" Sara's voice lifted him higher than he'd been all week. "And. . .I caught his cold. I've been in bed with a runny nose, chest congestion and nausea for days. This is "not" how I planned to spend time in bed for extended periods of time!"

"You're thinking of other ways of spending your time in bed?" He asked with a grin still crossing his face.

"Welllll,"she said softly. "Let's just say that while I've been lying here all by my lonesome, memories of a bearded man lying on top of me has been keeping me more than entertained."

"Really?" He asked with great interest. "And just what are you doing when you're remembering this bearded man?"

"Mmmmm," she teased. "I rub myself."

"You what?" He gave an astonished laugh. He didn't really consider the possibility of her pleasuring herself–and if she did, he certainly didn't expect her to actually tell him about it. He had only been edging her on.

"Oh, Gil–I do!" She moaned seductively.

He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "And. . .just what do you rub?"

"I start with my chest. After I pick up the little blue jar and open it then spread it on my fingers. I rub it over my chest, soooo slowly as I'm thinking of you, Gil. And then I pick up my tube and squeeze some of that onto my fingers and I spread that. . .um. . .well, I spread that on my skin."

"And you're thinking of me as you're doing it."

"Mmm, yes, Gil. I wonder if you're doing the same thing. I wonder if you're feeling the same way I'm feeling." She pauses. "I imagine you rubbing yourself, Gil."

"And where am I rubbing myself, Sara?"

There was a long pause and he knew she was stopping to think up an answer. "Where are you now?"

"I'm lying on the sofa."

"Are you dressed?"

"I just got back from walking Hank–what do you think?"

"Okay–um–then, it's later in the day and you're only in your boxers–or–or your tight jeans! I like you in your tight jeans!"

"You like me in my jeans better than my underwear?"

"Well, no–but we can start with the jeans first, then move on to the boxers."

"But, Sara–when I asked where I was rubbing myself–I wasn't talking about where "I was." I was talking about what part of my body am I rubbing?"

"What part of your body?" She asked and he could hear a bit of nervous hesitation in her voice, making him smile. "Isn't it obvious? I mean. . .do I have to spell it out for you? Use your own imagination–I'm gonna need some help here, ya know."

"Okay, so lets say I grab this blue jar and use some of its contents–would I spread it over a large part of my body. Would I spread it over you if you were here with me?"

"Yes!" She said quickly. "Yes, you would!"

"And the tube? Would that be spread on a "small" part?"

She giggled. "That depends on what you call small, Dr. Grissom. I mean–you're perfect in that area and I'm rather average too."

"Sara, honey?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think I'm "rubbing myself now?" He asked in a seductive voice.

"What?" He could imagine her eyes going blank, then widening at the prospect of what he was implying.

"Do you think I'm. . .stroking myself?"

"You're. . .not. . .are you?"

"Honey, you're not very good at this, are you?"

"Good at this?"

"Phone sex. Anyway, I know what part of yourself you were rubbing. You're spreading mentholated rub on your chest to help with your nasal and chest congestion and you're squeezing out some triple antibiotic ointment onto your fingers and spreading them on your very red nose that you have from blowing it so much."

"Ah! Gil!" She sounded utterly disappointed. "How'd you get it already?"

"The "blue" jar gave it away. That and the fact that you've got a nasty cold right now, and I remember how sore your nose gets when you blow it a lot. And to answer your question, yes–young Mr. Preston shared his germs with me and I passed it on to Greg and Nick. I'm just now getting back on my feet, although I didn't have much of a reprieve while I took off of work."


	135. Chapter 135

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Five

"You took off work? My God, Gil–you must've been near death!"

"Didn't matter. I was called in anyway."

"By who? Surely not Ecklie!"

"Well," he said hesitantly. "In a way. It was Maddie Klein."

"Oh, really? Maddie, huh?" Sara said, then coughed as she started to laugh. "I'm amazed she's not there with you right now. She's eager enough."

"Now, Sara. . ."

"Was poor Gilbert being chased after by the big, bad, Madeline Klein?"

"Sara. . .don't start," he smiled, knowing she was enjoying the thought of him running in the other direction from Maddie's oft times over-enthusiastic affections.

"So, did she ask about me? I'd think I'd be the first thing she'd want to know about."

"No. She didn't mention a word. She insulted everyone else on my crew, but you–I think she knew not to go there."

"No, I suppose she did enough insulting when she walked in on us last year."

"She wouldn't have walked in on us if you hadn't forgotten to lock the front door."

"Don't you turn that around on me, Dr. Grissom! You didn't give me time to do a thing that day except squeal with surprise and land where you shoved me!" She sounded affronted and he chuckled at her.

"I was. . ." he hesitated.

"I know what you were! You were horny! Plain and simple!"

"There was nothing plain "or" simple about it, my dear! I had just gone through four days at the lab while you stayed home on a four-day break and you were being pissy to me simply because I reprimanded Greg Sanders."

"I was not being "pissy." And who could blame me if I was? Just because poor Greg sat in the break room trying to stick spoons to his nose–you went ballistic on him."

"I didn't go ballistic."

"Gil! You told him if he pressed one more spoon on his nose in front of you, you were going to stick it up his goddamned ass!"

Grissom chuckled again. "So I didn't want his nose germs on our eating utensils."

"You were mad before you walked into that break room. Just because I was joking around with Nick in the garage."

"Nick had his hands all over you. It didn't look like you were kidding around."

"Nick's like a brother to me!"

"I know that–now."

"So you were mad at me–and you took it out on Greg."

"And then you took it out on "me" the rest of the day," Grissom admitted. "If you didn't have your hands on Nick or Warrick, you were standing so close to them that you were fogging their safety glasses."

"It made you jealous, didn't it? I got my revenge." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"And I got mine. . . eventually."

"Mmmm, you were cold and very calculating all night."

"I wasn't cold when you got home the next morning."

"No, you definitely weren't cold when I got home," Sara smiled through her yawn and Grissom wished for nothing more than to be lying in her bed and taking care of her until she was over her "Preston-virus."

"You sound like you're ready to fall asleep, honey," he said quietly.

"No," she said just as quietly and he knew she was lying. "I took some cold medicine and its making me drowsy. I don't want to hang up yet."

"Then just lie there and listen."

"Okay," she breathed.

"I'm there, Sara," he said gently. "I'm with you. You don't see me, but if you close your eyes, you can feel me. I'm lying right behind you and I'm sliding my hand over your arm, just the way I liked, feeling your softness and letting it sooth both of us. You're starting to relax but you're not as close as I want, so I'm pulling you more tightly against my chest and hug you. I'm keeping you warm and safe. I'm pulling your hips back against mine as I'm kissing your hair and telling you how much I love you. Now I'm bending my legs beneath yours and putting my top leg over yours, drawling it back between mine, just to let you know I'm right here. You're reaching down now and resting your hand just to make sure I don't move."

"Gil?" She said quietly and he knew she was very close to sleeping.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I love you. I'll always love you."

He listened for a few moments more as her even breathing indicated that she had indeed fallen asleep. He hung up the telephone and sighed deeply as he ran his hand over his tired eyes. Goddammit! Why did she have to be in fucking California! He tossed his phone onto the coffee table and remained where he was lying. Suddenly his eyes were more than just tired and he was drifting off onto a semi-sleep where memories and dreams were becoming intermingled and he had flashes of Greg Sanders sitting in the break room at the lab. He had a spoon that he was huffing his breath onto, then he watched it very carefully as he brought the bottom of it up and pressed it onto his nose, going cross-eyed as he kept his gaze on the shiny object. It stayed there only a moment and he smiled broadly, rather proud of himself before it slipped and joined at least a dozen other spoons on the floor. He reached behind himself to the utensil drawer and pulled out another spoon and huffed onto it. Grissom was trying to get himself a cup of coffee while keeping his eye on his three CSIs who were laughing as they were entering the room with them. He noticed how Nick Stokes' hands were holding onto Sara's waist as she walked in front of him as Warrick Brown brought up the rear.

"What do ya say, kiddo?" Nick asked. "How about a night at the Black Diamond? We haven't had a night of dancing in months."

"What makes you think she wants to spend her first weekend back at work going out with you?" Warrick asked as he pulled out a chair for Sara then sat next to her as another spoon clanked onto the floor at Greg's feet.

"Sara loves me," Nick said defensively. "And she knows I'm a good dancer. Ask her."

"Damn," Greg said to himself as he grabbed another spoon.

"Ask her what?" Warrick laughed. "If she pities you enough to say you're a good dancer? Hell, she'd say that just so you wouldn't pout for the rest of the night."

"I didn't mean about the dancing–and she wouldn't say it out of pity. She likes dancing with me, don't ya, Sara?"

Another huff on the spoon as Grissom is stirring his coffee and acting as if he weren't listening to the conversation going on behind him.

"You're a very good dancer, Nick," Sara agreed. "And I'd be a fool not to accept an invitation to the Black Diamond with you. . ."

Another clank and Greg reached for the drawer again.

"Greg," Grissom said in a threatening growl. "I swear to God if you grab one more spoon I'll stick it up your goddamned ass! Nick! We need those prints off the MacMillan van. Why don't you spend more time worrying about the evidence around here and less time on whether or not you'd qualify in the Fred Astaire contest!"

"I already got. . ." Nick started.

"Then go search the van for anything you might've missed the first time." Grissom saw Greg reaching for the drawer again and reached down and slammed it closed. "Greg! You into anal stimulation with silver objects now?"

"No," Greg swallowed with difficulty as he looked at him through large eyes.

"Then pick up the ones you dropped and wash them! If I don't find them back in the drawer–clean–you're on dumpster duty for the next six weeks!" He looked back at Nick. "Are you waiting for something?"

"No," Nick said quickly and started out of the break room.

Sara looked at Grissom and got to her feet and walked past him. "Wait, Nick. I'll help you."

"I think they need an extra set of eyes," Warrick said under his breath and followed the other two.

Grissom turned and stomped back to his office where he promptly slammed his door closed.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

More memories flashed through Grissom's mind as he lay on his sofa, images of Sara laughing with Nick and Warrick. He recalled beginning the evening feeling relief that he'd finally get to see Sara, then the relief turned into an eagerness to get her alone and get a small taste of what he had been missing for the past four days while he had been trapped at the lab on a case that demanded that he only take small naps on his office sofa between shifts that lasted 20 hours. He had been lucky enough to actually grab six hours of sleep right before shift started and instead of going home, he decided to catch up on his sofa again. That way he'd be in better spirits come the next morning when he and Sara could finally go home together.

It had to be the lack of sleep that set him off, that and the fact that he was in dire need of some intimate contact with a leggy brunette who was openly flirting with his two extremely handsome CSIs. It took him over an hour of stewing over his tantrum before he made his way to the garage where he found all three of his CSIs in coveralls as they lay on their backs beneath the mysterious MacMillan van. He could hear them laughing about something and it only served to make his temper rise again.

"What's the definition of macho?" Warrick's voice came from beneath the van and when he was greeted with two "dunnos" he answered, "Jogging home after your vasectomy."

This warranted an "ouch" from Nick and an "ew" from Sara.

"Okay, okay," Nick said. "I've got one! What's the height of conceit?" After a slight pause, he answered, "Having an orgasm and calling out your own name."

Warrick laughed and Sara gave a snort then started on her own riddle. "Okay, guys, what's the difference between a g-spot and golf balls?" She waited and they both agreed they didn't know. "A guy will actually search for golf balls."

Both men gave out sounds of humored disapproval as they chuckled.

"Have you found anything or are you all too busy with more important things?" Grissom's sharp reprimand brought complete silence except for a sudden thump and Nick's groan. "Am I going to have to come back and make sure there's actually work being done in here?"

"No, boss," Nick told him and he turned and started back out of the room, hearing the man as he went through the doorway. "Dammit! He scared me so bad I hit my frickin' head!"

This, of course, brought chuckles from the other two occupants of the garage.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom vaguely was aware of Hank as he jumped up onto the sofa and lay near his legs, his mind too occupied with the memory of the feeling of remorse as he approached the four CSIs who were gathered in the locker room, looking tired at the end of their shift.

"Guys, I–I just wanted to say you all did a good job tonight. I know I was a bit sharp with you all. . ."

"Sharp?" Greg mumbled. "You said you were going to put an eating tool up my butt!"

"I–shouldn't have said that."

Warrick was the first to finish and walked out past him, patting his shoulder on the way. "Don't worry, Griss. We all know you've had a rough few days. Everyone would get a bit touchy if they spent this much time in here. See you guys Monday! I'm off for two days full of sleep."

"Have a good weekend, Warrick," Grissom said quietly as he watched him head down the hallway.

Soon Greg and Nick were exiting the room as well, Greg nervously edging his way past him as Nick gave his boss an encouraging and understanding smile then left him alone in the room with Sara. He waited until they were all a good distance down the hall and turned to watch as Sara closed her locker door.

"Sara. . ."

"Huh-uh, Griss. You were a prick tonight."

"I said I was sorry. Lets just go home and I'll make it up to you."

"I've made plans. I'm meeting Nick and Greg at Frank's."

"Then I'll meet you there."

"No–you weren't invited. We're spending some time out of the lab and away from our overbearing supervisors." She brushed past him and headed down the hall. "Nick! Greg! Wait for me."


	136. Chapter 136

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Six

Grissom didn't really recall driving home that morning, but he did remember going inside his apartment and waiting for Sara. He wasn't exactly furious with her. Mad? Maybe a little. Frustrated? Definitely. When she didn't arrive home the first half hour after he got home,

he moved to sit on the chair in the living room. After another half hour he was on his feet, pacing back and forth near the front door, and by now he was wondering if she was mad enough at him to actually go home with Nick instead of coming back to him. He knew he was letting his frustration get the best of him, but still, it didn't stop him from becoming more and more agitated. He grabbed his coat and pulled it on as he started for the door to go in search for her.

He heard her key entering the lock before she turned the handle, then he heard her humming as she pushed the door open. He didn't even give her time to close the door and he was reaching for her arms and pulling her toward him. He couldn't forget the squeak that escaped her as she swung around with wide eyes and in her attempt to dislodge the intruder who was trying to attack her she managed to get her feet twisted and she fell into him. He grasped onto her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall where he pressed his lips to hers. Testosterone surged through his veins as he heard her whimper and start to protest but the moment her lips parted, he pressed his tongue inside and moaned his desire for her. Then just as suddenly as he had grabbed onto her, she was grabbing him back and pulling at his opened jacket. She dropped her bag to the floor and he absently kicked at the door that was still standing ajar until he heard it slam closed. He resumed his kiss and in the process pressed her against the wall again with a loud thump and when she slid her hands down to the front of his pants, he pressed himself against her fully. She turned her face away from him and he moved on to her neck and throat.

"Laying your claim, Grissom?" She asked in a throaty voice as she pulled his shirt up over the waistband of his pants.

"So to speak," he returned without removing his mouth from her throat. He jerked her jacket from her arms then pulled roughly at her blouse until he could hear buttons popping off the cloth. He soon had that pressed over her shoulders, then shoved her bra straps down as well and unclasped the hooks with a flick of his fingers. He grabbed it and flung it across the room as he continued worshiping her throat and upper chest then moved his hand down between them, sliding his long, thick fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans and pressing inside until he felt the lacy elastic of her panties. "But I've got other things in mind first."

In a rush, he was pushing her along the wall until they came to a table that was holding several of his books and in an instant they were shoved to the floor and he was pressing her back across its top. He opened her pants in an instant and was yanking them down her legs, not bothering to remove them completely when they got stuck at her ankles because she was still wearing her shoes. He was leaning over her, feeding on her as he grabbed onto one breast with his hand, and devoured the other between his teeth. Her moans were like an electrical current, igniting him, making him move lower until he was nipping at her stomach, then her abdomen. He heard her whimper as he moved lower and he nuzzled her, tasting her saltiness that he craved.

"Gil," she tried, but he grunted and pressed her thighs farther apart, allowing him greater access as he stooped on the floor then grabbed her hips and pulled her to the very edge of the table. He feasted on her as her fingers grasped onto his hair and pulled him to her and he didn't stop until he heard her high-pitched moans and he felt her arching against him. He slowly kissed his way back up her body and flipped his shirt off his arms as he went. Once he was kissing her lips again, enticing her back to a hungry response, he reached between them and opened his pants, grasped onto himself and quickly entered her with enough force that it caught her breath. He slid his forearms up under her shoulders as he pumped into her forcefully.

"What was that you were saying about golf balls?" He grunted as he never missed a beat, but she reached up and tugged on his hair.

"Shut up and fuck me," she growled back.

God, he got turned on when she talked like that, and he knew that she was well aware of it. He starting pounding into her with a force that was banging the table against the wall and soon he felt her nails biting into his sides, tumbling him over the edge so hard that he nearly collapsed on top of her.

"You bastard!" The slurred words exploded from behind him and he felt himself shrivel immediately. "What the fuck are you doing!"

He glanced at Sara long enough to see her looking past him with huge eyes. "Look out!"

Sara twisted with him so quickly he wasn't aware of her intentions until they both landed on the floor with a loud bang, but it was nothing in comparison to the smashing of a vase on the table where they had just been. Grissom was torn between trying to shield Sara from the lunatic behind them, and wanting to turn to stop the attack. A second to decide and he shoved himself up from where he was on the floor and pushed Sara back from them. He blanched when he saw the woman coming at him a second time with fury in her eyes but a moment before she unleashed her anger on Grissom she side-stepped him and went after Sara.

"Maddie!" Grissom managed to get out, not understanding just what the hell was going on, but knowing there was no way he was going allow his "friend" from the district attorney's office to harm Sara. In one swift movement he grasped onto the back of Madeline Klein's jacket and yanked her backward until she fell in the other direction of Sara, giving them both time to readjust their pants so they could better defend themselves.

"Why, Gil?" Maddie wailed as she crawled across the floor and grabbed onto his pant legs in an attempt to get back to her feet. "You said I meant everything to you! You said we were good together!"

Grissom's brows knit together in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? He never insinuated anything of the kind to Madeline Klein. Hell, he hardly even noticed she was a woman! She was more like one of the guys down at the courthouse. Christ, she could drink any one of "the guys" under th"e table, and by the smell of her, that was exactly what she had done before she arrived there.

"What's she talking about?" Sara asked as she grabbed Grissom's jacket and held it over her bare chest.

"Shut up, bitch!" Madeline slurred as she finally got to her feet and stared at Sara as if trying to decide just who this competition was.

Sara looked at Madeline as if she had just climbed out of the nearest sewer. "Maddie Klein?"

"That's right! And don't you forget it! Just who in the hell are you?" She stumbled and Grissom grabbed onto her arm to hold her upright. "Wait–I know who you are. You're that little bitch that he had flown in from California. Hah! The one who follows him around like a little bitch in heat!"

"Madeline! That's enough!" Grissom told her sternly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I should be asking "her" the same question!" She reached out to grab at Sara but Grissom pushed her back against the wall and allowed her to slide down it onto her rump. "Gil! You said. . ." They both watched as Maddie started to gag and Sara quickly grabbed a nearby waste can and shoved it in front of the woman's face, allowing her to vomit into it. When she finally stopped heaving, she slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at Grissom then tried to grasp onto his pant leg again. "Gil. . .tell her to leave."

"Maddie, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but if you think I've compromised you in some way–you're sorely mistaken!"

"You're only saying that so you don't upset that tramp!" Maddie moaned.

"Watch your mouth, Maddie. You and I have been friends for a long time–but I won't allow you to talk to Sara like this. You'll give her the respect she deserves or you're going to be carried out of here so fast you won't know what direction your heading–drop down drunk or not!"

"Respect," Maddie spat at them. "Look at her! Standing there half naked like a goddamned whore!"

"That's it!" Grissom reached down to grasp Maddie beneath her legs and behind her back, fully prepared to remove her from his apartment but Sara stopped him from carrying her out the door.

"No. Put her over her on the sofa. Let her sober up first."

Grissom looked doubtfully at Sara but did as she instructed and by the time he placed the older woman on the couch cushions, she had passed out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom slowly got to his feet and instructed Hank to go to his own bed. He made his way into his bedroom and didn't even bother removing his clothing as he dropped onto his mattress and buried his face into the pillow. He remembered how Sara kept her distance from Maddie that day, but maintained watch over the woman. She stated that she could understand the woman's actions, having faced trouble with drinking herself, and knowing what it was like to be in love with Gilbert Grissom. She stayed in the background as Grissom nursed Maddie back from her drunken abyss to somewhat clear thought and he made it absolutely clear that she was never to insult Sara again or what was left of their friendship would be completely destroyed. Eventually, with a long day's worth of sleep and then five cups of black coffee, she was alert enough to make her way out of Grissom's apartment, leaving with a distinct knowledge that she would never be able to be anything more to him than a colleague and friend. She also knew that there would never be any replacing Sara Sidle in his heart.

Grissom closed his eyes tightly, wanting sleep to overtake him as he damned Sara's decision to stay away from him in California.


	137. Chapter 137

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Seven

She had been waiting for this day for over two weeks, ever since she had fully recovered from her "flu" and they had set up the date to meet. She had to smile in spite of herself as she recalled part of the stipulation was "No Preston!" "Of course," she told him, then added. "But I can't promise anything if he sees "Grandpa" in the hall and insists on a visit with his favorite mature male figure." She was promptly reminded that the word was "damned ball" and not "Grandpa" so they should have nothing to worry about. She had made reservations at an elegant French restaurant, obtained tickets to a show and bought a new dress just for the occasion. After their last visit and especially after he lulled her to sleep on the telephone, she had started to fall in love with him all over again. Not that she had ever "stopped" loving him–as if that were possible–but he had managed to make her heart thump wildly in her chest with every thought of him these past two weeks. She was actually tingling as if electrical static was passing over her skin as she stood at the airport, watching the people pass by.

She chuckled to herself when she realized she was standing here like the girl he had left in San Francisco all those years ago–long before she had made her trek to Las Vegas–feeling as excited by the chance to see him again as she would have been back then. She caught herself wringing her hands together as she imagined what he would be wearing when he walked through that door to meet her. Would he rush up to her and greet her with the heat of his kiss, or would he remain much cooler, contained in his genius scientist persona as he would take her hand and walk with her to her car. If that were the case, would he wait until they got back to her apartment? Or would he not be able to contain himself as she drove them to their destination? Sara wrapped her arms around herself at the thought of driving out of the airport and feeling Grissom lean into her as he would begin nuzzling her neck, then his hand would slide inside the buttons of her blouse and over the white lace of her bra. It wouldn't be enough and he'd unbutton her completely and drop his head to put his lips and tongue where his hand had just been, then move his hand lower, gliding it across her stomach and into the top of her jeans. Sara gasped, almost as if she had forgotten to breath as her fantasy overtook her. Maybe he would make her wait until they got back to the apartment house and inside her apartment. Would they make it much farther than the front door? Could she wait if he would drag it on into her bedroom? This time she shook her head, as if to clear it, and went back to looking out the window at the plane that was taxiing in to unload its passengers.

Soon, so soon, she would find out. She thought about how she planned to make love to him all morning, then rest until late afternoon. She would then wake up ahead of him so she could get ready for their evening. It always took her longer than him. He had the uncanny ability to see his clothing, then change into them within minutes. The final adjustments he usually would leave up to her and she was never quite sure if he really didn't know how to do it–or just liked having her fuss over him. Her smile spread over her face when she recalled one of their last formal dates and how he aided her to dress–ripping her pantyhose as he helped pull them up her legs and his fingers when right through the nylon. Well, no pantyhose for him tonight. Tonight was going to be special and she bought the undergarments to showcase that fact. Silk stockings with a lacy camisole and garter belt–and if she felt bold enough, the tiny lace thong would be forgotten as she would go bare.

She glanced outside again and saw that there was no hurry, it would be several minutes before the plane would actually begin unloading, so she made a small detour into ladies' room. She went to the mirror and adjusted her hair slightly, then added a little lip gloss. When she was satisfied with the picture she presented, she even sprayed a little of her body perfume onto herself in a few inviting areas, then went back out in time to see the door open and the people start to enter the area where she was waiting.

She watched the people walk past her and wondered if Grissom remembered her comment about bringing something formal to wear. She wondered if she had stressed it enough or if it had gone right over his head. If so, he was in for a rather expensive gift when she would take him shopping on the way home for a nice suit and shoes. But, feeling as anxious as she was feeling right now, she prayed he remembered and they could go straight home.

She checked her watch again just to make sure this was the correct flight. It was the right time. She checked the gate. Yes, this was the right flight. She started to feel more and more anxious with each passenger that walked past her, but not in the good way she had felt several minutes before. Now her heart was starting to race again, but in the fearful kind of way when you know you're about to be extremely disappointed. No! This can't be happening! Even if by some strange event he had missed his flight, he would have called her and let her know. But there had been nothing.

She started to pace back and forth, watching as the space between passengers became wider and wider until finally she saw the airplane moving from its position and she knew everyone had been left off. Still, she waited, hoping that for some indefinable reason, he had felt the sudden need to stop and investigate an unidentifiable moth that had built a cocoon just outside of the entrance to where she waited for him. Perhaps there was an interested stewardess or an old lady or. . .anyone. . .who wanted him to explain just what that cocoon was and why it was there. But he didn't walk through the door to her. Instead, she watched as a steward pulled the door closed behind himself, indicating there was no one left.

She waited longer, hoping that perhaps he had simply been late and gotten a later flight–maybe he'd be here any minute, so she asked the woman at the desk and was politely told that the next flight from Vegas would be arriving in two hours. Okay–two hours. She could occupy her time for two hours. It was better to stay here than drive all the way home, then have to turn right around and return again. She wasn't in the mood to fight traffic, so she went to little shop close by and picked up a magazine to occupy her time. She smiled to herself. Only two more hours. Maybe it wasn't going exactly the way she had planned, but it only meant they were going to get two hours less sleep than she had anticipated.

She made her way through the magazine when she noticed it was time for the next flight from Vegas to arrive. There really had been no point calling him, after all, she had spoken to him two days ago and she really couldn't see disturbing him, especially if he were catching up on some sleep while on the flight. She stretched as she got to her feet and went back to her observation post, waiting for him to join her, but one-by-one, they passed her by until again, the door was closed to indicate no one was left aboard.

Sara stared at the door, then slowly turned and started for the parking area. She waited until she was in her car then dialed Grissom's number. He had to be on his way–but where?

"Grissom," he answered in an aggravated tone that almost made her hang up the telephone.

"Gil? What's wrong?"

"Oh. Hi." His tone changed slightly but she could still hear the tension behind it. "Oh, shit. I was supposed to be in San Francisco today, wasn't I? Um, I'm sorry about that. A case came in that sort of caught us all off guard. Look, I'll just wrap up my end of it and toss it into Catherine's hands, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Gil! Could you meet me in the layout room?" Catherine's voice came from a distance, indicating she was calling from a doorway.

"Honey, I've gotta go now. But I'll see you soon, okay?"

"But. . .what about tonight?"

"I should be there by late afternoon. I'll see you then."

"Should I wait at the airport?"

"No–go home. I'll catch a cab."

"Gil, you're not forgetting. . ." she began.

"No, darling. I'm not forgetting. I'll talk to you later."

Sara looked at her telephone as he hung up, then felt the sinking in her chest expand. She started her car and moved out of the airport, definitely under different circumstances than what she had anticipated.

By three o'clock Sara was feeling more antsy than she had been feeling since she noticed Grissom wasn't on the first flight so she started a little light cleaning in the kitchen to pass the time. By four o'clock she went into her bedroom and was looking at the clothing she had laid out on the bed, hoping that he really hadn't forgotten about the formalwear he was supposed to bring because at this rate they surely wouldn't have time to purchase anything for him without being late for at least one of the events she had planned for them that evening. Five o'clock came and went and at six she went back to the bedroom and started putting the clothes into the closet. Even if he would arrive within the next half hour, by the time they would get ready to leave, they would be too late for dinner. At eight-thirty she changed clothes from her blouse and jeans and put on a pair of sleeping shorts and tee-shirt and by eleven she was lying on her bed with her face pressed against her pillow to catch the tears that were spilling.

OoOoOoOoOoooOoOoOoOo

"Catherine," Grissom called to his friend as he looked at the computer screen. He was exhausted but he wanted to stay to see Catherine through this. It had been a hard case for all of them, but extremely hard for her. When she joined him, he pressed play and they watched a distraught woman and man at a memorial site for the small girl that had consumed them all for the past two days. "Seems they loved her."

"I think it makes it worse."

He continued to watch the screen as Catherine turned and left him in the near darkness and the thought entered his mind that these were the kinds of cases that always got to Sara. Sara! He dropped the mouse and looked around as if coming out of a trance. Jesus! How could he have simply forgotten? He told her he'd be there by yesterday afternoon by the latest. Instead, he allowed this case to eat him up. Dammit!

He grabbed his cell and speed dialed her number but he got no response. He looked at the clock and saw that–hell–he was only twenty-eight hours late–thirty-four if you count from the original time he was supposed to be there. Maybe if he caught the next flight out he could somehow make it up to her. Jesus! What was the last thing she said to him? Not to forget? And he said, no–he wouldn't forget to catch the next flight. Christ! Where was his mind!

He used his time on the plane to try to freshen up a little, as best as he could in the tiny bathroom. After landing, he rushed into a small store at the airport and picked up a few essentials then went to the men's room where he tidied himself up a bit more. A quick cab ride and by midnight he was using his key that she had given him on his last trip. He opened the door and thanked God that she had left a lamp on in the livingroom, enough to get him through the small foyer then into the room with the light. He cautiously approached her bedroom, not wanting to alarm her but when he found her bed empty, he moved on to her bathroom. He looked around then came back out, hoping against the odds that perhaps she was in the laundry room. After a very brief inspection, he went to the sofa and dropped down, running a hand over tired eyes as he leaned back. Within two minutes he was sound asleep.

Sara did not want to face another sleepless night so she had decided to take in a double feature at the vintage theater in town. Her selections at ten o'clock at night consisted of Montgomery Clift in "A Place in the Sun," and "Suddenly, Last Summer", James Stewart in "Shenandoah" and "The Glen Miller Story," Ray Milland in "The Uninvited" and "Daughter of the Mind," and Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy in "Adam's Rib" and "Pat and Mike." She opted for Hepburn and Tracy and although it did nothing to lift her spirits, it did help pass the time so that when she finally walked into her apartment at two o'clock she was more than ready to get some sleep.

The sight of Gilbert Grissom fast asleep on her sofa stopped her as she was about to cross the living room. She glanced at her watch and saw the time, knowing that they both evidently needed a good night's sleep, which would take them well into mid-morning, perhaps even late morning, and then he'd be boarding a plane again by five in the afternoon so he'd be home again in time to return to work. She felt a sadness wash over her at the knowledge that they were left with no time to be together. And what little time they did have would be stressed, knowing the clock was ticking by faster than they wanted. She couldn't even work up the strength to feel bitterness at the question of why he even bothered to come at all. Instead, it was a feeling of defeat, a feeling of such loneliness even with him only a few feet away. The contrast between a few weeks before when he was on the telephone, hundreds of miles away but had never seemed closer as he soothed her to sleep and now was inexplicable. She continued to stare at him and felt her eyes burning before she made a quick swipe of them to rid any evidence in case he should wake up and see her like this. She went to stand next to the sofa and placed her hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him until he opened his eyes and looked at her. She saw his complete exhaustion and instead of issuing any invitations for physical intimacy, she merely turned and started for her bedroom. She could hear him getting to his feet and following her and while she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth she heard the creaking of her mattress. When she came out, he was still fully clothed, but asleep again on the bed. She made no attempt to touch him as she lay down on the other side of the mattress. She simply watched him sleep, now not able to find such relief in it for herself. The last time she glanced at her alarm clock before she could finally fade into a dreamless state, it was five-o-seven. She wouldn't wake up until after noon.


	138. Chapter 138

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Eight

This time Gil was the one to wake up in an empty bed. He slowly managed to make a trip to the bathroom and was about to go to the living room area when he heard Sara talking quietly to another female. His first instinct was that the neighbor girl was dropping her kids off again and he winced at the thought of it.

"So, how was your evening the other night? I didn't get to see you leave but I bet you looked absolutely lovely. Brandy told me about your dress and the reservations you made at Fleur de Lys. Very nice. Did Dr. Grissom have a good time? I know you've been planning this for weeks. I bet you were the most attractive couple in the restaurant–and the theater." Janet, the children's grandmother remarked, then there was a slight pause and Grissom glanced around the room, noting the closet door that was partially open and seeing what was quite clearly an expensive dress that had never been worn.

"I–um–didn't make it. Gil had to work and I stayed at home," Sara said quietly. "But, thank you for returning my pan to me. It really wasn't necessary to make a special trip. I wasn't planning on using it today."

"Oh, it was no problem at all," she said and her voice got a bit louder, indicating that she had entered the apartment. "So, he didn't make it? Sebastian said he saw him coming in late last night–and you came in a few hours after that."

"Um, yes. Better late than never, I suppose."

"But you weren't here? Were you having trouble sleeping again?"

"I thought I'd take in the Hepburn and Tracy double-feature. It wasn't over until after midnight. Was there something else you needed, Janet?"

"No–no. I'm finished baking for awhile. Although, we "are" having a bake sale in the lobby next month to collect money for . . ." Janet stopped speaking upon sight of Grissom as he stood in the doorway to the livingroom. "My! You certainly look. . .rumpled."

"Yes, well. . ." Sara moved into the room with them, giving Grissom what could only be described as a wounded glance before looking back at Janet. "I'll keep the bake sale in mind, although I can't promise to actually bake anything. I'll probably stop at Kenny's Grocery and grab a few dozen chocolate chip cookies or some brownies to donate."

"I'm sure anything you decide will be fine, dear," Janet said while moving her eyes over Grissom, beginning with his tousled hair, moving down over his bearded face, onto the shirt that was opened over halfway, exposing his neck and chest, on to his trousers and then down to his bare feet. When she looked back up at him she held a certain sparkle in her eyes. "Hello, Dr. Grissom. Sara tells me you couldn't make it to her "date night" on Friday. That's too bad. It sounded quite impressive."

"I'm sure it was. It's a shame I wasn't made aware of it, or I would have made a greater effort to see that she hadn't been disappointed."

His comment turned Sara's gaze back to him but instead of defending her point, she grasped onto Janet's elbow with as much finesse as she could muster and started back toward the front door.

"Why weren't you aware of it?" Janet asked over her shoulder as Sara continued toward the door with her.

"He's joking," Sara told her with a smile that never reached her eyes. "Of course he knew. Thanks again for returning the pan. I'll talk to you later. Bye, now."

Grissom watched as Sara practically pushed the woman through the doorway then had to keep pushing her hands out as she continued to close the door on her. When she turned around, her smile had diminished some but she still wore part of it as she came back into the living room. She didn't raise her gaze to look at him, instead took the cake pan out to the kitchen. Grissom waited for her to return but after a few moments decided to follow her where she was wiping her sink as if she had been doing some light cleaning. He hesitated at the doorway, then moved to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of the blackness.

"I didn't know," he said quietly as he moved to the table and sat down.

"Hmm," she answered without looking at him.

"You don't believe me."

"It doesn't matter. Would you like some breakfast? I'm out of pancake mix, so the best I can offer is cereal or toast."

"I'd like you to sit down, instead of doing busy-work to avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you," she said as she finally looked up at him with a bit more strength than she had shown previously. "If I were avoiding you, I wouldn't be here."

"Then sit down."

She sighed as she grabbed a cup and poured some coffee into it. She grabbed some creamer and moved back to the table where she sat down and watched her drink as she stirred it. His gaze never left her as she avoided looking at him. God, but she was beautiful, and it was times like this that he knew she had no idea just how beautiful she was. Finally, he attempted to talk to her again.

"Are you going to be angry the whole time I'm here?" He asked gently, making her glance at him before looking away again.

"I'm not angry," she said quietly. "I've stopped being angry, Gil."

"Okay, then what do you call it?" He reached across the table and removed the spoon from her fingers then wrapped his much sturdier digits around hers and when she couldn't respond, he went on. "Whatever you want to call it–I'm still receiving the silent treatment."

"Oh, Gil!" She sighed again with obvious disappointment. "Stop turning this around to make me into the vindictive . . . whatever I am. If you get your feelings hurt, it stings. There isn't a thing that can be done if you're stinging, other than to try to get over it. My "silent-treatment" as you put it is only my attempt to stop the sting."

"It's as simple as that?"

"No," she sighed for a third time, her weariness showing. "It isn't that simple."

"Then explain it."

"Let's just say I'm stepping back and trying to regroup. It doesn't mean I'm angry. All it means is that we stumbled and I'm picking myself up and trying to start again. It's merely the moment of picking myself back up." She removed her hand from his and took a sip of her coffee then finally looked up at him again, wearing a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I had originally planned on a small picnic by the bay, but. . ."

'But?"

"When you didn't get here Friday night, I thought you weren't coming so I ate the food I planned on taking. I guess I sort of pigged out yesterday."

"We can still go on a picnic if you want. We can always pick up some food while we're there."

"I–I. . .well, that's just it. Like I said I didn't know you were coming and I made other plans." She looked at him as his brow raised in question. "It shouldn't take long–only about an hour–and if you'd told me you were coming, I wouldn't have set up this appointment. . ."

"It's Sunday morning, Sara. Why would you make an appointment on a Sunday morning?"

"Well, actually, it's for a late lunch. And I'm sure no one would mind if you came along, but I really can't miss this meeting."

"Meeting?"

"It's some friends I've made since I arrived. I met them at the library a few weeks ago. They're a group of ecologists who travel to different areas. Right now they're waiting for their grant to come through before setting out on another site."

'And you're meeting with them because. . .? Are you planning something?"

"I'm not planning anything, Gil. I'm simply having lunch with some friends before they leave the country. I found their research extremely interesting and it was some intellectual stimulation other than babies, absent-minded young mothers and over-sexed grandmothers. I grasped onto the opportunity to have some stimulating conversation as quickly as I could manage it."

He watched as she drank more of her coffee then got to her feet and moved to put her empty cup into the sink.

"Are you doing this because I didn't make it in time to take you to a movie I had no idea about?" His fingers wrapped around his own cup but he had lost interest in drinking its contents. His comment made her come to an abrupt stop as she turned to look at him again.

"I am "not" doing this because of anything you've done or haven't done. I simply made plans for what I thought was going to be an uneventful Sunday. And I really didn't want to rehash this, but if you keep insisting that you knew nothing about Friday evening, then I have to remind you that not only did I tell you, nearly two weeks ago, that I had something planned for us, I also told you twice last week that it was a surprise, then I told you to bring a suit, and even Friday afternoon, when we spoke on the phone, I reminded you to bring semi-formal clothing."

"You did no such thing." His eyes widened as he looked at her.

"Gil, I don't want to get into this. It was just another case of you being so involved in work that you weren't paying attention to our conversation. I learned to accept that a long time ago. I guess I just. . ." She stopped speaking and started through the room toward her bedroom. "I just thought that since we weren't seeing each other every day–it might have been a little important and maybe you could've paid more attention to what I was saying."

He waited a few moments then got to his feet and went to her bedroom doorway where he leaned against the frame and watched as she stood in her jeans and bra, evidently changing her top.

"So you're angry because I didn't listen. I can accept that, but by now I would think you'd know that it must have been something extraordinary for me to have forgotten about visiting."

She stood erect and looked at him, her cheeks reddening with emotion. "Why do you have to insist that I'm mad? Is it easier for you to deal with my anger than my. . ."

"Your what? Your apathy?"

"Gil! I'm not being apathetic! Why are "you" being so accusatory? Do I have to spell it out for you? I'm not proud that I was "hurt" when you didn't show up. Not so much angry–if at all. It was pain, Gil–not anger!"

He watched her a moment longer then put his cup of coffee down on her bureau and walked up to her. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she said quietly as she held her shirt with her hands in front of her, but lowered to hip-level. There was no attempt to cover herself as she seemed a bit defeated.

"But you have to go anyway," he supplied for her.

"No. I don't "have" to go." She took a deep breath then reached for her cell phone which was lying close to his coffee. She dialed, and waited a moment. "Hi. It's me. I was calling to let you know I won't be able to make it to Johnny's. Yes," she smiled briefly and chuckled. "He is here. Well, then you knew more than I did because I wasn't expecting him. I'll let him know that. Alright. I'll see you all on Wednesday–three o'clock at Johnny's Spaghetti Bar. See you then."

He watched her replace her phone on the bureau top. "Your friend expected me, but you didn't."

"Lets just say she's a hopeless romantic." She turned her gaze up to meet his and he could see how she was trying to smile at him.

"And you're not a hopeless romantic?" He questioned.

"What was it that Kathleen Turner said in Romancing the Stone? A "hopeful" romantic?"

His eyes sparkled with that same "hope" as he took her shirt from her hands and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He let his hands slide over her bare arms as he watched the creamy loveliness of her skin and absorbed its softness. She slowly stepped closer and put her arms around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head as he put his arms around her in return and gently rocked her.

"What do you want to do?" He whispered. "Anything you want–we'll do it. Do you want to go out somewhere? We can go for a walk; we can go out for something to eat; we can do both and go for that picnic you had planned."

"Not now." She turned her face until she was looking at him. "Maybe later."

He nodded his head in understanding and allowed her to turn as he put his arm around her waist and they went to the bed. He waited for her to lie down before lying next to her. They faced one another as he brought her fingertips up to kiss them. She stroked his beard and he gloried in her touch. He watched her face, looking into her chocolate eyes and getting lost in them as he so easily could do. He had been without sex for over three weeks and he would have thought that he would be initiating something more than merely touching her, but this seemed to be enough for right now. Actually, it seemed to be what he needed after the last few days he had spent at the lab. He needed her touch. He needed her understanding and compassion and he knew that once she got past the fact that he had "screwed up" again, she would open her heart and allow him to come inside for the comfort he needed. They absorbed what they needed from one another as their touching continued, brailing one another's faces, shoulders, chests, stomachs and arms, ending with a major investigation of one another's hands and fingers.

He wanted to stay here forever, silently letting his mind and soul mesh with hers, but he knew he couldn't. So, he took what he could get from this mutual sharing of the senses until he saw her eyelids start to turn heavy. He pulled her closer and allowed her to nestle against him until he could tell by the evenness of her breathing that she had fallen into a peaceful sleep. He waited almost a half hour, then slowly slid out of bed and went back to the living room where he opened his cell and dialed Catherine, knowing he had to make contact with the place his mind had been since Sara had fallen asleep.


	139. Chapter 139

Chapter One-Hundred-Thirty-Nine

Sara stretched in her sleep and she could feel the warm sturdy body she was lying against. She smiled as she kept her eyes closed, reaching out and sliding her hand over the chest that was so familiar to her. She loved touching him, loved smelling him, loved tasting him. She felt safe and secure, more secure than she had felt in ages. She couldn't even remember why she had been feeling so incomplete of late. She didn't have to ponder on it because he was here and he was holding onto her, gently rubbing her bare back as he always does when she needs his strength. She had him all to herself and she was never going to let him go again. The thought made her smile broaden as she nuzzled her nose against his shoulder and inhaled deeply. Next she slipped her tongue out and slid it across his neck as he angled his head to give her better access. Her lips moved upward until she pulled his ear lobe between them and gently bit, then flicked her tongue inside his ear, making him shudder as his grasp on her tightened.

"I love you, Gil. I always will."

"I know," he responded but his voice seemed distant, almost having a tinny quality to it and she slowly pulled her head back to look at him.

She opened her eyes and saw him gently smiling at her. He was such a beautiful man. She reached to touch his beard but her fingers never reached their destination as two shots rang through the air and he disappeared as if pulled into a vortex.

Sara's eyes burst open as the sound of the two gunshots still echoed through her brain. She reached for the other side of the bed only to find it empty, and in her near sleep-like state she wondered if Grissom had been there at all or if it had all been a dream. She sat up and bounded off the bed but slowed when she heard his voice from the living room.

"Yes, Catherine. Pull the records for the Henderson case. I'll see to them when I get back. Soon enough. Alright."

Sara watched him talking on his cell as he stood looking out her livingroom window. When he finally turned and saw her watching him, she noticed the startled expression that he hid almost immediately.

"Can't leave it even for twelve hours, can you?" She asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Is she going to have everything waiting for you tonight?"

"Probably," he told her as he slowly walked toward her. "But it'll be sitting there waiting until I get there tomorrow night. I just called her to let her know I won't be back until then. I hope you won't mind putting up with me for an extra twenty-four hours. Unless, of course, you can't think of anything to do with me."

She felt her throat constrict with emotion when he put his arms around her and looked into her eyes. Damn him–she would jump through rings of fire for him when he looked at her like this–and he knew it. "Oh, I'm sure I can come up with a thing or two."

"Such as?"

"I'm supposed to babysit Preston in about an hour but I'd really like to go back to the theater and catch the Jean Harlow double-feature. You wouldn't mind watching him for me, would you?"

His eyes dilated for only a moment before he realized that she was lying. "Another night with Preston and I'll "walk" back to Vegas."

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

"It looks like we still have a few hours of sunlight. We could grab something to munch on and head out to the bay. There's something about that cool sea breeze and a certain brunette that invigorates me."

"And you need invigorating?"

"It couldn't hurt."

"Alright, then lets go invigorate you." She grabbed her keys from where she had put them the night before and took his hand, pulling him along to the front door, but when she tried to open it, he pushed it until it was only open about an inch then moved until he was peeking out through the crack. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not taking any chances," he murmured as he held onto her hand, then opened the door and pulled her out quickly. He started walking in the opposite direction than the elevator, toward the door to the stairway. "I'm taking Preston precautions."

His response made Sara chuckle as she hurried along with him but as he was about to reach for the doorknob, the door closest to them opened; it's suddenness making Grissom jump slightly.

"Sara! Are you going out?" Sebastion asked as he stood in the hallway, watching them in the shortest pair of shorts Grissom had ever seen on a man. "Oh–Dr. Grissom. How nice to see you, too."

"Hello, Sebastion," Sara giggled again, quite plainly seeing that her sexy scientist not only was attracting the affections of herself and Preston's grandmother, Janet, but Sebastion seemed smitten with him as well.

"Hello, Sebastion," Grissom said as he opened the door and pulled Sara through it with him. "Goodbye, Sebastion."

Sara followed him as he started down the stairs, still wearing her smile as their pace slowed to a more normal rate. "That was so cute," she teased. "I think he has a crush on you."

He glanced at her then back to the steps they were descending. "No thank you, my dear. You'll never "invigorate" me enough to tackle that dilemma."

She continued to smile as she walked down the flights of stairs and he repeated his closed-door procedure with the exit from the stairwell, quickly exiting the building and starting down the street with her. Once he felt they had distanced themselves from the apartment building enough to be out of danger of her neighbors sidetracking them, he slowed down and put his arm around her waist as they walked together. She couldn't stop herself from repeatedly sending glances up at him and for some reason she couldn't stop the smile that was now creeping across her lips. Her nightmare had shaken her to the core, and she knew her near giddiness at being near him was the relief that he hadn't actually disappeared from her as he did when those two shots exploded in her head. He was here and he was safe and he was calling off work so he could spend the extra time with her that they had missed. Gilbert Grissom had actually refused to go to that damned lab.

"You really called off work," she finally managed to get out and he glanced over at her sending her his semi-smile that did the most marvelous things to her insides.

"Yes. I did." His smile grew a bit. "I think Catherine is in shock. She didn't argue as much as I expected when she agreed to cover for me."

"She's probably very happy for you. I'm sure she knows you need to get away from that place as much as I know it."

"She only agreed to do it until tomorrow night," he added.

"And," she said dryly. "I'm sure she knows that you're not able to "stay" away from it as much as I know it."

"Let's not talk about work. I'd much rather talk about. . ." He glanced down the street at the intersection they were approaching before turning down the street lined with little boutiques and coffee shops and cafes. "Food. Let's talk about food. What would you like to get to eat? You "are" hungry, aren't you?"

"Very. I was all set to go eat a large plate of spaghetti, remember?"

"So you're hungry for Italian?"

"Not particularly. How about if we go in here and get something to go?" She motioned toward a small shop that consisted of groceries and a meat counter. He followed her inside as she approached the man behind the counter and he greeted her with a huge smile.

"Hi, Sara! You in for your regular today?" Sara tried to hide her smile when she saw how Grissom was looking at the younger man wearing the white apron. She had to admit that most would find Max quite sexy in a musclebound sort of way. She knew that he was in his mid-forties because he often talked about his daughter who was attending Brown University back east. "I can have that made up in a jiffy–all with the loving touch of devotion."

"Yeah, Max," she told him, noticing how Grissom automatically moved a little closer to her side. "I'll take a small regular and a large roast beef."

"Roast beef for my vegetarian? What's up?" Max went about cutting the bread he was going to fill. He finally looked over at Grissom and eyed him somewhat suspiciously. "This your. . .father?"

"Max," Sara half-scolded, knowing he was only trying to get a rise out of Grissom and evidently was succeeding. "Behave yourself."

This brought a chuckle from the dark-haired man as he looked back at the sandwiches he was preparing then without looking up, he went on. "If he isn't your father, then I guess he's my competition."

"I guess he is," she said as she slipped her fingers into Grissom's hand and squeezed it.

"I tell ya–first my wife leaves me for some dark-haired doctor who doesn't know what a razor is for, and now my best girl deserts me as well."

"But I always come back, don't I, Maxwell?" Came a woman's voice from the other end of the meat counter as she walked up to the man then smiled at Sara. "I watch one medical drama a week and refuse to help him out front. If that means I leave him, then so be it, because I'm not going to miss my show!"

"Hi Carol," Sara greeted the blonde woman who stood a good head shorter than her husband and probably weighed no more than a minute. Compared to her bulky husband she looked almost childlike if she hadn't shown signs of her age with a few wrinkles here and there. "I don't blame you. You've got to have some escape and if a doctor on a medical drama does it for ya, then I say go for it."

"Some help you are!" Max told her as he wrapped the smaller sandwich. "What's the deal here? Do you have to escape into a TV too?"

"No," Sara said as she took the sandwich from him. "I'm quite captivated with the real thing."

"Hah!" Max finally looked up at Grissom as he wrapped the larger sandwich. "She says that now–but just wait until you've been married for twenty-five years and she's taken the best years of your life. She'll be in front of the television with a bag of Fritos in a heartbeat."

"I don't eat Fritos," Sara chided him as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty, handing it to Carol as she rang her out and gave her change. "I'm a Dorritos kind of gal."

"Dorritos–Fritos–all the same! Give the girl a bowl of chips and you're nothing but chopped liver left along the side of the road." He hands the larger sandwich to Grissom.

"Hmph," Carol gruffed. "You're just lucky I like chopped liver."

Sara gave them a small wave and started back out to the street with Grissom at her side, then was a bit surprised when she felt his hand grasp onto her hip and pull her so closely to him that she nearly tripped over his leg as they walked. They made their way down a side street until they came to a small park overlooking the bay where they sat at a picnic table and unwrapped their sandwiches. She would occasionally glance at him as they ate and marveled at just how sexy he could be when he went about devouring a roast beef sandwich. She was just finishing hers when he lifted his finger to her lips and wiped at them, evidently cleaning off some mayonnaise that had stuck to the side of her mouth. He was going to wipe it onto his napkin but she grabbed his hand and held it to her lips, then slipped it inside where she licked and sucked the white substance from his skin. Her eyes met his and she knew what was going through his mind. He always wore that expression when he thought of her giving him a blow job and she felt a certain amount of power knowing that she could get him into the mood so easily. When she finally released his hand he didn't move it away immediately but when he finally did, it went immediately to his remaining sandwich and quickly wrapped it as he got to his feet.

"It's time to go," he told her and took her paper wrapping and tossed it into a nearby trash can. "We really need to go back to the apartment now."

"I don't know, Gil," she teased as she grabbed onto his hand and started walking with him in the other direction. "I think I could go for some ice cream. I know of a wonderful little stand down, closer to the water."

He stopped and tugged her back against him and looked into her eyes. "I'm really not in the mood for ice cream."

"Of course you are," she told him with innocent eyes. "They have your favorite, peanut butter cup. We can get it in a waffle cone. I know you like that."

"Not as much as I'd like. . ." he mumbled.

"If we get ice cream, it will make me extremely happy. I could go for a banana split. You remember how much I "love" banana splits, don't you?" She raised her brows as she put her hands on either side of his neck and stroked it with her fingers.

He raised one of his brows in response, then turned with her and started walking in the direction she had started. They slowly made their way down the sidewalk, stopping to look at various shops that interested Sara and when they finally did get to the ice cream stand they each got a cone then continued on their walk until they were standing at the base of a pier. She suggested they go down to the sand to finish their ice cream, then continued their walk down there until they worked their way back up to where they had been seated at the picnic table. She noticed he was a bit quieter than usual and she also recalled how he would get into these kinds of moods when he was immersed in his thoughts of what he wanted to do to her in private. She thought of teasing him a bit more, but took pity on him instead–that along with the knowledge that if they didn't get back to her apartment soon, the looks he was sending her way was going to push her to the point of attacking him in public.

"I think we better go back now," he told her and she dropped her gaze to see a quite impressive tent that he was managing to hide with the sides of his jacket.

"Then I guess we should go back," she agreed.


	140. Chapter 140

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty

Sara's fingers tingled from the squeezing she had endured as they walked toward her apartment. He kept a firm grip on her, not letting her out of his reach at all, even as they walked through the doorways to the apartment building, he held her close to him. She proceeded toward the elevator but he pulled her to the stairway again.

"There's no way I'm going to allow us to be side-tracked by your negligent neighbors. We're going back to the apartment–alone!" He grumbled as he pulled her through the doorway and let it slam closed behind them. He was hurrying up the stairs in front of her, but still, he held onto her hand and nearly dragged her behind him. Finally as they were rounding the second and a half flight of stairs she tugged on him to make him stop. "Sara, we really shouldn't stop right now."

"I'm not stopping," she told him as he turned slightly to face her but still she refused to take another step. She looked at his greying hair and the way it made his eyes look even bluer than they actually were. She looked at the way he looked back at her and she felt her heart flutter. God, but he was absolutely gorgeous and he was doing the most amazing things to her as he caressed her with those blue orbs. She looked at his nose that seemed to be cut in the image of the Gods if you looked at it from one direction; if you looked at it from the other direction you could see the slight bend in it, but both ways simply charmed the hell out of her. Then she looked at his mouth, his lips and she started to reach for him. The pad of her thumb wisped over his lower lip, making his mouth open slightly and she could feel his breath. She was busy watching his mouth, unconsciously sliding her tongue over her own lips as she continued to gaze at him. She was so intrigued by the sight before her that she was taken a bit off guard when he grasped onto her upper arms and pressed her back against the wall. Eyes met eyes as he turned his head slightly to move her hand from his face and he came back to her, letting those glorious lips meet hers in urgent kisses.

"Jesus, Sara!" He breathed as he pressed against her. "I've missed you."

She merely groaned and slipped her hands inside his jacket, lifting one to his shirtfront while lowering the other to his trousers. She could feel him rising against her and when she slipped her hand inside, his heat nearly burned her. Soon there was no tenting in his pants as he was standing at full attention and pressing against his belly.

"God, Gil," she sighed between kisses. "I want you. I'm hungry for you. I'm starving for you."

A quick glance to the left and then to the right and then he was looking at her again. "Right here?"

Sara felt a thrill slash through her at the prospect of displaying a little exhibitionism and she released his seething organ and moved her fingers to his belt buckle. "Do you want me to do it right here?"

Her movements were hurried as she tugged his belt open. "Someone might come in. We can't do it in here."

"Oh, yes we can," she said as she dropped to her knees and opened his pants to pull him out, exposing him as he parted his legs slightly to steady himself. Even as she slid her hand down his impressive length she felt him sway a bit until he placed his hands on the wall behind her to steady himself.

"Christ, Sara," he moaned as his head tilted back and he closed his eyes to contain the sensation of her lips slipping over him.

She was amazed at his heat and as always, his size. But she was even more amazed at how much she wanted to do this right now. The only thing that could make this any better was if she could get his jeans down and she could slide her hands up over this magnificent thighs and on to his ass. She was taking advantage of what she could touch and as she cupped him with one hand and moved her hand along his base to make up for the area that wouldn't fit she knew he wasn't going to last much longer. She could feel him starting to move in rhythm with her and his right hand moved to her head, letting his fingers slide through the silkiness of her hair at first then almost petting her and finally simply holding her still as he started to control their contact. She knew he was losing control because he was rarely a "pushy" lover, if she were the one initiating their act of lovemaking then he rarely took it out of her hands unless he was about to catapult over its edge, but when she thought he was within a few strokes he moaned loudly and stepped back from her. He reached down and caught her under her arms, pulling her to her feet in an instant then pushing her back against the wall as he moved up against her, let his erection press against her hip as he quickly unbuttoned her jeans and shoved his hand inside. She almost climaxed as his finger slid between her folds and rubbed her over-stimulated bud. She whimpered loudly as she grasped onto his shoulders for the support that she now needed. He continued to stroke her with is left hand as he put his right arm around her neck in an attempt to draw her nearer. When he spoke, his heavy breathing sent warm air rushing against her ear and she shivered with anticipation.

"I want in you! Now!"

Her eyes moved to meet his and they never seemed a truer blue than they were right now. She licked dry lips and his gaze flipped down to her tongue as it darted out and back again. And just as quickly as he had shoved his hand down her jeans, he was pulling it out as he kept focused on her mouth. His fingers touched her lips, glided over them until he slid one inside and she knew what he wanted her to do. He continued to watch her, mesmerized by the site of her curling her tongue around his finger and gently sucking on it, tasting herself on it as she knew he wanted her to. Then while still touching her mouth, he leaned closer and placed his parted lips over hers, joining her in the act that seemed to be exciting him even further than he had been. He kissed her for what seemed like forever yet also seemed to be only a moment as he gyrated himself against her hip then again stepped back in a rush. This time he pushed himself back inside his pants but didn't bother to zip it closed, then grabbed her hand and started up the stairs faster than she had seen him move in a long time.

They stepped out into the hallway without checking on its occupants and moved in a steady pace toward her door. The sight of Sebastian checking his mail made Sara hesitate a brief moment.

"Hello, Sara," he almost crooned to her but barely looked at her before turning his gaze to Grissom. "So, Dr. Grissom, how are you. . ." Sebastian stopped mid-sentence when he looked at Grissom's face. Sara had never seen a fierceness enter Grissom's face as much as she saw it now. He looked like a feral dog, about to go into battle to protect his mate and his right to dominate her. Sebastian's smug smile wilted as he stepped back toward the wall and allowed them to pass. ". . .today?"

Sara didn't even have a chance to find the correct key on her key chain before Grissom was pulling it from her and inserting it into the keyhole. They were inside in a moment and he was kissing her again, grabbing onto her hips as he pressed against her again before grabbing hold of her jeans and opening them forcefully. She quickly kicked off her shoes to prevent the problem they often run into when he's in a hurry and they end up getting her pants stuck. But this time as she tried to lower her jeans he wasn't allowing her to bend far enough to get them off. His hunger for her kept her pinned against the wall of her foyer as his hands continued to hold onto her bare ass and pulled her against his burning heat.

"Gil, wait. I can't get my pants off," she breathed as he moved his hot kisses from her throat down over her chest where he shoved her blouse aside and drew her nipple between his lips.

"Not now," he grumbled against her skin then slid down her body until he was kneeling in front of her. His mouth trailed hot kisses down from her breasts, over her stomach and then he grabbed onto her pants and pulled them the rest of the way off. She could see that he was about to stand up again, but he paused and turned toward her instead. He looked at her thighs as he slid his hands up over them as if taking pleasure in the texture of her skin, then before she realized it he was turning her again, positioning her until she was leaning back against a low chest of drawers and almost sitting on its edge. He lifted her right leg so quickly that she nearly lost her balance until she grabbed onto his shoulders and before she even had time to situate herself comfortably he was at her center. His ravenous movements made her give a high-pitched moan as she opened herself farther for him and grasped onto his hair and pull him against her. She could feel his expertise and her coiled anticipation made her climax almost immediately.

"Gil?" She panted as he continued to feed on her. "Gil?"

He didn't stop until she was starting to feel herself building with desire all over again then when she started to press herself toward his ministrations, he finally pulled back and slowly worked his way back up her body until he was standing in front of her, slightly bent at the waist as he held a hand on either side of her legs. The smile he was wearing was one of pure smugness, and yet she could see the desire ready to explode through his eyes and she realized that he was still in desperate need of release.

"My dear,' he told her as he pushed his pants down over his hips then reached to take her hand and assist her to her feet. "I do believe that it's your turn again."

This time he turned and leaned back against the piece of furniture and she wasted little time as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and opened his shirt. She was on him in an instant, her lips meeting his lips, her tongue meeting his tongue and her hands going under his shirt to take her pleasure in the feel of his chest and stomach. He seemed satisfied at the moment with her kisses as he grasped onto her hips and pulled her to stand between his legs, pulling her farther until he could guide her in little movements that had her gyrating against his erection. When he pulled her against him with more intensity, she moved her kiss down his bearded neck to his upper chest, giving each nipple ample attention before moving on to the center where she paid equal attention to his chest and then the very top of his stomach.

"Sara, God!" He panted and she felt him grasp onto himself and stroke twice before groaning deeply. She looked up at his face and saw the strain she was putting there, and she smiled at the fact that she had pushed him so far that he had actually begun to take care of his 'problem' himself until he gained control again and stopped himself. Her smile faded as she looked down at where he was still holding onto himself, now simply holding it for her as he placed his other hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her in that direction. Her fingertips lay tingling trails up the insides of his thighs and when she finally took his head into her mouth she felt his grip tighten on her shoulder as he released himself and put his other hand on her head. She knew he was so close to release, but still she would take all of him into her mouth, let her tongue twist and turn over him, suck him into her mouth again and again and then drop down to lick at his base and the sensitive area just beneath it just long enough to hold him in this state of expectant bliss. She knew she was driving him farther than she had taken him in a long time because he was making noises in his throat that told her he was trying to keep from verbalizing his thoughts. Finally, she had managed to take him to that place where he didn't care what he was saying anymore. "Put it in! There! Ahh, Jesus, Sara. Don't stop! God, you're mouth is so fucking beautiful! Sara!"

His release was powerful and Sara actually choked and although he managed enough coherency to realize this and pull himself from her mouth, he couldn't seem to release her completely as he pulled against him in a bear-like hug as his head was thrown back and he rode out his climax. She could feel his heart racing against her chest and he was still panting until that slowed too. She thought he was going to release her but instead he turned his face toward hers and started kissing her again, this time slow and deep kisses and within another moment he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her from the foyer to her bedroom. He kneed his way up the mattress before lying her down and he came down on top of her. Their kisses slowed a bit until she was looking at him with a smile that was getting close to giddiness. This brought a smirk to his face as he looked back at her.

"Very impressive," Sara giggled.

"What?" He asked with a small laugh. "I'm always impressive!"

"Fooling yourself–much?" She asked, making him raise his brows as he looked back at her.

"What did you say?"

This made her giggle harder. "I said–full of yourself–much?"

"You did not! You said–fooling myself–much!" He turned onto his side and pulled her with him as his fingers traced up her rib cage, making her jerk away from him as he knew exactly where to touch her ticklish spots.

"Now, why would I say something like that?" She said through innocent eyes.

"Evidently because you feel I'm not "always" impressive."

"Of course you're always impressive," she crooned to him. "But that wasn't what I was talking about, anyway."

"Then what, my dear, were you talking about?" He turned onto his back and pulled her with until she was lying on top of him.

"Your vocabulary."

"What? I didn't say anything too vulgar."

"I don't think it's so much 'what' you said as 'where' you said it and 'how' you said it." When he looked back at her blankly, she went on. "We were right next to the door."

"I'm sorry," he said authentically. "I should have controlled myself better."

"I'm not too worried about it. If it was Preston, he doesn't know what he was hearing. If it was Brandy–um–she might not have known what she was hearing either. Now, if Janet or Sebastian were out there–then I'm the envy of the building right now."

"I have a great idea." He turned with her again until he was lying on top of her and he was looking into her eyes.

"And what would that be?" Her legs wrapped around his as her hands went up to stroke the hair on the back of his head and he fit himself perfectly against her.

"I say–we don't talk or even think about Preston, Brandy, Janet–and especially–Sebastian." He started kissing her neck, bringing another chuckle from her.

"I think that can be accomplished."


	141. Chapter 141

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-One

Touching, constantly touching. He couldn't seem to get enough of her. Every time she'd move away he felt chilled and would be anxious for her return. He couldn't say that he liked this feeling of total and complete dependency. It was a bit frightening and very unnerving. No, he didn't like it, but he couldn't seem to chase it away. He found excuses to touch her that he normally wouldn't have pursued. After their first explosive episode of lovemaking, they slept. Then when he woke and found the bed empty, he was on his feet immediately in search of her. Finding her in the shower, he wasted no time joining her and he really wasn't so much concerned about whether or not they had sex–he just wanted to be near her. He needed to feel her warmth against him. They spent the rest of the evening eating delivered pizza and watching television on the sofa before returning to the bedroom and making love again. By Monday morning he was sure he could survive five minutes without her, but when she was making a breakfast of French toast he decided she needed help so he cooked the pieces of bread Sara dipped them in the egg mixture. She then finished the procedure by sprinkling cinnamon over the top of each slice.

It was some time after lunch that he noticed how he was looking for her the moment she would get up from where they sat or lay together and if he didn't see her immediately he would get the overpowering sensation of loss and had to push back the impulse to chase after her. Going to the bathroom was becoming torture for him and the closer it came to his departure, the more clingy he could feel himself becoming. When the time approached for him to leave, he almost felt relieved. He walked across the airport, took a deep breath and walked away, not looking back.

He was anxious–he could feel it slamming through his body as he sat on the plane and the only thing he could count on to conquer this new fear was space. He'd simply wait a few weeks before going back and maybe by then, whatever this insane dependency was, would be gone.

He returned to work full force. There was always work to help him get through the days, but still, he just couldn't seem to get rid of this feeling of impending doom.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The passage of the first week without a telephone call suggested that Grissom must have had a very busy week, so Sara occupied her time with her new friends who were eagerly waiting for their funding for their next excursion into Costa Rica. The thought of actually going to such an exotic paradise enticed Sara to no end and when she pictured both she and Grissom going together it seemed like heaven. When the first weekend passed with still no phone calls she decided that he must be tied up with work again so decided to give him some extra time. By Monday afternoon though she couldn't help becoming concerned as her emails were left unanswered as well. Finally by Wednesday, she received a short email explaining the double murder he had been supervising, then the series of deaths that were connected to one another. When she suggested that he come visit the following weekend he told her it was extremely doubtful as they would be understaffed for a few days. He even explained his unanswered telephone calls as a case of phone tag that just never connected, although she didn't receive any messages on her answering machine. He never did respond to that remark in his email.

It was the beginning of the second week that she noticed the emails were becoming spread even farther apart, finally instigating her to pin him down with a series of phone calls until he evidently couldn't avoid her any longer. It was his tone that told her in no uncertain terms that something was wrong, but she didn't now what. After another suggestion that he come visit, he coughed nervously and told her that maybe the week after that. He was sure they would need him here at the lab this weekend since Catherine was taking a four-day break.

Another week passed and this time when she tried to contact him and there was no answer, she decided to simply call the lab. She was transferred to Catherine.

"Hey, Sara!" Catherine sounded happy to hear her. "What's going on?"

"Hey, Catherine. Not much. But you must be extremely busy down there. I've been trying to get hold of Gil but I can't get through to him. Any ideas when he'll be back in the office?"

"Well," Catherine said hesitantly, then went on. "No. He won't be back at all today and may not be in for days. He's working a case that took him to LA. I would've thought you would've been the first person he contacted, since you're so close."

"How long has he been in LA?" Sara asked a bit numbly.

"It's been a day or so." Catherine's tone brightened, even though Sara knew she was only doing it to try to get her foot back out of her mouth again. "But, hey! We all know how Grissom is when he gets involved in a case. He'll probably call you the minute he wraps everything up so he can give his full focus to you."

"Yeah," Sara agreed without enthusiasm. "I'll just wait for his call then."

"Okay. Listen it was great talking to you. But I'm going to let you go now, just in case he "is' trying to get through to you."

"Thanks, Cath."

Sara hung up her phone as she stared out of her window at the park below. She knew Catherine was only trying to smooth things over for her friend's sake, but it didn't explain why Grissom didn't pick up his cell. The signs of being avoided were nagging at her and she wondered for what seemed like the thousandth time since she had started trying to contact him just where his head was and if perhaps it was turning away from her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom pulled his cell from his pocket and looked at it, identifying Sara's number immediately. He looked at the policemen in front of him as they investigated the scene and he sighed deeply. Well, he certainly couldn't talk now, but he knew he should at least let her know so she didn't keep trying to get through to him.

"Grissom," he said automatically and cringed when he realized he used his "lab" voice with her. He was met with a moment's silence.

"Yes," Sara responded. "I know."

"I'm sorry, I'm just really busy right now and in the middle of something. I'm going to have to call you back when I'm finished."

"As in–back in Las Vegas?"

"Uh, you know I'm not in Vegas?" He asked as he turned away from the other men.

"Catherine said you're in LA."

"Yeah–well–I'll try to call before I get back to Vegas, okay? But things are really busy here. . ."

"So you can't promise anything," she said to him.

"You know how it is, Sara. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Grissom flipped his cell closed and went back to the evidence he was collecting. He'd think about this later. Right now he had to deal with the murder of a television actress. When he was done. . .then he'd call her and deal with the fact that he's been a bit reserved lately. But the more he worked on the case, the more Sara weighed on his mind. He'd call her as soon as he got back to his hotel. Then he'd explain how things just got too busy for him lately and he'd barely had time to get any real rest, and he simply didn't have the free time to contact her. He "wouldn't" explain how utterly dependent he had felt, and how he was running away from that state. "That" he'd keep to himself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara closed her cell. She glanced around her living room then grabbed her keys. Okay, so he's busy with another case. There's nothing new about that. So he's in California and he didn't let her know. That was enough to make her stop and wonder. She got to her car and started driving, knowing by his tone that he wouldn't be calling her anytime soon. Then she went to the bay and sat close to where they had spent their last weekend together as she watched the ocean. It wasn't the first time she was caught in this quandary and she suspected it wouldn't be the last. She knew the best thing she could do would be to simply wait for him to get out of whatever state of mind he had put himself into. She spent most of her afternoon at the bay, waiting for a call that never came, then she went home and got ready for a casual dinner with the friends who were set to leave for Costa Rica in a matter of weeks. As she walked into the restaurant, she turned off her cell, deciding that if he hadn't called her by now, he wouldn't be calling her the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow.

It had been a pleasant dinner, lasting well past nine o'clock that night, then moving on to their hotel where they continuously tried to convince Sara to pack her bags and come along with them. She'd graciously decline, stating she was unsure of her plans at this point, although the invitation certainly sounded more than inviting. She had checked her cell for messages on her drive to their hotel, but had found nothing. When she finally got home around midnight, she went to her answering machine where there were two messages. She played the first one.

"I just wanted to let you know we're finished here and I'll be free for the next few hours. Let me know what you want to do." The machine beeped and announced another message, this one coming in three hours later. "Sara, I'm heading back to the lab. I'll call when I get there. There's no point sticking around LA doing nothing but waiting. Talk to you later."

Sara erased the messages and went to bed. She supposed she'd hear from him the next day–or not.

There hadn't been a call, and she had waited. Was he angry because she hadn't waited the night he was in LA? Was he angry because she "tracked him down" to his crime scene in LA? She was having trouble understanding just what was happening, but she knew better than to push him. She had learned that way back–when he claimed he "didn't know what to do with this." So instead she waited–and waited.

Two nights later she went to bed, feeling a bit more anxious than usual and she almost immediately began dreaming. She knew she was dreaming because she felt at peace. She felt at home. She recognized her surroundings as she sat in a diner and one by one the team came in, each laughing and clearly joyful over some unknown event. She watched as they sat at the next table and their comradery was so complete that she didn't want to intrude upon this closeness. They all spoke with words she couldn't understand, but after some time that could have been an hour or could have been a split second she watched as Grissom got up from the table and left. She was about to get up and follow him but Warrick stopped her with his voice that echoed in an almost plastic tone.

"Sara." Sara looked at Warrick and tried to ask what he wanted but couldn't speak past the intensity of his stare. Everyone else at the table talked among themselves as if they weren't aware that he wasn't focused on them anymore. Then Warrick spoke again. "Sara, go to him. He needs you."

She slowly nodded her head and turned to go out of the diner's door but once she stepped through it turned to blackness and she felt cold. Then she heard it–one shot and she felt a chill run down her spine, then another shot and she felt her breath rush from her. She started running and when she came to the area that was lit with a street lamp she saw Grissom standing in front of her, covered in blood. She tried to go to him, but her dream ended abruptly, leaving her lying in her bed with a heartbeat that was about to pound through her chest.

She got out of bed and looked at her phone wanting more than anything to call Grissom and make sure he was alright, but knowing it was absurd–it was only a dream for Christ's sake! But still, she knew she couldn't go back to sleep–not now. So she went to the kitchen and made herself a warm cup of cocoa and went back to her sofa where she turned on the television, settling on "Sabrina" with Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart and William Holden. She didn't quite make it through the whole thing by the time she pulled an afghan over her shoulders and settled back against the cushions. She woke up briefly a few hours later but was still too tired to actually move from the sofa so she merely grabbed the remote and turned off the television. She turned over but her heart was racing and she forced herself to go back to sleep.

The sound of her cell going off seeped through to Sara but when she finally realized what it was, her first instinct was that it was Grissom calling her. She jumped up and grabbed her phone off of her coffee table.

"Hello?" Rushed from her mouth.

"Sara?" Nick Stokes' voice came over the line, making her worry level accelerate. Nicky rarely called her. She could count on one hand the amount of times she'd spoken with him since she left Vegas. "Sara? Are you there?"

"Yes. Yeah, Nicky, I'm here." She felt chilled as she listened to the sounds of a crowd in the background of Nick's call. It wasn't a good sound, it was stressed. Something was wrong. "Is everything okay, Nicky?"

"Um–Sara. . .God, Sara. . .it's Warrick. They've killed Warrick. He's dead," Sara could hear the emotion that Nick was unsuccessfully trying to hold back.

"No," she gulped, seeming to be the only thing she could get out. "Nicky, what happened?"

"We were having coffee and dinner last night and he left the diner. Grissom found him in his car. Someone shot him!"

"Nick. Where's Gil?"

"That's why I'm calling, Sara. I think you need to come home. He's back at the lab but he's a mess. He's shutting everyone out. You're the only one who can reach him. He's either going to zone completely out on us or have a melt down–and either way–he needs you."

"I'll be right there."

Sara threw her clothes in a bag and hurried to the airport, to busy to actually think about the reality of the situation until she was finally in the air and then she let it wash over her. Her tears flowed continuously as she made her way back to Vegas, then in the cab ride to the lab. As she walked through the building toward Grissom's office she knew she had to control herself for his sake and when he walked in and stopped, shock evident on his face at seeing her there, she thought he looked like a defeated child. At that point she didn't care if he didn't want her there or the reasons he had been distant to her these past weeks. None of it mattered now. She knew she needed him as much as he needed her right now and she went into his arms.

"I caught the first flight out," she managed to get out and let the strength of his arms support her and help to ease the severity of the sorrow they were both feeling.


	142. Chapter 142

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Two

Sara was never quite sure what happened when they returned from the funeral. She wasn't even sure if Grissom could see her as he made his way into his apartment. She pulled the door closed behind them and watched as he went to his cabinet and pulled down a bottle of scotch and poured himself a shot, drank it, then poured another one. He put the bottle back and walked into the bedroom with the shot glass in hand. She knew that Hank had spent the day at the sitter's and evidently Grissom was in no hurry to get him back.

Sara slowly walked through the apartment, putting her jacket on the back of the sofa as she passed it. When she entered the bedroom she saw that he had removed his jacket and shoes and was now in the process of taking off his tie and dress shirt. He tossed both onto his dresser then pulled his tee-shirt out of his trousers. She leaned back against the dresser and watched as he went about his movements as if she weren't even there, then he downed the last bit of his scotch and moved onto the bed where he lay on his back with his right arm raised to cover his eyes. She thought perhaps he was beginning with another migraine so she turned off the ceiling light.

"Don't," he voiced numbly. "I want the light on."

"Okay," she said softly as she switched it back on, not knowing what to do from that point since he hadn't spoken a word to her since he told her he was ready to leave the cemetery. She didn't know if he wanted her to leave him alone; he certainly didn't invite her in either conversation or physicality. She didn't know if he wanted her to stay there and comfort him, to share in their grief. After all, up until the funeral, he had confided in her. But that was before the burying of his friend. She watched him a moment longer and when he didn't say anything, she thought it might be best for her to leave him alone.

"Come to bed," he said emotionlessly as he barely moved from his original position. "And take off your clothes."

Sara looked at him blankly for a moment. She found it an odd request considering that he lay almost fully clothed and still refused to look at her. Slowly, she moved to the other side of the bed after toeing off her shoes. She removed her slacks but kept her blouse on then lay next to him. She barely had time to stretch out on the mattress before she felt his grasp on her hip and he was rolling her toward him. His eyes, when he looked at her, seemed darker than she had ever seen them before.

"Gil?"

"I wanted this off," he said as he plucked at the front of the blouse.

She hesitated a moment and his fingers moved to the buttons and opened the fabric, spreading it open then sliding his hand onto her waist and pulling her more tightly against him. The suddenness of his jerk forced her breath from between her lips. She looked at him with knit brows but he didn't seem to notice as he let his gaze move to her lips when he heard her reaction. He slid his hand down the back of her panties, sliding inside and spreading his fingers over her cheek before pressing the satiny cloth down over her hips.

"Gil, no. I forgot my. . ." she started, trying to warn him that she had forgotten her birth control pills in her hurry to get back to Vegas a few days before. She hadn't resumed her shots again and after leaving Vegas she stopped using anything at all, only restarting on the pill once he started visiting in San Francisco as the easiest means available.

"Shh," he murmured impatiently as he nipped at her lips. "I don't care."

When he couldn't get her panties down to his satisfaction, he reached down with his other hand and snapped the elastic band at the leg opening. She didn't have a chance to object as he rolled toward her and covered her mouth with his, then reached between them, opened his pants and pulled himself out. He grabbed her thigh and opened her legs as he slid between them and with another quick adjustment he slid inside her with no preliminaries.

"Gil," she murmured again as she turned her head away from him, but he started stroking inside of her. "Gil!"

"No! I've dealt enough with death for the past few days! I want to feel life, Sara! Help me feel life again."

She looked up at him and although she knew he was slightly drunk from his quick consumption of alcohol, she knew she couldn't deny him. He needed her and she was there for him. She tilted her hips to allow him easier access and soon she was answering his strokes with movements of her own. She allowed him to get lost in her body, allowed his mind to be free of the worries of the past months and go into "reaction" mode as she gave him the pleasure he was seeking. And when he came and collapsed on top of her, she allowed him to stay embedded inside of her as he fell into a deep sleep from sheer exhaustion. She silently stroked her fingertips through his hair and listened to his heavy breathing then after nearly a half an hour he jerked awake and lifted his head to look at her. She saw the weariness in his eyes and she lifted her head to gently kiss his lips, easing some of the tension from his face then letting him roll off and pull her against his side. He turned his head to kiss her again, then seeming to have found the security in having her there with him, he quickly went back to sleep.

Sara heard the knocking long before Grissom did, so in an attempt to allow him to continue sleeping, she grabbed her slacks and moved out of the bedroom then closed the door behind her. She hopped into her pants as she made her way to the door where she found Catherine standing in the hallway. She stood aside and indicated that the older woman should enter then followed her.

"I–didn't mean to intrude," Catherine began as she glanced around the obviously empty apartment. "I just needed to speak to Grissom before he left for work tonight."

"He's–um–I'll go wake him."

"No. Really, I guess it can wait. I–really should have used my head before barging in like this."

"Catherine, it's alright. I'll just be a minute and you can talk to him. He was tired after everything that's happened." Sara saw the grief tearing at Catherine and didn't want her to leave. She knew of the bond the woman had with Warrick, a bond that had almost gone the romantic route but always seemed to come to roadblocks that prevented it from going that far. "Sit down. He'll be right out."

Sara moved back into the bedroom where Grissom had turned almost completely onto his stomach as he faced her side of the bed and when she placed her hand on his shoulder he groaned with disapproval.

"Come back to bed."

"Gil, Catherine's waiting in the living room. She said she needs to talk to you."

There was a moment or two of silence before he sighed heavily then turned over and got to his feet. He readjusted his slacks and closed them, then reluctantly walked out of the bedroom. Sara followed but went to the kitchen where she looked for the coffee to start a pot, but saw that he was out of the grounds. She opened the cupboard and noticed the tea that had been recently purchased. She closed the door and gave up on the idea of a strong cup of java, then went back to the bedroom, allowing the other two some privacy as she went into the shower. After a quick freshening up, she returned to the kitchen where she found Grissom making two cups of tea. She glanced in the living room to find it empty.

"Where's Catherine?"

"She went to the lab."

"Then who is the tea for?"

He looked at her as if she were a bit daft, indicating it was for the two of them. "She's offered to cover for me tonight. I took her up on it."

"Um–that's nice. But, don't make the tea. I'm not in the mood for tea."

"I didn't know you had to be in "the mood" for a cup of tea," he said dryly.

"If you're a "coffee-drinker" then yes, you need to be in the mood for tea. And evidently, "you've" been in the mood for tea a lot lately. You're completely out of coffee."

He shrugged and emptied the cups into the sink, then walked past her and went into his bedroom, then to the bathroom where he started the shower. He offered no explanations; he probably felt there was none needed. Most men wouldn't, Sara thought. After all, what does the change from a preference of coffee to tea mean? Nothing–right? She sighed when she tried to subdue the nagging knowledge that it was a little indication that he had moved on from their regular routine together, even if it was something as small as a change in his morning rituals. She waited a few moments to see if he were going to return to her, but instead heard him close the bathroom door as he evidently went to get into the shower.

When he came back to the living room he was wearing fresh clothing, including his shoes. "Come on," he said as he grabbed his keys off the coffee table. "Let's go get some coffee."

Sara followed him through the doorway, not really knowing where he was heading, but allowing him to lead the way all the same. She started to reach for his hand but before she could grasp onto it, it was shoved into his pocket. A quick look at his face showed that he was unaware of his actions as he was looking in a completely different direction. They walked silently for what seemed like hours but was only a matter of minutes.

"Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going?"

"For coffee." He looked at her. "You wanted coffee."

"We're walking all this way for coffee?"

He stopped and looked at her, then looked back in the direction they had come from. "Would you rather we get the car? I just thought. . .I needed some air–that's all."

"I don't mind the walk," she said with a small smile and this time reached for his hand and drew it out of his pocket. "We'll get as much fresh air as you need."

So they walked for another half hour before coming to a popular donut shop and going inside for two medium coffees to go. He paid for the drinks then went back outside and took a seat at a small bench where she sat next to him.

"It's. . .nice out today," he said, as if trying to find anything to talk about.

"It's beautiful," she agreed. "Perfect weather for a walk."

"And coffee," he added dryly and she couldn't tell if he were being sarcastic or merely using dry wit.

She looked out at the other people coming and going from the small shop, noticing a tot of about three years with bright strawberry blonde curls who seemed to be with her little friend of the same age who had dark brown hair that fell in waves but not the curls of the other little girl. She could clearly see who the dominant force was in this duo as the red-head ordered the little brunette around and the brunette did whatever she was told. It was just as clear that the brunette adored the other girl. At first she didn't know what attracted their attention until she saw them both run up to the large flower pot sitting next to the bench. Little red glanced at her with the most amazingly blue eyes Sara had ever seen, but then the little brunette looked at her with eyes the same color.

"Grace! Jennifer!" called a young woman from the shop's doorway then started approaching the youngsters. "Get away from the flowers!"

"Quick!" The red head ordered the brunette. "Here comes Mommy!"

Both girls started to giggle anxiously as the red head grabbed some pansies and yanked them off the stems and the brunette grabbed some dirt from the pot and shoved it in her pockets, then pulled the whole flower, roots and all, out and shoved that in her pocket as well. The brunette looked at Sara and smiled sheepishly.

"I like flowers," she said prettily.

"Jennifer!" The red head, evidently Grace, chastised. "Mommy says we're not supposed to talk to strangers!" Then she turned to look at Sara and smiled as well as she handed a yellow pansy to her. "Want a flower? We like flowers!"

"Thank you," Sara smiled at the youngster, then watched as "Mommy" got closer to them.

"Grace! Don't go shoving things at her! She might not like it! And Jennifer! Did you put dirt in your pockets again?" Both girls started giggling and suddenly Sara understood that they weren't simply friends–they were twins, and when the young man joined their mother Sara could see that Grace looked like Mommy while Jennifer looked like Daddy. The woman gave a sympathetic smile back to Sara as she and her husband took the little girls hands. "I'm sorry. They get a little over-enthusiastic when they see flowers–especially pansies."

"That's alright." Sara smiled back at them as she held onto her little golden treasure that Grace had given her and watched as Daddy picked up Jennifer and Mommy walked with Grace at her side.

Jennifer looked over her daddy's shoulder at Sara and whispered. "Dirt! Dirt makes them grow!"

Sara watched them walk back to their car then get into little car seats and take the donuts that their father handed them, then watched as they drove off. It was the one bright light she had seen in days and she turned to see how Grissom had taken to the situation but quickly noticed that he wasn't even looking in their direction. He hadn't seen a thing. Then, as if feeling her gaze upon him, he got to his feet and looked down at her.

"Are you ready to head back?" He finally noticed the yellow pansy she was holding. "Did you pick that?"

She simply shrugged her shoulder and got to her feet where she walked next to him. She would keep her little gift as a token of some sunlight in a dark area of their lives.


	143. Chapter 143

A/N: Hello, everyone. I just wanted to apologize for my extended absences, but I was preparing for finals the past two weeks (along with projects due). I'll be finished for two weeks, then back to the grindstone again (but only one class for the first six weeks). So, I definitely haven't forgotten about LIR–she's been on my mind a lot. But I also have to admit that this part was extremely hard to write. Not only was it a very disturbing era in the lives of GSR, but the writers of the show gave us absolutely no direction on why these things might have been happening. So, I'm hoping to jump in again and get another chapter or two done this next week (maybe more if I become obsessive!). I've missed all my reviewers–so don't give up on me! LOL!

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Three

When they got back to the apartment Grissom went straight to bed again while Sara tucked the flower away between two sheets of tissue and put it between the pages of a book she had in her bag. She went into the bedroom and saw that he wasn't sleeping as he lay on his back. A silent glance and she moved to lie next to him and before she could stretch out completely he was reaching for her. He turned onto his side and stroked her throat as his lips met hers and when she looked at him she watched as he closed his eyes and seemed to drift away on their kiss. She tried to lean more fully into him but he released what could only be described as a grunt of disapproval then pushed her onto her back and followed her until he was lying on his side and his hand wandered down to the buttons of her white blouse. He stopped his kiss as he lifted his head and looked at his job before him. Sara looked at his face, searching for the connection that they had always shared during their lovemaking, but he seemed to be a million miles away. She allowed him to open her blouse and push it over her lace-covered breast, receiving a snort of frustration as he finally glanced up at her.

"Roll over," he instructed and when she didn't move, he added, "Please." As she turned onto her side, he quickly and efficiently unhooked her bra and slid his hand up inside the cup to surround her mound of flesh as he went back to kissing her neck. His mouth moved downward to lavish its attention on his discovered treasure. She couldn't help but respond; she never could. His touch had a way of inflaming her and every time she looked at him and saw that it was this beautiful man who was feasting upon her, it would send her senses reeling. Today was no different as she ran her fingers through the curliness of his hair, then let her nails graze over his whiskers. He moved his body until he was lying between her legs with one of his knees thrown over her thigh and she could feel the heat and strength of his erection as it pressed against her. He reached down with one hand and pulled his shirt from his pants, then adjusted himself until he was pressing more firmly against her, but still he was intent upon devouring her soft flesh. The shrillness of his telephone startled her and she stiffened beneath his touch. When she started to move in response to it, he grabbed her by the arms and growled a very uncharacteristic and firm, "No!"

The strength of his hold turned her gaze to his as he moved up on her and slid himself more securely between her legs and his expression wasn't holding the endearment that should be there when a man is about to make love to his woman. Instead, she saw anger, and although she knew that in reality, it wasn't aimed toward her, she didn't like that it was being taken out on her. He started to reach for her pants, fumbling with her button and zipper but when he tried to push his hand inside of them a little too roughly to suit her, she grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

"Gil! No!" She said quietly, but firmly.

"I told you. . ." He started, but when he saw the determination in her eyes, he dropped his gaze and turned onto his back again, releasing her as he sighed heavily.

"I know you're angry, and I'm here for you. . .but. . .," she said quietly as she turned toward him and could have cried at the distance in his eyes as he stared ahead. She glanced at the phone and saw it was the lab, then watched as the light went out, indicating they had given up. She dropped her head against his chest as she snuggled against him, somehow trying to sooth the stiffness he was exhibiting as he lay with his arms at his side, which was quite different than their usual position as she would lay in his arms.

"But. . .what?" He asked blandly as he seemed more focused on the wall and she had the strange feeling that he wasn't truly there with her.

"Nothing. I. . .just know you're not feeling quite yourself. It's alright."

"Hmph," he snorted without changing positions.

She moved back against him again, settling against his side as she waited for him to come back to her. After a few minutes, the phone went off again and she lifted herself on elbow and looked at it. "It's the lab again. Do you want to get it?"

"No," came quickly from his lips as they allowed it to continue ringing.

She looked down at his hand and took it in hers, stroking it with her fingers as she took in its beauty. He truly had masculine hands and she never tired of looking at them. "Maybe we should go away for awhile."

He slowly shook his head. "I can't. We're so short." He finally looked at her. "Why don't you stay?"

"I can't stay here." The admission was as painful for her to admit as it was to watch him remove himself from their situation again. His fingers almost pulled away from her and he looked back at the wall and she could see him beginning to retreat away from her. She put her arm around him as she lay with her head on his chest. God, how she wanted to be with him. . .to never leave him or have him leave her. But right now, this was all she had to hold onto. "It would be nice to take a trip. I don't know. Get on the Sea Sheperd . . .go to the Galapagos. We can literally walk in the footsteps of Darwin."

His lack of response sent a chill through her and she cuddled against him all the tighter, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside his large body and never leave his presence again. But right now, he was crawling so far inside of his own self that there was no room for her and she feared the outcome. The phone went off for a third time and this time Grissom didn't hesitate as he practically flung himself into a sitting position and grabbed the offending object.

"Grissom!" He spat. "Fine. I'll be right there."

Sara watched from where she was still lying, with her head now on the pillows as he got to his feet and went to his bureau where he quickly pulled out clothes to change into. He went to the bathroom and was quickly back out, barely looking at her as he moved across the room.

"Gil?" She asked gently.

"I've got to go. They need the help."

Sara stayed where she was and listened as he walked across the apartment and left, closing the door behind him. She waited, but she knew it was useless. Even if he would have been only called in for a few hours, it would be morning before he'd come home.

The telephone call from Greg was, to say the least, unexpected. She hadn't heard Tom Adler's name in ages, but when she heard the circumstances of Greg's new case, she rushed to Tom's aid. She had an emotional investment in this case. It had been her case when his wife was originally attacked eight years earlier, and the thought of her attacker actually going after the woman again was alarming; the fact that she was in a vegetative state and he still pursued her was devastating. No longer being a CSI hindered her involvement to a point, but she couldn't walk away from the man. She knew what he had been through all these years and her heart ached for him. It was hours before she actually had a moment to take the case to Grissom and when she sat in front of him, his responses weren't what she had been hoping for.

"Sara, you have to consider the possibility that the husband made up the story to justify his actions," Grissom told her as he looked over the rim of his glasses.

"No," Sara said with disbelief. "Absolutely not."

"I'm not saying that he didn't love her. He loved her so much that he kept her alive for eight years. You're still a scientist. You know that after that many years of atrophy she wasn't coming back to him. I mean–sooner or later a relationship in stasis withers. Ya get angry. Ya need more than the safety of knowing that you're not alone."

His words were stinging to Sara. She saw it in his face, she heard it in his voice, she felt it in the static that was shooting through the room. And she felt her heart bursting within.

"Then he should've just walked away," she said with rising anger and pain.

"Well, maybe he couldn't. Maybe he needed her to leave him."

She couldn't find her voice at first–his message was so clear to her. "Who are we talking about right now?"

And he didn't answer. He. . .didn't. . .answer. He had nothing to say to her and she knew she had to get out of the room that had once felt so secure to her. Now she was feeling claustrophobic and she moved to stand up.

"Sara," he started as he sat back in his seat, his tone clearly showing his weary irritation with her.

"No," she said as she turned and started toward the hallway. "I'm fine. I'll . . . uh. . .just. . .I've gotta go right now."

"Sara," he called after her quietly but she kept walking until she found Greg and joined him in an attempt to free herself from the intense feeling of impending doom that was floating over her.

How long was it? An hour? A day? As she thought back on it, she wasn't really focused enough to say just how long it was, but she knew she faced her complete disappointment in the Adler case that had pulled her into it so deeply. She knew that as she was emotionally put through the wringer one more time, she needed the security of Grissom's strong arms to hold onto. She knew she needed the strength of Grissom's love to fall back upon. But she had neither. He made it abundantly clear where he was and what he wanted. She had nothing.

She really couldn't say why she never made it home to her apartment for the first few days after leaving Las Vegas. Maybe she didn't want to spend time in the place she had last shared some happiness with Grissom. Maybe she didn't want to be found while she was off licking her wounds. But she did know that when she did go home, she endlessly sat by the phone. She didn't know how many hours she had spent in complete silence, waiting for something. . .anything that would indicate it had all been a mistake and he wanted to continue with their love. But the hours turned into days and the days turned into weeks. And there was nothing. And she knew that she either had to move or dissolve into a mindless mass if she stayed where she was.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She wept for what seemed like hours at a time. Other times she would simply function numbly and try to occupy her mind with the fact that she was leaving the country. And then she would cry again. She was giving up her life and she knew that as long as she would be without Gilbert Grissom she would never feel whole again. She roamed the ship at all hours, preferring the solitude of the cool night air where no one was trying to cheer her and pull her back to life. But those were also the times that hurt the most.

She knew the time was coming. She had to do it. If only to reach out and touch him one last time, even if she'd never have the privilege of actually seeing it happen. She spent most of the morning trying to prepare for her little speech, she'd sit down and look at the lens, then get up and pace her cabin for another half hour before working up the courage to try again. Each time, she'd check herself in the mirror, hoping that his last view of her would at least be a presentable one. Finally, she sat down and started talking, saying anything, really. She couldn't keep eye contact with the lens. No matter how she tried, she knew if she'd concentrate on a single area, her smile would crash and her tears would begin again. So, instead, she forced her smiles and tried to set him free.

"Hello from below the equator at Puerto Ayora. We've been at sea over a month, now. You wouldn't believe the crew. Students, activists, scientists. . .the dinner conversations alone are mind-blowing. There's even this, uh, marine biologist that reminds me a little bit of you. I wish that we could talk in person, but this is the best that I could do. I want to apologize for being out of touch. I've been thinking about us a lot, though. All the moments. I thought we could survive anything. This trip has given me a lot of clarity. That last year in Vegas I could barely breathe let alone think, but, um, now for the first time in a really long time, I'm happy. Before I left, uh, you said some things that I tried not to hear, but, I think you were right. If a relationship can't move forward it withers. I've been waiting for you to decide, but sometimes not making a decision is. . .making a decision. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, uh, you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm good. I'm really good, and honestly–I think it's better this way."

Sara gave him one last smile, tight though it may have been, and reached forward to stop the recording. She felt numb as she went through the motions of transferring it back to him. Then she shut down her computer and turned back to her bunk. She didn't go to dinner that evening. She didn't leave her room. Instead, she let her heart scream it's torture as she cried into the night.


	144. Chapter 144

A/N: I wanted to let everyone know that I hadn't planned on this chapter. I had intended on skipping right over it and going to Costa Rico where we would pick up with Sara's point of view–mainly because I don't know what went through Grissom's head that could have made him do what he had done. BUT, since we have such great differences in what we 'think' went on between Lady Heather and Grissom that night, I put this in so you may come to your own conclusions. I truthfully see signs and little hints that tell me things happened a certain way, others see it another way. But for the sake of the story. . .we'll keep that in question for now and we'll let Sara and Grissom sort this problem out for themselves. . .when she finds out about it. Please read on and enjoy (I know–it's a hard chapter to read.)

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Four

"_I've been thinking about us a lot, though. All the moments. I thought we could survive anything_."

The rain was pounding down as Grissom drove to the scene but he hardly noticed it. All he could hear was her voice. All he could see was her face. He recalled the surge of adrenaline that flowed through him upon sight of her name in his inbox when he checked his email. He even had the audacity to feel a bit irritated that she had waited so damned long to contact him and now expected him to just hop right back into things as if nothing had ever happened. She walked out on him, dammit! And then he listened to her message and his anger dissipated and he was left with a cold fear that perhaps he had, indeed, pushed her too far this time.

"_This trip has given me a lot of clarity. That last year in Vegas I could barely breathe let alone think. . ._"

Grissom spotted the flashing lights then pulled up and caught sight of Catherine standing with umbrella in hand.

"Catherine!" He called to her as he approached the body. If he had to be out here in this torrential downpour, she had better make it quick. What he found only irritated him more, but then everything was flowing over him and jabbing him as if his entire being was raw. "You covered the body with a tarp! You contaminated the evidence!"

"First responder tarped it before I even arrived. He thought he was helping out. I should be giving you grief! You were up! Dispatch said you didn't acknowledge!"

He watched her and wanted nothing more than to walk away and let her handle the whole goddamned thing! So fucking what? He was late. He didn't come immediately. So she had to step in and take charge. How many goddamned times did he do that when she wasn't up to it? Fuck her! "What do ya know?"

He listened to her review of the body on the ground with minimal interest. He was finally there and he was doing his job. Catherine was doing her job. David showed up and went about doing his job. Everything was normal in his world. There–they were taking the body. They were leaving and in their absence, visions of Sara haunted him again.

"_Before I left, uh, you said some things that I tried not to hear, but, I think you were right_."

I was right? The comment seared through him and the thought struck him that if ever he had a heart attack, would it resemble what he was feeling in his chest at this moment. How could she say he was right? He was in no state of mind to be saying anything that she should have taken seriously. But she had. It was his words that had chased her away and he felt himself dying at the realization of it. He felt numb. He felt in a daze. He felt dead.

Work. That's what's keeping him moving, at least. And if he ran out of immediate things to do and couldn't occupy himself in other places, then so be it. Instead, he sat at his computer again, opening the email just to hear her voice; just to see her face. . .

"_Hello from below the equator at Puerto Ayora. We've been at sea over a month, now. You wouldn't believe the crew." God, she looked so beautiful. Her natural beauty always had the ability to stop him dead in his tracks. Today it made his heart thump harder in his chest; made his breathing a little harder to continue. "Students, activists, scientists. . .the dinner conversations alone are mind-blowing. There's even this, uh, marine biologist that reminds me a little bit of you. I wish that we could talk in person, but this is the best that I could do. I want to apologize for being out of touch. I've been thinking about us a lot, though. All the moments. I thought we could survive anything. This trip has given me a lot of clarity. That last year in Vegas I could barely breathe let alone think, but, um, now for the first time in a really long time, I'm happy. . ._"

Work. Back to work. I can't think about this right now. Photos, Catherine and Doc Robbins. Everything is pointing to S and M. S and M. She would know. She could help explain. She could. . .help get his mind off of Sara.

Grissom stood in the rain, knowing if Sara were here he'd never have come to Heather's. But she isn't here. She's on the Sea Sheperd and is "happy." He debates over whether to go in, knowing it would be like another stab wound to Sara. Another rejection in her eyes. But she isn't here and she isn't coming back. She would never know. He moved to the door and knocked, the cold chilling him to the bone, making him shake uncontrollably. Or was it his frame of mind–whatever that was. He wasn't sure anymore. Heather greeted him. He knew she would. She had made no secret of the fact that she never would turn him away. He could count on her.

"Grissom." Her surprise was evident at finding him there. "What are you doing here?"

"I should have called. I'm sorry. I–I didn't know I was coming." Liar! He thought to himself as she let him in. He knew, otherwise he wouldn't be standing on her porch, feeling half frozen from having stood outside to think about it so long.

"What do you want?"

That was the question, wasn't it? He thought to himself as he dripped on her expensive carpet and she brought him a cup of tea. Tea. He recalled how irritated Sara had been when she found the tea in his cupboard and not the coffee she was accustomed to. "Thank you."

"When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" She asked as she stood no more than ten inches from him.

He snorted and smiled at her. "Bad dreams. I-uh-have a body with S and M-type wounds. There are inconsistencies so I was hoping to get your first impressions."

"My first impression–is that you've changed." She started walking up the stairs. "Come on."

"How have you been?" He asked as he followed her closely.

"I got my masters in Psychology last year. I'm a licensed therapist. I now have patients, not clients."

"Let me guess. You specialize in sex therapy." He walked next to her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"These wounds around his nipples are from needle play," Heather explained as she looked at the photos he brought with him. "The arrangement is called stacking." She looked up at him. "May I touch you?" He paused, not knowing exactly what to expect as she put her fingers to his chest. "Needles are inserted transversely and sagittally which raises the nipple upward. This causes the nipple to swell and become highly sensitive which creates a pain button. Any touch or pressure overwhelms the senses and creates a flood of endorphins."

She removed her hand and he couldn't speak immediately. His throat felt suddenly dry. "So–uh–our victim is a submissive who enjoyed pain. He also had electrical burns on his tongue. Now, I'm familiar with the use of gags in S and M and some are metal. Did you ever use electricity?"

"Uh, I never used electricity above the waist. It only takes 6 milliamps to stop the heart. It's too dangerous. This is tongue bondage. It's used in medical exam fantasies as part of humiliation. You ask the patient to stick out their tongue, grab the tongue with chop sticks, rubber band them to create a dental gag. In a typical situation one would use wood chopsticks which would leave bruising and if you're lucky, splinters. In this case metal chopsticks may have been used and then electricity applied. These are masochistic injuries."

"So we're looking for a dominant."

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed.

"He lived with a woman."

"Was she into the lifestyle?"

"We don't know. She's missing."

"I'd like to see photos of their bedroom. Sometimes it's obvious. Sometimes it's not." They moved to the fireplace where they sat opposite one another and Heather looked at more photos. "The trunk contains male slave gear. Needle and electroplay requires special equipment. I–I don't see any dedicated S and M room. So he didn't play at home.'

"You–think he went to a professional?"

"Lower Linx is part of the amateur scene. It has a well-equipped back room. You have to know the right people. Rents by the hour."

"_Before I left, uh, you said some things that I tried not to hear, but, I think you were right. If a relationship can't move forward it withers. . _."

Grissom stood at the window, hearing her voice in his head as he stared into the night rain, seeing Sara's face until Heather's voice broke through to him.

"There's a skism between the lovers. Ian and Justine have different priorities; different roles. She's the keeper of the hearth; sentimental; traditional; mass card and rosary in her bed stand; a good girl; afraid of the dark."

"What about him?"

"Ian liked to compartmentalize. It made him feel safe. Everything had its place; work, her, sports. He kept his dark side hidden in a trunk locked away from her." Heather looked at Grissom, closer than he liked, and he could see the spark of what he could almost call humor if he didn't know her better. "Does Sara know you're here?"

"No."

"Am I your secret?"

"No," he told her, finding the fact that he would betray Sara in such a way, spoken out loud, irritating. "And you're not my therapist." Heather looked away and Grissom knew he had hurt her again. He was finding himself becoming a master of such a thing. "They found some evidence that Ian may have had sex with another woman in their house."

"That's his subconscious desire to be caught and punished–which is why he chose Justine as a partner. He's got a Mommy to hide things from." There was an identifying look that crossed Heather's eyes, as if she knew something Grissom didn't.

Grissom nodded his head. "The virgin mother."

"Justine is an enabler, not a dominant. Even if she discovered his infidelities, she couldn't harm him. She's not your killer.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As the sun shone in through the windows behind them, Heather poured another cup of tea for Grissom.

"In the heterosexual world, men want to be dominated by women and women by men. So Wallace would've had a female dominant"

"Well, we've confirmed that through physical evidence. She also slept with him."

"Which is why one should always go to a professional. They know the boundaries."

"I feel the same way about crime scene investigators."

"And no one has more rigid boundaries than you."

This made Grissom chuckle. "We know there was one killer but there may have been two. But we don't know if it was a man or a woman."

"If your dominant is the killer she most likely would choose a slave to assist her; someone she could trust and control."

"Which would be a man."

'Hmm. Amateurs often play scenes in groups. And the dominant select slaves who share similar fantasies and fetishes."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"I noticed in the autopsy report that Mr. Wallace was stabbed 'after' he was dead." Heather looked up from the report she was reading.

"Right."

"Which would make your dominant a sexual sadist. That's highly unusual."

"There must be sexual sadists who seek out that world," Grissom said from where he stood on the other side of the room.

"See, sexual sadists are typically charming loners. They would be repulsed by a consensual safe and communicative lifestyle. When a submissive says stop, you have to stop. That doesn't work for a sexual sadist. They get off on the terror of their subjects."

"So you think S and M play was not involved in the murders. They were separate events."

"That would be my expert opinion. May I make a personal observation?" Heather asked as she walked closer to Grissom, stopping immediately in front of him. "As a friend. Not as a therapist." She goes on after receiving a shrug from him. "Everything I've told you, you could've read in a book. I think the case was a mere pretext and you're here for a more personal reason."

"_Before I left, uh, you said some things that I tried not to hear, but, I think you were right. If a relationship can't move forward it withers. I've been waiting for you to decide, but sometimes not making a decision is. . .making a decision_"

Sara's face and voice flashed in front of Grissom again before he looked back at Heather and she asked, "Where's Sara?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What stopped you?" Heather asked as she sat on the edge of the table before him, her beauty laid out as if a feast for his tired eyes.

"I don't know. A lot of things."

"Devotion to your work? Loyalty to the team? Fear of the unknown? Do you regret your decision not to go with her?"

Again he shrugged. "It was beyond my control."

"Really?" She said dully with disbelief, showing that she believed it was completely in his contrl and he "very deliberately chose" not to go with Sara. "Most relationships are over before they end. But it's still a death and a loss. You have conflicting emotions. Sometimes there's a sense of relief. We've all experienced it but no one wants to admit it."

Another shrug. "I didn't say the relationship was over."

"You didn't have to. Not making a decision "was" your decision," she informed him, trying to prove to him that he "didn't" want Sara anymore and he should go on with his life.

"_Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, uh, you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm good. I'm really good, and honestly–I think it's better this way,_" flashed through Grissom's mind.

"I think you're here because it's not home; it's not work, and it's the only place that doesn't remind you of Sara." She looked at him closely. "I have a guest bedroom upstairs. You can stay as long as you want."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom lay on his side as Heather was about to walk out of the room. He was being tormented by his inner demons and try as he might, he wasn't sure he could control them.

"Heather," he called to her. "Would you stay."

Heather hesitated, then closed the door and went back to him, knowing the compartment he has put her into.


	145. Chapter 145

A/N: My goodness! What strong reactions to our last chapter! You all want Grissom to chew Lady Heather apart. All in good time. There will be one final face-off and everything will be out in the open. Hold on and we'll get there.

Oh, sorry for the extended absence. I was on vacation, hoping to do some writing and posting while I was there, but I discovered that although I had carried my laptop nearly 700 miles on a plane–I walked off and let my power cord at home, still plugged into the outlet! Real brainy, huh?

Also, this first chapter back was too long to post in a single chapter, so I split it up into two. Chapter 146 should be up before the end of the hour.

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Five

Two months since the email, Sara thought as she clicked her camera at the little scamp who was staring down from the trees above. Just over three months since she left Vegas. . .and left. . .him. "Stop it!" She warned herself as she watched the curious little animal who was watching her in return. "This will do you no good! You're over him! It was for the best!" She reached down and grabbed her water, taking a sip of it and noting how the condensation dripped onto her throat then rolled down between the opened front of the shirt she was wearing before disappearing beneath the tee-shirt underneath. It didn't do much to cool her. She put the water back down and started taking more pictures of the monkey but got an odd feeling that she was being watched. She couldn't explain it. It was a chill that was practically making the hair stand erect on her arms and neck. A few more clicks of the little guy who was seeming to take great joy in posing for her. She smiled at him as she snapped a few more shots and this time when she felt she was being observed, she noticed how her little monkey friend turned his attention to something behind her.

She turned slowly, cautiously, her premonition sending her senses on red alert. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what was behind her as her heart began to race. A flash of thought struck her that this was ridiculous; she'd seen her share of animals that would send a civilian running for protection; so why was she reacting so strongly to this?

All of this surged through her mind within a millisecond and then she saw the intruder. At first he was unrecognizable. Who was this person who could be so cruel as to impersonate the love of her life? After all, she knew that the possibilities of it actually being Gilbert Grissom was nonexistant. She looked at this person, again, thoughts going through her mind so quickly that she barely had time to comprehend them. Then he gave the slightest of smiles and she knew. There was no one else on this earth who could squeeze her heart with the simplest of facial expressions. There was no mistaking that it was him and she felt as if she had lost the strength in all of her muscles as her arms dropped to her sides. He was walking toward her, apprehension in his steps and she was overwhelmed with the nervous need to giggle while at the same time her throat constricted with tears. Her face was in a battle as she smiled but her lips twitched and the overwhelming persistence of tears was winning. He pulled his knapsack from shoulders and his smile became stronger, teasing her with its ability to smirk while at the same time comfort. She couldn't seem to control her legs as she clumsily stepped toward him, not knowing exactly what to do until she saw him reach for her. Even then, her movements were automatic as she walked into his embrace. His grasp was so strong and so reassuring; his kiss was like coming home again and her senses overloaded and she couldn't contain herself anymore as a sob escaped her. His kiss moved to her cheek as she hugged him and he pulled her more tightly against him.

"It's alright." He whispered his reassurance. "Everything's going to be alright now." Months of stress flooded her and she clutched onto him as her sobs shook her and he held stroked her hair and back. "Shhh, it's okay."

"You're–you're here," she got out between gulps and he chuckled at her.

"That "is" a good thing–isn't it?"

She quickly nodded her head as she grasped onto his sweat-soaked shirt. As they stood together he rocked her and would give her tender kisses on her forehead and cheek.

"Sara?" Came a voice from behind them and Sara remembered the black-haired man who had been at the camp with her. "Sara? Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she said as she turned and looked at the man who appeared to be in his early thirties, but was really forty years of age, then wiped at her eyes in an attempt to camouflage her emotional state. "Yes. Everything's fine. Ted, this is Dr. Gilbert Grissom. Um, Gil, this is Dr. Theodore Yost."

"Dr. Grissom," the other man gave him a welcoming smile. "I see you found our camp without too much difficulty."

"Thank you for sending me your coordinates. I'm very much in your debt."

"Yes," the man looked at Sara then back at Grissom. "You are. Your reputation has preceded you."

"Which reputation would that be?" He held his arms around Sara as she stood with her back pressed against his chest. "Entomologist, CSI or Sara's fiancé?"

"All three, actually," the man told him. "But we'll just concentrate on entomologist for now. We'll consider your relationship with Sara once you get settled in. Sara, would you like to take him around and show him where everything is? I imagine he could use a good cleaning up and something to eat. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Grissom, but I was on my way to meet another member of our team. I don't want to keep him waiting. I'm sure we'll catch up tonight or tomorrow morning."

Grissom gave him a short nod as he held onto Sara a little tighter and they watched the man disappear out the other side of the tent again. He was no sooner out of sight than Grissom was turning Sara in his arms and they stood looking at one another. He stared at her as if studying her and she felt a bit self-conscious as she gasped a small laugh and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, then a quick dab at her damp cheeks.

"I must look like a mess," she said in her half-laugh/half-cry.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, my dear," he told her and she threw her arms around his shoulders again and pressed her face to him.

"I–I didn't know you were coming," she told him, then straightened and looked at him as if it finally sunk in that he had thanked Dr. Yost for the coordinates to their camp. "Why" didn't I know you were coming? Ted evidently knew."

"Yes, he knew."

"Then why didn't I know? How "long" has he known? How long have "you" known? When did you decide you were coming? Oh, my God, Gil! You weren't fired–were you? No–of course not!" she said more to herself than to him. "They wouldn't fire you. What happened? Is everything alright back at the lab?"

"One question at a time," he said with absolute tolerance.

"I'm over-talking again. I can't help it. I don't understand."

"Don't you?" He slid his fingers through the curls that surrounded her face. "How difficult can it be? You are where I need to be. You are the reason I go on living, anymore. You are my sanity, my belief in humanity, my heart. I can't survive without you anymore."

"But. . ." she dropped her eyes. "When I asked you. . ."

"I wish you would've stayed long enough to ask again. I wish we wouldn't have had to face our choices while grieving for Warrick. Neither of us were thinking straight. And, I'll admit, I was so involved in my own grief that I didn't take a moment to consider yours."

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "You were there! You were dealing with the shock of having him die in your arms, of seeing him with his life draining out of his body. You couldn't help it."

He studied her face a moment. "That's no excuse for what I put you through."

"But. . ."

"No." He kissed her forehead again. "We're going to forget it and move past it. We've both done things we shouldn't have. . .there's no point in raking them over the coals. It's time for us to move on. Now, what was your Dr. Yost saying about food?"

She smiled up at him and gave her eyes one last sweep with her fingertips, then turned and took him inside the tent to a small cooler. She retrieved a container of water then started gathering some fruit that she efficiently sliced into large chunks. She took the dish back to the table then sat on the bench next to him. He dug into the mango as if he hadn't eaten in days and before she knew it, he was handing her the dish again and he finished his water.

"Would you like to clean up?" Upon his nod, she got to her feet and he followed her to the edge of the tent, then on to a path that lead to a much smaller tent with a water tank above it. "I'll take your things back to my tent. Use the water sparingly. I'm afraid only one tank per person. We'll have to refill it when you're through. I'll see about finding you a place to stay while you're in here."

"I assumed I'd be staying with you," he said with a bit of shock at the prospect of that not being the case.

"But, right now I'm in a tent with two single cots, and one of them is occupied by Charlie Benner."

He had been about to enter the small enclosure but stopped and turned to look at her with a raised brow. "Charlie?"

"Charlotte, but she prefers being called Charlie," she smiled and watched his relief. "Go on, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sara went back to where he had left his knapsack and picked it up. To be honest, she needed a few moments to herself to adjust to this. She had managed to calm herself immensely while preparing his food, but the longer she watched him eat, the more she had time to think. She wondered at his reasons for coming to her, and the thought that perhaps he was only here to claim what she said he couldn't have anymore nagged at her. "Stop it!" She scolded herself. He's here! That's all that matters. Who cares if he wouldn't come until you finally had the nerve to call it quits? She thought back to the last time she tried to break up with him and how he refused to accept her decision. Was it simply a case of not wanting something until it was gone? No, it was too easy the last time. She was within reach. This time he traveled part way around the world to get to her. That should mean something, shouldn't it?


	146. Chapter 146

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Six

"Oh, my God!" An auburn-haired woman of about twenty-five years practically ran inside the tent she shared with Sara and nearly knocked the older woman onto the ground as she bumped into her. "Oh! Sorry! But. . .is it true? Is he here?"

Sara slowly straightened from where she had grasped onto the cot and turned to look at the excitement that was exploding from the petite red-head. "Yes."

"Oh, my God!" Charlie clasped her hands together and started pacing back and forth as words rushed from her mouth. "Oh, my God! He's here! He came for you! Jesus! But that's so romantic! He sounds like an absolute dream! Where is he? God! You didn't lose him already did you?"

"No, Charlie. I didn't lose him already. He's taking a shower."

"He's taking a shower? And you're in here with me? Are you fickled!" Charlie scolded her. "If I had a man I was as crazy lost over as much as you're lost over him and he came into the depths of the jungle to find me–I'd sure as hell be in that shower with him! Not out here folding his damned clothes!"

"I–needed some time to myself. It's been a bit of a shock, ya know."

"Of course it's a shock! As far as I knew, you'd given up hope on him. Although it didn't stop the tears," she added quietly then looked at Sara with guilty pity. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but hear you at night."

"I'm sorry you had to hear it," Sara said just as quietly.

"It's alright," Charlie said gently, then brightened. "But he's here now! Oh, God! When do I get to see him? Is he still as gorgeous as you said he was? Jesus–how long's it been since the two of you. . ." Charlie made a gesture with her fingers that indicated she was talking about intimate behavior. ". . .you know."

"Charlie!" Sara chuckled.

"Well!" Charlie laughed back at her. "You've been gone for almost four months! He should be so pumped up that he's ready to explode! Maybe you two ought to find a tent that isn't within hearing distance!"

"Charlie. . ." Sara started with a half-hearted scold. She knew it was essentially useless trying to calm her young friend once she got herself in a frenzy.

"Oh! Christ! That's right! I'll have to find some other place to roost from now on! The last thing I want is to be stranded a hundred miles from the nearest available man and listen to you two going at it like rabbits all night in the bed next to mine!"

"I hardly think we'd be "going at it" with you next to us," Sara tried to explain.

"Ya never know, Sara. A man his age–going for nearly four months without it–he's liable to jump you as soon as he enters the tent. He won't even pause to see that I'm standing right here."

"A man his age?" Sara asked with a raised brow. "What does his age have to do with it?"

"Well," Charlie started as she flopped down on her cot. "He's. . .old. And he couldn't get it anywhere else. . .so he'll be needing it really bad."

"Charlie, I think you need to learn a thing or two more about men. First of all don't catagorize them like that. And second, don't spend so much time worrying about what will be happening in "my" bunk. Just try to figure out where you'll be sleeping. Don't forget–with you needing a place to stay–it sort of opens up the possibility that you may be staying in the same tent as Ted."

"Ted!" Charlie was on her feet again in an instant. "Oh, my God! Do you think? What if he tries to get Larry to bunk with him and makes me bunk with Marie?"

"Larry and Marie are married. He isn't going to split up a couple like that." Sara watched her friend's face light up at the possibility of actually bunking with Dr. Yost. "Go on, go tell him you need to sleep in his tent with him. You've only been dying to since we started the expedition."

"Shut up," Charlie chuckled. "Do ya think?"

"Ya better go plant the idea in his head before he "does" decide to move Larry in with him."

"Oh, Jeez!" Charlie set out in a dead run toward the entrance to their tent and promptly tripped over the zipper at the bottom of the lining. Her landing was softened though by the body that she was caught by.

"Charlie!" Dr. Yost's voice scolded as he assisted her back to her feet. "When will you ever slow down and watch where you're going? You're going to break someone's leg and seeing as we're stuck out here, I'd prefer it wasn't mine!"

"Ouch," Charlie whispered as she looked up into his brown eyes and Sara had to hide her amusement as she watched the normally over-excitable genius of a girl turn into mush and lose a dozen or so brain cells. "I twisted my ankle."

Dr. Yost rolled his eyes in exasperation then put his arm around her and glanced in at Sara. "Sara, can you put Charlie's things out here and I'll come back and get them. I'm not sure where I'm going to put her yet, but in the meantime you can set up Dr. Grissom in the other half of your tent."

"You don't know where you're going to put me?" Charlie asked quickly as she hobbled on her uninjured foot. "I'm not very big. I won't take up much space."

"I know you're not very big," Dr. Yost was looking down at the woman, in clear indecision. "You're only a kid."

"I'm twenty-five years old! Hardly a kid! You could put me anywhere!"

"Anywhere?"

"Yes! In your tent, for instance! I'd take up such a small amount of space, you'd hardly notice I was there."

"You never go anywhere without making "everyone" aware that your there. You can't walk ten feet without crashing into someone or something. You'd have my tent a shambles within the hour."

"I'm not as bad as that. Anyway, you've got no place else to put me. . ."

"I could put you in with. . ."

"Don't say Marie! I'm not going to be responsible for splitting up a married couple! I'll stay in the mess tent if I have to!" Charlie said indignantly.

"Fine," Dr. Yost grumbled as he started toward his tent with his arm around her waist as she hobbled next to him. "You can stay in my damned tent. You'll have to stay off your ankle for a little while anyway. I guess you can't do much damage if you're in bed all the time."

"I guess not," Charlie agreed solemnly as she went with him, then smiled over her shoulder as she looked back at Sara, winked, then moaned in discomfort as she looked back at Dr. Yost with puppy dog eyes.

"Does it hurt that bad?" He sighed irritably.

"I'll be brave."

Sara chuckled as she watched the couple make their way to the tent closest to hers, but still about twenty yards away. It had been decided they were to remain close enough to maintain a safe proximity to each other, and yet far enough for privacy. She watched them disappear inside the tent then heard a loud crash.

"Charlie!" Ted bellowed.

This was immediately followed by a tiny laugh and a very unapologetic, yet chirpy, "I'm sorry."

Sara turned back toward her project at hand. She immediately let Grissom's belongings sitting on her bed as she moved on to Charlie's side of the tent. Within minutes she had everything packed tightly inside the woman's sleeping bag and took it over to her neighbor. She coughed politely as she stood outside the opened flap, not knowing exactly what to expect happening inside considering that Charlie had had a crush on the older man since day one of their journey.

"Oh! Just come in!" Charlie snapped and Sara's smile spread across her face as she entered and found the other woman alone, sitting in a chair with her foot propped up on a crate and wrapped in an Ace bandage.

"What's this?" Sara asked as she nodded toward Ted's cot which was folded and moved near the entryway.

"That. . .is your new bed. . .and not mine!" Charlie pouted.

"I don't get it. I have a bed."

"But not a proper bed for a new couple," Charlie mimicked Ted's voice. "Ted's bed is a double cot–which, by the way, I was hoping to share! Now, he's trading it for your and my cots. I'll be stuck all the way over here while he's lying all the way over there! Probably sleeping without his shirt, sweat rolling down over his chest, glistening in the moonlight. . .God! I need a cold shower!" Charlie attempted to jump to her feet but winced when she stood on her bandaged ankle. "Ouch!"

"You can always feign a nightmare," Sara suggested through merciful eyes. "Or maybe your cot will break in the middle of the night. Just think, instead of him clinging to his side of the double bed, he'll have no where to go if you have to share a little cot with him."

"But how?"

Sara shrugged as she put Charlie's belongings on the floor of the tent. "Who knows. Maybe fate will step in–or maybe fate needs a little helping hand with one of Ted's screwdrivers. You've got a degree in physics, you figure it out."

"Ohhhh," Charlie replied with understanding as she watched Sara maneuver the double-sized cot out of the tent.

"Sara! I can get that!" Ted moved from where he had been putting specimens in the cooling system across the yard and came to her assistance. "I was going to bring it over earlier but I needed to put those away."

"Thanks, Ted," Sara smiled her appreciation as she took one side and he grabbed the other. They silently walked with the aluminum structure until they placed it just outside of Sara's tent, then went inside to fold her and Charlie's single cots. Sara glanced up at the unusually quiet leader of their small company. "Something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he answered too quickly as he went about folding Charlie's cot.

"You're not concerned about sharing a tent with Charlie, are you?" She asked with a knowing smirk.

"I'll find her a new tent on our next trip to town. I guess I really should've used my head more when I knew Dr. Grissom was coming. . .planned it out more precisely. I was just too consumed with the project to stop and think about the repercussions. I don't suppose Charlie can drive me too insane in a matter of a week. She's really is quite brilliant, once you get past her . . . inability to keep things in an upright position for more than two minutes." He looked over to see Sara's confusion over his statement. "Her ability to drop or knock over almost everything she comes in contact with."

"Ah, yes. She "is" brilliant. We all know that. She "does" have her beauty going for her, too," Sara added as Ted went to her bed and started to fold it.

"Yes. She certainly is beautiful," he said quietly, then seemed to snap back to reality. "But enough of this. It's my fault she doesn't have a tent, so she might as well share mine until the situation can be remedied. So, Sara, just how angry are you that I've known Dr. Grissom was coming for some time now?"

"I'm not angry," she said with a small smile as she helped maneuver the cot closer to the tent flap. "I am curious as to why it was all a big secret, though."

Ted shrugged his shoulders. "I explained to him that as far as I knew, the two of you had broken up and you'd decided to go on with your life without him. So, we both came to the decision that it might be better to let you decide, face-to-face, whether you wanted him here or not."

"Not give me a chance to run away with advance notice, huh?" She attempted another smile.

"You could say that." Once outside, they each took a cot and carried it back toward Dr. Yost's tent. "Now you both can face your demons without hiding from them. So, where is your good doctor, anyway?"

"Taking a shower. He should be finished soon. I'll head down to get more water to replace what he used before I finish setting up the bed in my tent."

Ted gave her a short nod, then disappeared inside his tent to deposit his cot inside, then reached out for the one Sara was still holding. She turned and headed back to the supply tent where she collected some empty containers then put them in the cart they used to transport water. It only took her about five minutes to get to the rushing stream where they replenished their bath-water. She glanced around and after seeing that no one was within seeing distance, she stripped down to her underwear and allowed the water to move over her as she filled the containers. By the time she was finished, she was as clean as she expected Grissom must be, so she replaced her clothes and made her way back to camp. She nervously ran her hand through her already sun-dried hair as she glanced around in search of Grissom, then decided he must be waiting for her inside their tent. She hesitated at the entryway to the place she called home for the past few weeks, then walked inside, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings. She didn't expect to find him lying across the freshly made double-cot and the sight of him with his left arm extended across the thin mattress while his right forearm covered his eyes was intoxicating. She silently stood there watching him, appreciating the strength of his legs as they were hanging over the bed's edge with his still-socked feet sitting on the floor.

She remained quiet, not wanting to wake him; not sure if she "wanted" to wake him; not sure if she was "ready" to wake him, so she took a step back toward the entryway.

"Come here, Sara," came his throaty, seductive voice that stopped her dead in her tracks and made her insides begin to melt. At his tone, she realized she wouldn't be given any time to "think" about their situation for quite awhile. He was, after all, here–willing to love her as she needed to be loved; willing to let her love him as she needed to love him. She moved until she stood between his legs and looked down at him. She would think about it later. For now, she was willingly going onto auto-pilot.


	147. Chapter 147

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Seven

Grissom moved his arm from his face and looked up at her, leaving no doubt what he had on his mind. Sara glanced at the entryway then back at Grissom.

"Anyone can see us."

"Then close the flap," he told her as he lifted himself on elbows.

"It'll get so stifling hot inside," she countered.

"We're from Vegas–we're used to the heat."

"We're used to air conditioning."

"We'll deal with it."

He paused a long moment then got up and zipped the flap closed before slowly moving back to stand in front of her. He started to open her shirt, pressing it over her shoulders until she was only in her black tee-shirt. When he lifted its hem she took a half-step back from him.

"But. . .I still don't understand. . ."

Grissom released a short sigh then grasped onto her, letting his fingers flow through her damp curls as he held her face still to receive his kiss. His lips pressed against hers, then parted as he stroked his tongue over her still closed mouth, but when he gently bit down on her lower lip, she gasped slightly and he gained the entrance he was seeking. Her hands automatically went to the muscles of his forearms.

Oh, those muscles. The things they could do to her. The things they were doing to her now! She started feeling a bit tipsy at the power of his persuasion then before she could muster any resistance, she felt herself being lowered onto the mattress.

"You'll understand this." He stood long enough to remove his shirt and drop it, then went back to kissing her as he moved next to her. "I know you'll understand this. You always do."

"I never thought this was going to happen again," she whispered between his kisses that were now traveling down to her neck.

"This will "always" happen," he answered as he lifted her tee-shirt again and stopped kissing her long enough to pull it from her body. "Until my dying breath, Sara, this will always happen."

His words went straight to her heart and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his kiss back to her lips as he grasped onto her hips and pulled her over top of him. Her body slid on his as their sweat mingled and to steady herself she leaned her elbows on the mattress on each side of him and he reached down and firmly grasped onto her cloth-covered buttocks.

"God, Gil, I love you," she breathed against his mouth as their tongues tangled and lapped at one another. In a flash, she was on her back again as he thrust one thigh between her legs and lifted his right hand to cup her breast.

"I love you too, sweetheart." Her hands found his face again, holding him to her as she investigated his mouth with her own. Her nails slid down over his whiskers, noting that his beard was longer than she had seen it in a quite awhile. She didn't relinquish her exploration of his facial hair or the curls covering his head as he moved his kiss lower, taking her ear lobe between his teeth as he gently tugging on it. "I haven't been happy a day since you've left."

She could feel his need for her through his pants as he gyrated against her hip and pressed his thigh between her legs, allowing her the same privilege in an attempt to relieve the pressure that was building between them.

"You pushed me away," she whispered, as her hands moved down his sweat-covered back, on to his perfect ass that were still covered by the white pants he had been wearing, and she pulled him even closer as she squeezed her legs around his thigh, trying to assuage the sensation overload she was feeling.

"Never again," he told her as his lips moved down her neck, onto her throat where he licked at the moisture that was developing from the heat.

"I thought I never wanted to see you again." Her head moved back as he bit onto her shoulder, then slid his tongue over the bruise. "I thought you were the last person on earth I ever wanted to see again.." His hand moved to grasp onto her breast and massage it as his lips assaulted the tender flesh, drawling her nipple into his mouth forcefully. "I thought I'd die if I'd never see you again," she gasped as he suckled as if he were dying of thirst.

His pressure increased and she felt his desire building to a feverish pitch as he moved down her body, fingers splaying across her abdomen and waist, dipping inside her pants that were a feminine match to his before his dissatisfied grunt alerted her that he wanted the clothing removed. She felt him tugging at the button that he seemed incapable or opening and a brief moment of clarity told her that she didn't have that many pairs of pants with her and she couldn't afford to lose a pair to a missing button. She quickly assisted him in opening the offending piece of clothing. He was moving lower, his kiss stopping momentarily on her stomach as he spread her pants open at the zipper then lifted himself on knees as he grabbed them by the waistband and started yanking them down her legs. When they got to the point where he would normally have just pulled them free of her feet, they got caught on her boots.

"Fuck!" Grissom hissed in an uncharacteristic curse. "Why do you have to be wearing these damned things?"

"Same reason you were," she answered as she hurriedly sat up and started to unfasten his pants for him. "Forget about them. We'll work around them for now."

He raised up onto his knees and pushed his pants down, revealing his erection only a moment before pushing her back down onto the bed. He maneuvered himself between her legs and tried to avoid the pants that were now bunched around her ankles then wasted no time guiding himself toward the heaven that he knew awaited him.

Sara gasped at the sudden invasion. The absence of activity during the past months had tightened her and she felt his chest stiffen as he, too, gasped then started to pant as if her firm grip on him was about to send him over an edge that he wanted to hold onto. He slowly turned his gaze to look at her and she thought she was going to drown in the blue depths of his irises. He had such a way of looking at her and making her forget there was anything else in the universe except those mesmerizing eyes. When he finally seemed to gain control of himself, he slowly started moving his hips and she took a moment to adjust to the immenseness of his size. She couldn't look away from him. His male beauty captured her long ago and she knew now it would never release her.

His tempo began to increase, as did his power, and their bodies reaction to the heat had them drenched in sweat and panting for breath. She watched as the fluid gathered on his forehead, dripped down over his nose and when he lowered his mouth to capture hers, she could taste the salt of him. She didn't have time to think anymore. She was only responding to the urgency taking place on top of her, inside of her, surrounding her. His need of her was so overpowering that she had little choice but to respond as powerfully as she had ever responded before. Her climax burst upon her, washed over her with such force that she nearly lifted them both off the mattress as she clutched onto him. She heard his quick hissing and then his increase in speed and power until she felt him tremble and heard his growl, then felt him collapsing on top of her, as spent as she. The sweltering heat and humidity was becoming unbearable and as he rolled off of her, she was able to capture a full breath. She slowly attempted to get up but he caught her wrist.

"Don't leave," he whispered. "Where are you going?"

"To open the window flaps. We need some air moving through here."

He reluctantly released her and watched as she pulled her pants up so she wouldn't trip over them, then went to opposite sides of the tent and opened the flaps without revealing so much that anyone could look inside. There was an immediate rush of air that moved through the tent and although it was still stifling hot, it was fresh enough to enhance their breathing. She turned and looked back to the bed and saw him still lying there with his eyes watching her every move.

"Come back to me," he said quietly and she gave him a single nod then slowly made her way to his side and climbed over him until she was lying on her side of the bed. He leaned up on his elbow and reached down to remove her boots, then pulled her pants from her completely before pulling her back into his arms where his hands began an exploration of her skin, almost as if trying to prove to himself that he really had her there with him. She tilted her head to look at his face and opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her. "Not now. We'll talk later. Just know that I'm not being separated from you any longer. You are my life, Sara–the very breath I take. For now, I just want to forget any problems we may have left behind in Vegas."

"Problems in Vegas?" She asked quietly.

"Shh," he whispered as he pulled her closer and leaned his head against hers. "We'll talk later. I haven't had a fitful sleep in weeks. Just stay with me, okay?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He finally had her in his arms again, where she belonged. Those beautiful brown eyes staring back at him as he caressed her dark hair. He knew this was all he needed to sleep. He just needed some sleep and he'd be fine. He felt his heart quicken as she slid her hand down over his chest and tantalizingly slow over his stomach. He leaned back from her, allowing her the access she was seeking and when her long fingers found him and wrapped around him, he felt a strange tingling throughout his entire body. He should be enjoying this immensely! It's what he wanted, isn't it? But there was something wrong. He rolled on top of her as she spread her legs around him and he looked into those cherished eyes again and suddenly they changed to that of a more cat-like shape. He felt her tugging at him more roughly than he liked and he looked back at her.

"No!" He hissed as he tried to move from her.

"Yes, Grissom. It's why you're here. You're only fooling yourself if you try to tell yourself otherwise."

"I came to you as a friend."

"And as a friend, I'm telling you–the relationship with Sara was over a long time ago. It's time to cut the stranglehold she has on you and move on."

"There's nothing I want to move on to." He continued to struggle but she held him to her firmly.

"Then why are you here? "I" am your secret! "I" am what you will always keep hidden from Sara!" Her tongue came out in a snake-like wisp and slid over his lips. "You'll always come back to me. You're relationship with her is over! Either accept that or keep me hidden in your secret box, your secret from Sara. Either way, you will never let go of me, my dearest friend!"

"No!"

The sound of his voice woke him and his gaze searched the room for some type of recognition, only to find that it wasn't a room at all. He was in a tent–Sara's tent. His next instinct was to reach for her body which should be lying naked and sweat-covered, right next to his, but it was gone. He ran his hand over his eyes in an attempt to wipe the sleep from them and noticed the darkness of the tent. He didn't know how long he had slept, but the only light was coming from a small lantern sitting on the edge of a table that she clearly used as a desk. He noticed that he was covered with a blanket of sorts and even though it was anything but cold, the temperature did, indeed drop since their lovemaking episode. Looking at the foot of the bed, he found his pants and shirt neatly folded over its edge and when he heard laughter coming from a group of people outside, he immediately pulled his clothing on and went to investigate.

He noticed a young couple sitting rather close on one side of the table; their relationship evident in the way they rested their hands on one another's thighs in a comfortable manner, and on the other side of the table were four men, ranging in age from about twenty-two through thirty. They all seemed ravenous as they dug into their meals in front of them.

He heard Sara's giggle coming from inside a neighboring tent so he started walking in that direction.

"How in God's name did your pants get stuck on the bedframe?" Grissom heard a loud tearing of cloth then Sara's laughter again. "Well, now there's going to be a bare ass wandering around the dinner table!"

Dr. Yost almost burst out of the tent, nearly bumping into Grissom, and turning Grissom's attention to the man's backside. Yost stopped short of Grissom and looked at him with a slightly reddened face.

"No, Dr. Grissom, you can't go in there," he said nervously.

"I can't? Didn't I hear Sara inside?"

"Yes. . .but she's. . .I mean. . ."

"I think I can handle Sara's "bare ass," Grissom said snidely as he pushed past Dr. Yost and went inside only to find a fleshy bottom pointed in his direction but it was one he wasn't familiar with. Dr. Yost hurried inside with him and turned him around, escorting him back out.

"Who was that!" Came the voice of the woman with the exposed bottom. "My God, Sara! Was that him? He's absolutely adorable!"

"Yes," Sara told her in a tolerant smile. "He "is" adorable. Now, what are we going to do about your lack of attire–especially since you've just shown my fiancé your bare essentials?"

"Oh, Jeez! Not a very good first impression, was it?"

"He'll get over it."

Ted ushed Grissom a little farther from the tent until Sara's voice was indistinguishable. "We, uh, had a little problem with Charlie today. She fell earlier and twisted her ankle, so I ordered her to rest for the remainder of the day and in the process, she seemed to have gotten her pants stuck in the bedframe of the cot. God only knows how she managed that, but with Charlie, anything's possible. I just brought Sara in to see if she could assist her."

"I see," Grissom looked at Ted and then back to the tent's entrance, wondering just what kind of research team he had walked in upon.

"We're really not usually this disorganized," Ted tried to explain. "It's just that. . .Charlie can be. . .a little clumsy at times." He looked up at Grissom quickly. "She's really a brilliant student! One of the finest I've ever met! She's just a little. . .excitable."

"I . . . understand," Grissom told him, even though he wasn't quite sure that he did. He only knew that he had waited this long and traveled this far to be with Sara and this man was keeping him from her.

"Come, sit down. You need to eat."

Ted walked with Grissom to the table and gave him a dish to fill with the food that was available and even though he was famished, his eyes kept returning to the tent that Sara was still inside of.


	148. Chapter 148

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Eight

"I'd ask again how you manage to get yourself into these kinds of catastrophes but I've found over the past few weeks that if anything is possible–you'll do it," Sara said to her young friend.

"Well, I was. . .watching him as he changed shirts," Charlie said quietly. "And when he started to fumble with his pants, I sort of tensed up and moved my butt and it slipped down between the mattress and the bedsprings and the more I tried to get it out, the more tangled it got!"

"Ted took off his pants in front of you?" Sara asked with raised brow, rather proud of Charlie's accomplishment.

"No," she moped. "He was just trying to get something out of his pocket. Why do I always screw things up, Sara?"

"Here, take those pants off. Do you have an extra pair to put on?"

"No," she said sadly. "My other pair have the pant legs ripped. I got it caught on a limb when I was out collecting leaf specimens today."

Sara picked up the spare pants and inspected them, seeing that the tear was below the zipper that would remove the lower portion of pant legs, turning them into shorts. She laughed softly as she shook her head, then went about unzipping the damaged pant legs and handed the shorts to Charlie. "This isn't a fashion show, Charlie. Wear these until you sew what needs to be fixed. How's your ankle?" Sara watched as Charlie got to her feet and went about changing pants. "It looks all better now."

"It was "all better" when it happened," Charlie huffed. "I was hoping to get a little sympathy-attention. All I got was Marie sent in to check on me every half an hour. I would've been better off out in the field, at least that way I could've spent my afternoon with him."

"Tell him you're feeling better. I'm sure he'll assign himself with you tomorrow, if only to make sure you don't break your neck this time."

"Do ya think?" Charlie looked at her hopefully, bringing another chuckle from Sara.

"Just get dressed and we'll go eat. I'm hungry!"

Sara watched her go out of the tent ahead of her. She really was a beautiful girl with auburn hair that traveled nearly to her waist in curls that needed to be tied back every day or they'd get lost to their wildness. She was a few inches shorter than Sara, but that suited Dr. Yost well, as he wasn't a tall man. Charlie's body was petite, the kind of body that youth maintained well for her, but if she weren't careful, she could lose the slimness in her middle years and become pudgy. But her face was extraordinary, and Sara knew that whether she remained slim as she was now, or gained a hundred pounds, she would still be an attractive woman. Even in the middle of the jungle with no make-up, she was stunning.

Upon first meeting Charlie, her perkiness turned Sara off. She was so "happy!" All the time! And when Sara knew she was going on the trip with her, she prayed she'd be placed at the opposite end of the ship so she wouldn't have to put up with her "perkiness." But there was no such doing. Upon seeing Sara on board, Charlie immediately ran toward her and instructed her that she was "soooo glad to see her! Now they could share a cabin together!"

Sara thought she was going to die right there on the spot! But it only took one evening to become entranced by her enthusiasm, another evening to be charmed by her lack of dexterity, and by the time she had sent her video email to Grissom, she had learned to love her as a friend who listened to her and offered her a shoulder to cry on. It was a while longer though, before Sara saw the part of Charlie that she kept protected from everyone else. Her vulnerable side. The side of her that could become depressed in a millisecond and send her into a depression for days, hiding behind an infectious smile that she showed the others, but retreating to their cabin to spend time alone where she tried to work through her dark side. This made Charlie human to Sara. It's what turned them into sisters.

Charlie eagerly went to the small buffett-type set-up and moaned her approval when she saw that Marie had made spaghetti and meatballs (in honor of their new guest, and to accommodate Sara and give her the option of leaving the meatballs out of her sauce). For such a tiny girl, Sara was always amazed at how much Charlie could eat, and tonight was no exception as she piled her plate high with the food.

Sara could almost feel the disaster about to strike as she filled her own dish and watched Charlie hurry toward the large crate where Ted was seated. Grissom sat on a lower box on the right side of him and it was clear that Charlie intended to saddle up next to the dark-haired man. Sara thought to warn them, but seeing as there never was any point to it where Charlie was concerned, she just slowly made her way toward the group and watched nature take its course.

She didn't know what it was that tripped the girl. Probably her own feet. But when she fell, she managed to fall face-first into Ted's lap, only this time, she managed to knock his plate over and it emptied down her back.

"Jesus!" Grissom responded as he put his food down and rose to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Charlie!" Ted hissed, pulling the girl up from where she was unsuccessfully trying to dislodge herself from between his legs, as he wore the girl's spaghetti down the front of his shirt and on his chest.

Grissom lifted Charlie to her feet, but she barely noticed him as her hand went to the back of her head where there was a mass of sauce and noodles sliding down it's length and over her shirt. She stared at Ted in horror.

"You spilled your spaghetti in my hair!" She told him.

"I beg your pardon!" Ted fumed, glancing down at the reddish-orange stain that covered the front of him and the noodles and meatballs that he started to pull from the inside of his shirt.

"My hair! You know how hard it is to keep it untangled! How am I going to get all this junk out of it now?"

Ted's irritation only grew upon the giggles he heard coming from the table occupied by Marie, Larry and the other men. Sara knew it was nothing they hadn't seen before.

"I suggest you go down to the falls and clean it there!" Ted seethed.

"Now? By myself? It's dark! And I'm hungry!"

"Then sit the hell down and don't move!" Ted got to his feet and grabbed onto Charlie, turning her until she was seated on the crate he had just vacated, then he turned back toward the food and started, very grudgingly, to put more food on a plate before taking it back to her. "Here! Eat! And when you're done, you can take your clothes, my clothes and your "hair" down to the falls and clean them so I have something to wear tomorrow morning!"

"Oh! Look!" Charlie reached for the space between the buttons near the bottom of his shirt and pulled at a piece of noodle that was exposed. Her eyes moved up to his and she timidly reached inside and pulled out two meatballs and put them on his plate he had left there. Another reach inside and she grabbed some more noodles and put them on his plate as well.

Sara glanced at Grissom who was watching the whole scene with disbelief and when he glanced at her, she simply gave him a small smile and quickly put her finger to her lips to indicate he should remain quiet.

"Are you almost finished?" Ted asked.

"Yes," she said in a very small voice.

"I'm glad. Now, if you'll excuse me. . ." He turned and went back to his tent.

"Jeez," Charlie said quietly to Sara. "He didn't have to get so upset about it."

Sara placed her dish on the table and went about cleaning up the remnants of food that had landed on the crate and ground, then after disposing of it properly, she made her way back to Charlie and Grissom and finally sit down to eat her meal. Of course, by this time, Charlie was nearly finished with her food and Grissom seemed completely mesmerized by the girl sitting next to him. Sara supposed she would've been worried had he not kept flinching every time the girl would look his way and smile. . .or move in the slightest direction.

"So, you're the one who made our Sara cry all those months," Charlie finally said as she smiled up at Grissom.

"Charlie. . ." Sara started to interrupt.

"No. It's all right," Grissom said as he watched Charlie through closer eyes, now seeing the protective little hen hiding beneath the feeble exterior. "If I did, it wasn't intentional."

Charlie looked at him thoughtfully, as if she could add more to that comment, but decided against it. They all glanced at Ted as he came out of the tent and brought a fresh shirt to Charlie while holding clean clothes for himself. "Come on, I'll walk you down to the falls. I can clean up a bit while I'm there, too."

Charlie nearly dropped her plate in an effort to hand it to Sara as she started to follow Ted away from the camp, pausing only to glance over her shoulder at Sara and again give her a giggle. Sara watched them leave, then moved until she was sitting on the crate next to the one Grissom was still seated upon.

"She shouldn't have said that," Sara said only loud enough for Grissom to hear. She knew it took everything in him to overcome his pride and make this journey to her–she didn't want anything to diminish it. "You had no control over my emotions while you were back in Vegas."

Grissom looked at her a moment as if her comment jarred something in his mind. He shook his head briefly, then drank some of his coffee. When he looked up at her she gave him a gentle smile as she went about eating her small plate of food. The fact was, at this point, her nerves had her so tied in a knot that she didn't have much of an appetite, and at the same time, she was feeling a bit weak and in need of some nutrition.

"I promise not to make you cry again," he said equally quiet and reached over and placed his hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Can you control my crying?" She asked half-heartedly.

"Yes. I'll protect you from anything that can hurt you." He waited until she finished eating as much as she could get past the lump in her throat, then together, they took the dishes back to where two of the young men were cleaning them and putting the evidence of their dinner away.

She looked at where Larry and Marie had already moved to their favorite spot near the center of the camp; a gathering place where the group routinely met each evening before turning in, more out of a sense of community than anything else. Daniel and Matthew were in their tent, putting some things away and she knew they would soon be out to join the circle of scientists. That only left Ted and Charlie who were still at the falls, Adam and Jed who were finishing with the dishes and Grissom and herself. She could feel Grissom reaching for her in the semi-darkness of the night, then felt him touching the small of her back; his gentle force guiding her away from the others. She glanced up at him before looking back to the young men and woman who was trying to be inconspicuous about watching them.

"I–um–think I'm going to forgo the conversation tonight," Sara explained as she reached behind herself and laced her fingers with Grissom's. "I know Gil must be exhausted and I could use some extra sleep, myself."

Adam, a dirty-blond-haired youth of about thirty snorted in an attempt to hide his laughter, then turned back to the dish he was cleaning.

"Shut up, dirt-bag," Jed scolded with a thick southern drawl. "We'll see the two of you in the morning, and if we're gone before you get up, don't rush yourselves on our account. I think you both could use a day or two of catching up."

"Yes. . .well," Sara gave a small smile to her friends and turned back toward her tent. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Sara," Marie called after her. "Goodnight, Dr. Grissom."


	149. Chapter 149

Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Nine

Sara moved with Grissom inside their tent, feeling a bit anxious and nervous and not really understanding why. She had slept with Grissom hundreds of times, hell, probably well over a thousand times, but somehow it felt different now. She remained quiet as she lit the lantern and went to the edge of the bed where she sat down to remove her boots. It wasn't until she put them aside that she realized Grissom was still standing a few feet away, watching her. She looked up and was a bit taken back by the intensity of his gaze. She could usually read his moods, but this time she was uncertain. There was something in his eyes that seemed guarded; something that wasn't quite right.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, almost startling him out of his silence.

"I'm more than okay." He finally moved to sit next to her and started to remove his boots. "I'm a bit tired, but other than that, I'm wonderful."

"Of course," she agreed, deciding that it was his exhaustion that was showing.

She got to her feet and turned off the light, knowing that any movement inside would be seen in silhouette from the outside unless she extinguished the lantern. The sudden darkness was familiar to her as she made her way back to the bed; it was the feel of his strong fingers as they grasped onto her waist and pulled her to him, that marked the difference to the existence she had become accustomed to over the past weeks.

She didn't need any verbal coaching as his hands showed her what he wanted, so she slowly went about removing her shirts and inhaled sharply as he pulled her between his legs and she felt his lips touching her breasts; kissing them as his fingers maneuvered them to his liking. Without thinking, she moved on to open her pants and upon the sound of the zipper being lowered, Grissom's hands slid down over her hips, pushing her slacks and panties down over her thighs, beyond her knees and down farther until she stepped out of them. He got to his feet as he gently captured her mouth with his and she could feel him opening his pants as she unbuttoned his shirt. Within seconds both articles of clothing were lying on the floor of the tent and she could feel the heat of him as he pulled her tightly against him.

Her fingers were in his hair, trailing down to trace his bearded face as he moved his kiss to her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered as she rubbed her face against his like a kitten seeking comfort.

"I'm here, and I'm never going to let you out of my sight again. So no more sneaking off to rescue Charlie from her man-eating cot or Ted from his man-eating Charlie while you leave me sleeping in our tent. You're mine from this moment on."

His comment made her giggle softly as her hands moved down over his back. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that," he breathed against her temple and turned with her until he was lowering her onto the mattress. He reached down and parted her knees as he lowered himself between them, dipping his head occasionally to capture her lips in gentle kisses.

She could feel him growing against her but still he didn't show the urgency that he had shown earlier that day, and she felt reassured by that fact. Instead, he took his time as he moved his kisses from her face to her shoulders and neck, then back to her lips again. He took her to the brink of need with his tender kisses until she finally took control and started grinding her hips up against the heat of his now hard length. She pushed him and he rolled with her until she was on top of him, giving him the access he was searching for as his hands glided over her back and arms, sliding down over her buttocks and her thighs, pulling her knees farther up around him as he continued his massage of her entire body. She moved herself slightly, hovering above him as he raised his head and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and sending ripples of pleasure washing through her to her toes.

"Oh, God, I missed you so much, baby," Sara sighed as she hugged him to her breast and kissed his hair.

"I wasn't alive without you, Sara," he moved his kiss back to her neck and throat. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. Thoughts of you consumed me and I couldn't function anymore. I became a walking zombie and no one could help me, no matter what they did."

His comment passed by her a moment before it sank in and struck her a bit odd.

"No matter what they did?" She repeated quietly, her movements on him slowing.

"Hmm," he grunted his objection and turned them onto their sides. "It doesn't matter. I'm alive now. Make me feel alive, Sara." She barely had time to react as he reached down and positioned himself then slid his length inside her core, stroking into her with long, powerful thrusts. "Oh, God, Sara. No one can make me feel as perfect as you can."

"No. . .one. . .can. . .," she started in a blissful daze but his mouth found hers again and he pulled her knee higher around him, intensifying the sensation of him filling her.

"Mmm, of course not." His kiss moved farther down on her shoulder where it met her neck. "You're the only one who can make me happy."

His words were melodic and soothing while his hands, mouth and lower body were enticing her to awareness. She could feel the strength of his thighs as he thrust one between her legs to enhance the strength of his strokes. The hair on it, softly brushed against the roundness of her bottom and she could feel it becoming wet from their lovemaking. She placed her hands in his thick hair and gently guided him lower until he was nipping at her breasts and her whimpers inflamed him, causing his nips to become a little harder and his strokes a little more forceful. He grabbed onto the globes of her bottom and held her in the position that suited him for greatest accessability and she felt her senses being assaulted from all sides.

"Gil!" She breathed as she felt her climax approaching. "Gil! Gil!"

"Sweet Sara," he moaned and his mouth clamped down on hers again, his tongue thrusting inside and mating with hers as it snaked around it and pulled it back to him. He slid one hand between them and stroked over her hardened nub and she felt herself losing complete control. If she had been coherent enough, she would have been grateful that his mouth swallowed her cries of relief, but when he came a few strokes later, there was no disguising his grunts and final growl of complete satisfaction.

The difference in temperature from earlier that day was immense and although Sara's hands slid over Grissom's sweat-covered back, the air was still breathable. He moved slightly on top of her then tilted his forehead against hers. Her giggle erupted from her and she pressed her mouth against his shoulder to keep its volume below ear-shattering level. It didn't take long and his chuckle joined hers.

"That's not the kind of reaction I was going for." He smiled down at her. "Maybe more of a "Gil, you are a god!" type of a response–not uncontrollable giggling."

"Ohhh," she teased, "of course you're a god! But you have to admit, if they had any doubts about what we were going to the tent for before, they certainly have no doubts now. You alerted everyone quite adequately."

"Shhh," he rolled onto his back and pulled her against his side. "Maybe they'll think I had a muscle spasm or something."

"Oh, I'm sure they know you've had a muscle spasm!" She giggled again.

"I wasn't talking about "that kind" of a muscle spasm." He kissed her forehead then yawned. "Anyway, I'm sure they knew exactly what we were coming into the tent for."

"I think it's time you get some rest. God or not, you're tired. You've had a long day and I know my day has been rather "unexpected." I don't think I'm going to have trouble sleeping tonight."

"Sara?" He whispered as he nestled against her.

"Hmm?"

"Listen."

She settled against him and listened to the voices coming from outside in hushed tones.

"But–my God!" Charlie said with awe. "Did you hear that!"

"Charlie!" Ted whispered harshly. "Get in the tent and go to sleep. It's none of our business."

"Well, it isn't like I stuck my ear up against their tent! He's like a rutting bull! Jesus! I don't think Sara's going to be able to walk straight tomorrow!"

"Charlie! Get inside! Now!"

"Are you coming inside too?"

"Yes. I need some sleep."

"Okay," came her perky response then the sound of a tent flap being zipped closed.

Sara stifled her chuckles as she snuggled against his side and she could feel Grissom's embarrassment, then his resignation as if accepting that this was what they were going to have to put up with from now on. He dipped his head one last time and kissed her lips.

"Good night, my love."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara could smell the mist rising around them more than she could actually see it. It wouldn't be long and the heat would be stifling inside the tent again. As it was now, there was enough light to watch Grissom sleeping next to her, but not enough to make the stuffiness in the tent unbearable. She looked at his features as he lay on his back with his right arm raised above his head and his left at his side with his hand resting on her thigh. It wasn't the first time she watched him sleep–hardly. No, the first time she watched him sleep, he wasn't even aware of it. The first time she watched him sleep, he wasn't even aware that she was still there. But she was.

She knew it was before her infamous night with the hotel reservation that she was too drunk to clearly remember; the night in San Francisco when she was an enamored student and she threw up all over her lecturers thighs, then massaged him into a full erection before collapsing in a fit of laughter at his feet. No, this happened before that.

She had given him guided tours of the city and its harbor every other night for the past week, alternating between attending his lectures and spending the off-nights in his company in a less formal setting. She knew she only had a few days left to spend with this man who by now had completely stolen her heart and up to this point, other than friendship, offered her nothing promising. But on their last night of touring, she could sense a looseness in him. His usual tenseness was gone as they sat in a small restaurant along the harbor eating crab meat that they cleaned by the bucket. She didn't know if he was more relaxed because he was planning to go home in three days or the fact that he was working on his fifth mug of beer. Either way she was becoming more and more affected by his lingering gazes.

As the evening turned into night, the lights that were strung around the outside eating area were becoming more prevalent and as the music started to play a bit more loudly, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the small dance floor.

"I'm–I'm not very good at this," Grissom told her as he steadied himself by grabbing onto her upper arms.

"Then just follow me," she assured him as Trisha Yearwood began her rendition of How Do I Live Without You.

It was the first time she was held inside the circle of his arms and she felt her entire body tingling with electricity at the strength surrounding her. They started dancing together with a few inches separating them, and by midway through the lyrics she was lost in his eyes as he watched her. He held her against him as she held her arms around his neck. The fact that they no longer could comprehend any other living person around them only intensified the pounding of her heart as he smiled lazily at her.

"Jesus, but you are dangerous, Sara Sidle," he told her quietly.

"I'm dangerous? How's that?"

"A man could get lost inside your eyes, little girl. You could make a man crumble to his knees and beg for your affections. You simply look at a man and he can never be the same again."

She gave him a self-conscious smile. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. "I don't think so."

"Oh, it's true," he guaranteed. "Trust me. I should know."

"Oh, should you?" She gave him a smile of her own. "Are you an expert on falling down in love?"

"I could be. I might be." He moved with her toward the outer edge of the dance floor as they swayed together.

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Dr. Grissom."

"Dr. Grissom?" His eyebrow raised as he looked at her. "Back to Dr. Grissom, are we? Okay, Miss Sidle. But I preferred it when I was just plain old "Griss."

She watched as his eyes darkened with something she had never seen before and slowly his head tilted toward hers. Her eyes closed in anticipation of the touch of his lips. She could feel his breath as it lingered then she heard the voice approaching from behind her.

"Dr. Grissom! I didn't expect to find you here."

Sara opened her eyes and saw Grissom was still watching her, then moved his glance in the direction of the voice as he took a step back from her.

"Dr. Hathaway. I can't say that I expected to see you here either."

Sara turned to see the statuesque blonde approaching with a white-haired gentleman and she recognized them both as professors from the college. The white-haired man was the head of the Biology Department.

"And this is?" The woman asked as she moved to practically stand between Sara and Grissom. "Haven't I seen you around on campus?"

"This is Sara Sidle. She's attended my lectures."

"I see. Well, why don't you both join us for a drink? We've gathered quite a group from school. Maybe we'll get a group discount." The woman laughed at her own attempt at a joke.

"Yes, Dr. Grissom, if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss the possibility of referring you to USC this fall. I've been discussing your services with a friend of mind who teaches there and they seem to be very interested in. . ."

Sara really couldn't remember the rest of their conversation. Her disappointment at being interrupted was so overwhelming she wanted nothing more than to turn around and deck the woman who was showing an unusual amount of affection to her colleague, said Dr. Gilbert Grissom. And the fact that Dr. Grissom suddenly wasn't as interested in Sara confused her. She lost the assurance that he had issued moments before as she watched him being interrogated by Dr. Hathaway.

They had been ushered to the table where four other professors sat with various drinks in front of them and by the time everyone decided to break up their little gathering, Grissom was getting quieter and quieter and by the time she walked him to his hotel room, he was in dire need of a bed. Much to Sara's disappointment, it wasn't for the reasons she had hoped. She watched as he thanked her for a wonderful evening, then moved to the sofa and collapsed onto it. He was sleeping before she could make it to his side so she watched him. She took her pleasure in simply being in his room with him, taking in he smell of him, listening to him breathe as he slept and when she knew he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, she removed his shoes, tossed a light blanket over him and bent and gently kissed his lips. They tasted of the alcohol he had consumed, but they also had a taste all their own.

Quietly, feeling a lot more unsure of herself than she had earlier in the evening she left him alone in his hotel suite. It was later, the following morning that the idea formed in her mind that she needed to send him off in style and soon her friends Jody and Brian were involved in the plan. What she presumed was a complete washout a few nights later left her in despair and she couldn't pull herself up by the bootstraps for days. . .not until that first email that came across her computer screen.

To Sara Sidle, from Ggrissom at LVPD: subject being, "Hey, I was thinking of you today." Granted it had to do with a maggot specimen he found that reminded him of a case he had discussed with her while in San Francisco–but–he had been thinking of her–and she was hooked.


	150. Chapter 150

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty

He was in her bed, lying with her in his arms. He wanted this, didn't he? He needed this, right? He asked for it. He looked for it, searched for it and lied to himself when he tried to tell her that he hadn't. And why? Simply to hurt Sara again? Sara had been silently killing him for months and now with that fucking video message, she plunged the knife in to the fullest extent. So–he knew he searched for this and he wasn't blind enough to think that he wouldn't get it. Heather had been available to him for years, and now, she lay in his arms because he asked her to.

Help him sleep? There was no sleeping involved in it. Help him relax? He felt as if he were going to jump out of his skin. If ever he doubted what a true panic attack felt like–he could lay that doubt to rest now.

He was angry. He was hurt. He was lost. And she was the only way he could feel control over his situation. Sara was in the driver's seat for too long now. She had the control over where she went, if they were together, if they were apart. Now, it was time for him to take control. If Sara insisted on hurting him like this–he could play at her game as well. He would plunge the knife through her heart in the cruelest way possible and as he looked into Heather's eyes as she lay in his arms, he knew this was his weapon of choice.

"NO!" Grissom lunged forward into a semi-sitting position on the cot with his hands covering his face as his breath was jagged and he fought to get the thick oxygen into his lungs. "It didn't happen that way! It didn't happen!"

"Gil?" He felt the hand on the bareness of his back and he jumped to his feet, flinging around to look at the female in bed with him and finding Sara watching him through what began as concerned eyes but now turned to fearful eyes. "Gil? My God, are you alright?"

"I didn't do it," he whispered as he looked at his surroundings as if trying to remember just where he was. When Sara got out of bed and put her hands on his arms, he jerked away from her.

"Gil," Sara said a bit more loudly now as she watched him, the fear now a mixture of anger at being physically rejected. "You didn't do what?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Finally his breathing was coming to him and he started to recognize the inside of Sara's tent. "I didn't do anything. It's alright now. "I'm" alright now."

"You certainly don't sound it–or look it! You look like you've faced death and walked away the loser!" Sara stood back from him, clearly not trying to rush him into waking up completely.

"Sara!" He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, clinging to her as they stood, still unclothed from the previous night's lovemaking. His only thoughts running rampant through his exhausted brain being, she's going to leave me–she's going to leave me! Finally he choked out, "Don't leave me!"

"I'm here, Gil," she said soothingly as she started to stroke his hair then tried to move with him back to the cot.

"No! Don't go!"

"Gil!" she whispered a bit louder. "I'm not going anywhere. But we should really go back to bed and get some sleep. Soon, it will be too hot to sleep in here."

This time he moved with her as they got back on the bed and he positioned himself so that he was resting his head on her chest as she continued to stroke his hair. He wouldn't think about his dream. It would serve no one's purpose to think about it–to speak of it. His ghosts were better off left in the past; better off left in Vegas. He ran his hand over the softness of her waist then turned his head slightly and kissed the skin he found there. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she whispered. "You just scared the hell out of me, jumping out of bed like that. Are you alright now? Do you think you can go back to sleep? Or do you need to talk about it?"

"I'm okay. I was just a bit disoriented for awhile. I guess I'm not used to waking up in the middle of a jungle just quite yet."

"Disoriented? Is that why you said "it didn't happen that way?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I said. I was still half-asleep. I just need to relax a little. I'll be fine."

"Okay," she said quietly and he had a feeling that she wasn't convinced. "Just go back to sleep then. You need to catch up on you rest. It couldn't have been easy making your way down here on your own."

"I'll be alright," he whispered again and closed his eyes, wanting to forget about his dreams, wanting to not think about what it felt like in his dream, wanting to not think at all, just to rest.

He felt as if he no sooner closed his eyes, tumbling backward into oblivion, than Sara was whispering for him to get up and he could hear the campsite waking up around him. He rolled over onto his side and looked at where she was lying, facing him.

"Hey?" She smiled gently at him.

"Hey."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," he told the truth. At least now he didn't feel as antsy as he had. He needed to concentrate on the life ahead of him, not on what he left behind. It would do no one any good to rehash mistakes. No good. "I'm feeling a lot better. What are our plans for today?"

"I think I'm going to start by eating a huge breakfast," she told him with a sparkle to her eyes. "I haven't been very hungry lately."

"I've noticed you seem to have lost some weight."

"I suspect my appetite might come back now."

"Mine too," he smiled sheepishly at her. "What do you say we go eat about a dozen eggs?"

"That might be a little difficult to come by. We're running low on supplies, so I don't think you'll find a dozen eggs out there with enough left over to feed the rest of us. How about a big bowl of corn flakes with some fruit on top?"

She laughed at the disappointment in his eyes, then turned over to get out of bed. He watched her nakedness as she went about picking clean clothing from a small container with a lid on it, then she turned and looked back at him. He smiled at her and she moaned then moved back to the bed with him, dropping down next to him and putting her arms around his neck.

"I'd rather stay here for a few more days," he told her as his lips teased hers and he leaned over her. His hand slid up her side and captured a breast that he massaged.

"You can't keep doing that while we're here," she half-scolded. "It might have worked for you back home, but you can't use your gorgeous slanted smile to get your own way here."

"I can't, huh?" He leaned over her again and started nuzzling on her throat.

"Okay," she started giggling. "Maybe you can. So, let me rephrase that–you "shouldn't" use it to get your own way. We need to get up."

"Fine," he sighed with faux irritation as he lay on his back and released her, allowing her to get up again and start putting her clothes on. "I'll get up. But I want at least "two" bowls of corn flakes."

He followed her out to the community area and watched as Jed, Adam, Matthew and Daniel sat at the table, already eating their breakfast. Matthew and Daniel barely glimpsed at him, but looked up at Sara with a genuine smile.

"Hi, Sara," Matthew said enthusiastically as he moved over on the bench, offering her some space next to him.

"Morning, Sara," said Daniel and as Grissom looked at the two men closely for the first time, he noticed that they had to be related in some way. Their resemblance was too great not to be. "Would you like me to get you some cereal? Bananas?"

"No thank you, guys," she said as she went about preparing her breakfast, handing different items to Grissom so he could get his own. "But if you have any apple juice hidden over there, I'll take a pint."

"Jed drank the last one this morning," Matthew accused, then looked back at Sara. "We have orange and banana-mango."

"That's all we have left?" Marie asked from where she was sitting with Larry.

"That's it." Matthew agreed.

They all looked at the man walking across the yard to them, eyes widening as they saw how he was limping with his hand on the small of his back. He closely resembled a pregnant woman waddling toward them. The auburn-haired girl who came out of the tent behind him was wearing a radiant smile as she traipsed along.

"If that's all we have, it sounds like we're in for a trip to town soon," Ted said in a low grumble.

"I'll go!" Charlie offered. "You and I can go together!"

"No!" Ted complained as he stepped away from her and got himself a cup of coffee. "I'm not chancing a trip to town with you! God only knows what would happen! We'd probably end up wrapped around some tree!"

"Oh, come on, Ted! Is it my fault that your bed lost a screw in the middle of the night." She looked at him with wide eyes, then started to giggle at her phrasing. "Lost a screw! That's funny. I didn't mean that you actually lost a. . .well, you know. . .an act of. . ."

"Charlie," Adam spoke up. "You romantic-talking devil! Are you trying to tell us that Ted's bed "did" have a screw last night?"

"Absolutely not!" Ted looked at Adam with scolding eyes, then felt everyone else's amused gazes as they watched him. "I mean. . .no! It lost a damned screw. . ." Everyone remained smiling at him and he tried to further explain. ". . .and a nut. . ." this made some of his company giggle at him, especially Charlie. "The hell with it! I'm going out to check the fuel."

"Does this mean I "won't" be going to town with you today?" Charlie called after him.

"No one's going today," he said over his shoulder. "Maybe we can talk Sara and Dr. Grissom into going tomorrow."

"Damn!" Charlie hissed as she stomped her foot, then brightened as she looked up at Sara. "His bed lost a screw."

"So I heard," Sara chuckled at her as she took the banana-mango juice that Matthew handed to her. "What exactly did that involve?"

"Well," Charlie looked at the others, then moved closer for only Sara to hear but Sara laughed at her.

"No, I figured it involved a screwdriver. I meant, where did he sleep? Was your cot overly crowded last night?"

"No," Charlie said dejectedly. "He just put his mattress on the floor and slept there. That's why he's all stiff this morning." This made Adam start laughing again. "Oh, shut up, Adam! I meant his back is stiff!"


	151. Chapter 151

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-One

Sara glanced over her shoulder at Grissom as she lead him deeper down the trail and away from the camp. They had spent the morning taking photos and collecting specimens then after clean-up detail for lunch she decided it was time to get cooled off a bit. Seeing as how the banana-mango juice didn't settle on her stomach so well that morning, she felt queasy until after she ate her lunch and the thought of getting out of this heat for a little while was too much to resist and she knew the perfect spot. The clearing was where Ted and Charlie had gone the evening before and as Grissom stepped into it he paused to take in its beauty Sara chuckled at his reaction, then released his hand and went to the edge of the water and took off her boots. She reached down and removed her pants, then took off her button-down shirt, leaving only her tee-shirt and panties on.

"Come on," she instructed as he continued to stand on the grassy area. She moved up to where the falls splashed into a tranquil pool before traveling down into a flowing stream. She took a seat so that her legs were dangling in the water then turned to watch as Grissom moved closer to her, kneeling down as he looked at the beauty surrounding them. "Aren't you going to undress?"

"I'm not sure. Just who can walk up and see us like this?"

"Anyone who wants to, but considering that I told them we were coming to the falls, they know that I'll be swimming, so they'll wait until we go back." She slid down into the pool and looked up at him and when he still remained clothed, she crooked her finger at him in invitation. "Come on. You'll like it."

He smiled at her then stood up and started to take off his clothes until he got to his boxers then he slowly slid into the water with her. She anxiously awaited for him then started backing up until the water was shoulder-deep.

"Our own little paradise?" He asked as he swam up to her.

"For now. Last night it was Ted and Charlie's, although judging their actions last night and this morning when they came back, I don't think Ted took advantage of it." She continued to walk backward as he used a powerful breast stroke to follow her.

"So, we've got a little office romance going on around here?" He caught up to her and put his hands on her hips then lifted her until she put her legs around his waist. "Without the office, of course."

"And not so little on one side, but oblivious on the other." She rested her hands on his shoulders as they moved around the water.

"Hmm, sounds like Ted should open his eyes and just give in to it before it ages him dramatically and he does all kinds of stupid things." His fingers massaged her waist as he barely had to hold her, her buoyancy made her weightless against him. She leaned back in the water and floated a moment or two while still holding onto him with her legs.

"Stupid things?"

"Mistakes."

She grabbed onto his arms and tightened her legs as she pulled herself up again. "What kind of mistakes?"

"The same kind I made. I'd probably look ten years younger if I hadn't fought you tooth and nail all that time and accepted my. . ."

"Your what? Your doom?"

"No," he smiled at her. "Not my doom. My destiny, I guess. My reward."

She pondered this response, then decided she wasn't going to push the issue as she leaned back again and allowed the water to float her on its surface. "What makes you think you'd look ten years younger?"

"I've aged twenty years since I've met you."

She felt him edging her wet tee-shirt up on her abdomen. "And you're blaming me? It couldn't have been the work we were in, could it?"

"So you're admitting that I "did" age twenty years in the past ten."

She giggled at the thought. Truth be told, now he looked his age. Ten years ago he looked boyishly young. "You look perfect for your age."

"And that would be? What? An old relic?"

"Hardly." She sat up again and put her hands at the back of his neck. "What about me? I've aged."

"You look absolutely wonderful. Actually, I'm wondering what kind of a fountain of youth you've found while you've been down here."

"What's to say you're not in it right now?" She giggled again at the way he was now examining their surroundings. "I think it's the company I've had these past two days. It revitalized me. It's given me everything I want."

She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips then tipped herself back into the water and dove below its surface, away from him. She felt his hands grasp onto her ankle and she turned quickly to regain control over her position in the water. She started swimming on her back and with her free foot sent splashes of water at him until she slipped from his grip. She quickly swam away but when she turned to look back at him, he was gone. She looked around and saw nothing but the rippling of water where they had been and he had disappeared, then without warning, he surged up from the depths and grabbed her until he was holding her with an arm under her knees and his other around her waist. She only had a moment to catch her breath before she was tossed through the air and created a huge splash. She came up gasping, then without even pushing the hair from her eyes, she turned and lunged toward him which he easily side-stepped. She lunged again and missed, and again and again, each time, hearing his chuckle as she would miss her mark.

"Dammit, Gil! Stay still!"

"Why? So you can try to drown me?" He laughed at her.

"Yes!"

"I don't think so." He continued laughing at her as he moved around before her, always out of reach. "You could always yell "Marco."

"I never did understand the point of that stupid game! Now come here!"

"Are you going to dunk or splash me?" His eyes sparkled with their laughter.

"Yes!"

"Then no."

"Fine," she said indignantly as she turned away from him, then quickly turned back and dove under the water. She tried to grab onto his legs, but they were ready for her attack and remained strong. Instead, he reached into the water and grabbed her, lifted her and deposited her back into the water with a resounding splash. This time when she stood up, she shoved her hair back and gave a threatening laugh. "Oh, you are "so" going to get it now."

"Promises, promises." He side-stepped her again as she came after him.

"Gil!" She yelled at him in frustration. "I can't get you if you keep moving!"

This comment made him chuckle and this time he stood still and allowed her to find him, but when she tried to grab his shoulders and push him under, he grabbed her hands, took a step back and allowed her force to unbalance her and land her back underwater. She stood up with her hair down over her eyes again, but she stared through it at Grissom's amused grin as she blew water out of her mouth. Then she turned and haughtily started walking to the water's edge.

"Where are you going?" He called after her in half a chuckle.

"I'm leaving."

"Ah, come on. I'll let you try to drown me if you come back in," he teased.

"No–no. You've missed your chance." She looked back at him through knit brows. "Anyway, I don't trust you! You're lying and you won't let me push you under water."

She turned back to her clothes, enjoying the teasing that was taking place between them. It was an easiness they hadn't felt together in a long time. She had her pants and button-down shirt on when she heard him exiting the water but when he stepped up behind her and grabbed her hips, pushed his own hips up behind her and leaned in to place a warm kiss on the side of her neck, she startled a bit.

"I'll let you do anything to me you like," he said gently as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands across her abdomen.

She leaned back against him, feeling the hardness of his erection that evidently had begun in the water and letting the familiar tingles start at her very core. She felt his hand spread open over her stomach and pull her back more tightly against him and she turned her head to receive his kiss. He obliged her then moved her closer to the water's edge where she suspected he was going to lower her onto the soft mound of grass and she wished she hadn't started to redress so quickly. She shrieked when he lifted her and promptly dropped her into the pool, instead.

"Goddammit, Grissom!" She came up sputtering mad and had to stop herself from smiling at the way his eyes widened and he looked around as if trying to find a means of escape. He knew he had pushed her final tolerance button and as she hurried out of the water, he was quickly stepping into his pants and grabbing up his other clothing. By the time she reached her her socks and boots he was already down the path at least twenty yards, putting on his clothes as he went. "Coward!"

She heard his chuckle as she followed him, slowly carrying her socks and boots as she sloshed all the way back to camp; her completely drenched clothing bringing more than a few stares from her companions. He might think he was the victor for now, but she'd have her vengeance!


	152. Chapter 152

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Two

Grissom had had a long day of looking over his shoulder, expecting Sara's revenge around every turn, but it never came. Instead, she went back to the campsite, changed into dry clothing, hung her wet clothes on the line, then came up and gave him a kiss on the cheek before suggesting they go record some wildlife, particularly some grasshoppers she had seen a few days before. Once they found them, he was so interested in observing as Sara photographed them that he forgot about the possibility of retaliation.

That night he found Sara in their tent, packing a small knapsack with some clothes and toiletries. He moved to stand behind her and put his arms around her waist as he leaned his chin on her shoulder and watched what she was putting inside. "Lotion?"

"This sun is hell on the skin," she explained. "If I'm going to be inside an air conditioned hotel for a night, I'm going to take advantage of it and pamper myself."

"Really?" He turned her until she was facing him and he continued to hold her around the waist. "And just what do you plan to do to pamper me?"

"I don't know," she teased. "I haven't really put much thought into it."

"I have." His lips brushed against hers. "How about we start with this?"

He deepened their kiss before moving down over her throat and onto the top of her chest. He lifted her tank top and let his fingertips stroke the sensitive skin of her belly, then lifted the shirt higher until he pulled it over her head. He backed up with her until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, then let his kiss resume at her breasts as her hands cradled his head.

"Gil?" She gave a little whimper.

"Shh," he murmured against her skin as his hands took their pleasure in sliding over her rounded bottom. He moved his touch to the front of her where he easily unbuttoned her pants and unzipped them then slid them over her hips until they fell at her feet. His kiss moved lower to her upper abdomen as his touch went up the insides of her thighs until they felt the heat of her apex. It was almost more than he could bear and he felt himself steadily growing beneath his trousers. His mouth moved over her stomach as her fingers danced in the thickness of his hair and when his lips touched the top of her panties, his fingers slid inside the leg opening and to the wetness he found there. He could feel her begin to sway as he stroked over her hardened nub and when he tugged the panties down low enough so he could slide his tongue over the pebble of nerves, she gasped loudly and grasped onto his shoulders to steady herself.

"Gil," she tried in a sweet breath. "I've got to. . ."

"Shh," he told her again as he nibbled and sucked at her while his finger slid deep inside her sheath.

"I can't. . ."

"Mmm-hmmm," he insisted and when he finally felt her knees begin to buckle, he quickly turned with her until she fell onto the bed next to him. He slowly crawled up her body and opened his trousers and by the time he was positioned between her knees, she had already kicked off her pants. He grasped onto himself and pressed inside her panties as his mouth found her lips and in one swift motion he was inside of her. He could feel her hands sliding beneath his shirt, then pressing down, beneath the pants that he hadn't even lowered until she was sliding her long fingers over his rounded behind. "Darling, tell me you want me here."

"Always."

"No!" He placed his hands on either side of her face as he drew back and looked at her. "Tell me."

"Gil?" She looked at him oddly.

"Tell me," he whispered as his hips moved and he slowly thrust into her. "Tell me."

"I–I want you here," she said solemnly. 'Of course I want you here."

His mouth came down on hers again, his tongue darting inside and tasting her unique flavor. He wasn't counting on this insecurity once he got here with her, but he couldn't seem to push it aside. But he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think at all right now. He was where he needed to be. God, let her want him there with her.

He increased his thrusts as he reached between them, sliding his finger over her bundle of nerves until he could feel her breathing change into short pants and she was clutching at him. He wanted to watch her face as he brought pleasure to her. He needed to know that he could take her to the limits of their lovemaking and soon he felt her muscles clamping down on him, spasming around him with a grip that had him gasping for air and soon his thrusts turned into earth-shattering strokes that seemed as if he couldn't bury himself deep enough inside of her. She was his haven and he wanted to be surrounded by her. When he came, he clamped down on her shoulder, trying to hide the loud moan that escaped him. He slowly rolled off of her and onto his back, allowing her to roll with him until she was pressed against his side.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

"Sorry?"

"I guess I should've prolonged that a bit."

"I think," she yawned. "Considering that you just traveled across the equator to find me, your endurance is nearly superhuman."

"Superhuman?" He smiled as he looked down at her sleepy form. "Now you're comparing me to Superman?"

"Hmmm," she said as she started to doze off. "Not Superman. I always had a thing for Batman–the Michael Keaton Batman, though. He's the only Batman if you ask me. Everyone else are just meager imitations."

"Michael Keaton, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm. Something about the blue eyes." She reached up and kissed his lips before settling against him again. "Night, baby."

"Goodnight, honey."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was during the early morning rush to get some food in their stomachs that he watched Sara try to down another pint of banana-mango juice with her shredded wheat and this time it didn't seem to settle any better than the day before.

"Why do you drink that stuff if you know it makes you sick?" He asked as she looked a bit drained.

"It doesn't make me sick," she said as she wiped her hand over her mouth. "It just upsets my stomach. There's a difference."

"So why drink it?"

"Thirst."

"Are you two ready to hit the road?" Ted asked after finishing his cup of coffee and picking up some specimen cases as he started out of the tent. "Jed? Adam? Is everything loaded?"

"Yeah," Adam said as he rubbed his hand over his eyes. "And I'm heading back to bed. I hate these early morning excursions."

"Why?" Charlie asked as she came out of her tent looking as if she were modeling for the latest copy of Fashionable Scientists of Central America. "You don't have to ride in the truck for almost six hours."

"No, but I have to get up at three o'clock to make sure everything is packed for the trip. That's why I'm heading back to bed. I'm taking it easy today."

"Don't take it too easy," Ted started. "You've got. . ."

"Yeah, I know. I've got funguses to track down and scrape. I'll jump right into that "after" a few hours of sleep." He looked at Sara. "Jeez, Sara. You're not looking so good."

"I'm fine," she said and released a little burp. "There–see. I just needed to burp."

"Then if everyone's ready. Let's get started."

Ted moved down the path with a flashlight in hand, closely followed by Charlie then Sara and Grissom. They had to have walked at least two miles before they came to the small clearing where the vehicle was loaded with things that needed to be shipped back to the foundation before they stocked up on another two weeks' worth of supplies.

The ride was anything but comfortable as Sara seemed to get a little greener with every passing bump. By ten-thirty she was leaning heavily against Grissom as he stroked her hair back from her face. By eleven Charlie was so overwrought with her friend's illness that she was practically leaning over the front seat and into the rear to constantly check on Sara. Eleven-thirty had Ted assuring her that they were soon at their destination and promptly at twelve-noon they pulled in front of a building that was known as Paraiso del Hotel.

"Oh my," Charlie said with concern as Ted stopped the truck and she swiftly climbed out, opening the back door and reaching in to assist Sara out to the fresh air. "Are you okay, honey? You look like you got into a brawl with some parasite and it's wiping the floor up with ya!"

Sara looked back toward Grissom who was getting out of the truck behind them. "I'm fine. I'm feeling better already. Gil? I'm so sorry."

"Oh, don't you worry about him," Charlie said as she walked with her until they were inside the Paraiso del Hotel and the air conditioning started to put some color back in the older woman's face. "He's a big boy."

Grissom joined Ted at the side of the truck.

"I don't think she's feeling up to your plans," Ted told him as he started unloading the small knapsack that contained his clothes, then one with Charlie's belongings. "You may have gone to all this trouble for naught."

"Has she gotten sick like this before?"

"Not really. But she hasn't been drinking that juice for breakfast, either. It's very sweet. Maybe it's just too sweet for her and unsettled her stomach. Add that bumpy ride on top of it and anyone would get sick. I know it doesn't go over well with Marie either," Ted handed Grissom his knapsack and then Sara's. "Well, if you're going to spring this on her before we meet up with you for dinner, you might as well go find her and check into your room. It doesn't look like she'll be joining us for lunch."

"I'm hoping that she'll be fine soon."

"I know," Ted said as they both started into the hotel. "But just in case, it might be a good idea to order some food to be brought up for lunch."

Grissom walked across the small lobby, noticing how it had potted palms in each of its corners with a wide ceiling fan slowly circling above them. Sara stood with Charlie as the younger woman gave her some cool water to drink. He carried their bags to them and she reached for hers.

"No, I've got it," he said gently.

"I'm so sorry, Gil. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't usually get motion sickness."

"Don't worry about it, Sara. Just don't drink anymore of that juice. It might be a good idea not to get anymore of it. Ted says it doesn't agree with several of you."

"That's right!" Charlie agreed with newfound wonder. "Marie got sick when she drank it too."

"Why don't we just go upstairs and you can lie down awhile. I'm sure once you let your stomach rest a bit, you'll be feeling better." He put both bags in one hand and his free arm around her waist in an effort to help guide her to the room they had been assigned. He looked at the key she had gotten from the front desk and went in search of the correct door, although considering that there were only nine rooms on the second floor, and nine on the third, it wasn't hard to locate. She pushed the door open and he felt as if he were walking into a set from the old Bogart/Bergman movie, Casablanca, but thankfully, the room had a small air conditioner in its window. "Lie down awhile, honey. I'll get you a cool cloth to wipe your face and neck. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gil," she chuckled at him weakly. "I'm fine. Really."

"Then just lie down and humor me." He put the bags on the sofa that was in the outer most room, then walked with her past the dresser with a television on it. He wondered what kind of TV they had here, then noted the VCR and DVD player next to it. Maybe they didn't even have television reception and relied completely on recorded movies. He went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cool water, then came back out to where she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He knelt down in front of her and started running the cloth over her face and she closed her eyes and accepted it, almost mewling with the relief it was providing. "Come on, lie down."

He waited until she moved up onto the bed and lay with her head on the pillows, then he moved until he was lying next to her and ran the cool cloth over her face, neck, throat and upper chest. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"You know," she smiled. "If you hadn't been here, I'd have been stuck with Charlie taking care of me."

"We can't have that, can we?"

"Charlie would have been hovering over me like a mother hen." She reached up and touched his beard. "I'd much rather have you here than Charlie, no matter how sweet she is."

"So, do you think you're little plan at matchmaking is going to work while we're here? He asked as he kissed her fingertips. "Is poor Ted going to make it out of his room alive?"

"I don't know," she giggled softly. "I didn't plan this trip. They informed me we were coming along. I don't even know if they're sharing a room. Knowing Ted, he's doing the proper thing and getting them each their own separate room."

"I'm sure there was a good reason for them to include you in their excursion to town." His anointment of the cool water moved down between her breasts, beneath her tank top, then he pushed the straps down, as well as her bra and ran the cloth over her shoulders. "How's this? Is it helping at all?"

"Mmm-hmm. Maybe if you cool it again?" She suggested as he moved off the bed and ran more cool water over it, then turned on the air conditioner before resuming his position on the bed with her. She took the cloth and put it on her forehead then took his hand in hers as she closed her eyes. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night. That's all. Maybe if I grab a few minutes sleep I'll feel better."

He leaned over and gently kissed her lips, then stroked her fingers until he saw her breathing relax and he knew she had fallen asleep. He waited a few extra minutes then got up and went to his knapsack to make sure he had everything inside as planned. The object in question was there, so he took it out and put it in his pocket.

She slept for only an hour and a half before she stirred and slowly moved herself until she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. Grissom watched her from where he was standing next to the window and when he saw that she seemed much better he smiled with satisfaction.

"What do you think about going downstairs and getting some lunch?"

"I'm starving," she agreed as she slowly got to her feet and stretched.

"Not sick anymore?"

"No," she smiled at him. "I feel great!"

"Good. Let's go then."

There was really nothing spectacular about their lunch as they sat on the back patio of the hotel and watched the birds close by. There was nothing unusual about any of it until she finished her meal and leaned back in her seat. He took the opportunity to place his treasure on her empty dessert plate while she was watching a colorful foul that was squawking loudly at its mate.

"Look, Gil," she giggled. "They're like you and me! That one's giving the other one hell, putting it in its place!"

"Oh, so you think you put me in my place, do you?" He asked and she glanced back at him, not even noticing the trinket he placed before her, then she laughed and looked back at the birds.

"No. That's the male who's doing the bossing! The female is sitting there as pretty as can be, patiently waiting for him to shut his mouth. I'm sure she'll show him who's in charge eventually."

"I'm sure she will," he agreed as he took a sip of his sangria. "Aren't you going to have dessert?"

"No, I'm stuffed," she told him then turned back to look at the table, reaching for the desserts and preparing to dish some up for him. "Here, you eat some. . .What's this?"

"Look and see," he told her as she picked up the small jewelry box and looked back at him with what almost appeared to be fear in her eyes. He laughed softly at her. "Go on. See what's inside."

She opened the box and her free hand moved to cover her mouth immediately. Her eyes became moist with unshed tears as she stared at the diamond ring inside. Finally, she looked back at him. "I thought. . .you said. . .we said. . .um. . ."

He reached out and took the box from her, then removed the ring and took her left hand in his. "You're not saying a complete sentence. You do realize that, don't you?" She shrugged her shoulders as she swiped at a tear that had spilled down her cheek. "If I'm reading your reaction correctly, then I'll just say, that, yes, we said we didn't need a ring to prove our love for one another, but under the circumstances, I felt I needed to provide you with concrete proof that I intend to marry you–soon!"

"Gil," she finally said. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know," he told her and glanced over Sara's shoulder to see Charlie and Ted peeking past some potted palms at them. Charlie started jumping with excitement and turned and threw her arms around Ted's neck, then looked back at them as she laughed. Ted looked a bit unsettled for a brief moment then gave into the celebration and put his arm around her waist as they both watched Sara's and Grissom's interaction. "Now, comes the hard part. Ted and I checked and there's a one-month waiting period. Would you like to go with me to start the paperwork so that we can be married next month?"

"Next month?"

"Yes, Sara. Do you want to? Marry me next month?"

"Yeah," she said gently. "I do."


	153. Chapter 153

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Three

Sara's head was spinning and she didn't know if it was from the proposal and engagement ring she had just received or the damned over-sweet banana juice she had consumed. She watched as Grissom slid the ring on her finger and wondered at the wiseness of wearing a diamond in the middle of the jungle. Oh well, she thought, maybe she'd just wear it when they were at camp or in town, then store it away while they were out in the field. They sat on the patio for nearly an hour more, not talking much, but seemingly content as they held hands and watched the wildlife between longing glances at one another.

Finally, the commotion from behind her turned her attention to the couple who had been sitting on the other side of the patio, thirty feet away. Sara had noticed how Charlie seemed to be sitting on hot coals ever since she and Ted took their seats and ordered their lunch about fifty minutes earlier, while Ted would occasionally send them small smiles before reprimanding Charlie with a soft-spoken word that would bring the girl's attention back to him. But evidently Charlie couldn't contain herself any longer and she practically burst across the floor.

"Oh, my God! Let me see! Ooooohhhhh, it's beautiful!" Charlie ccooed as she looked at Sara's ring, then made herself at home as she sat in an empty chair at their table. "So. . ." she calmed considerably on the outside but her inner excitement was still visible. "Tell me all about it. Was he romantic. Did he make your heart skip a beat?"

"You do realize I'm sitting right here, don't you?" Grissom said as he watched the young girl.

"Uh-huh," Charlie nodded enthusiastically then dismissed him and turned back to Sara. "Was it wonderful?"

Sara laughed at how Grissom's eyes rolled with exasperation toward the girl, then she turned back to Charlie. "It's always wonderful, Charlie."

"Ha!" Charlie blurted, then seemed to turn a bit red before looking back at Grissom. "Sorry. No offense."

"None taken," he sighed.

"So, Ted says you're getting married next month. You'll need a maid of honor–can I be it? Please? Say I can! Please! Please! Please!"

Again, Sara giggled at the girl's enthusiasm. She was so excited she would have thought it was the girl getting married. She glanced at Grissom and he gave a slight shrug of indifference.

"Of course, you may be my maid of honor, although, officially, it is going to be more of a "witness" than anything as organized as a "maid of honor." And how, may I ask, did Ted know about this already?"

"He told him. He needed a reason to bring you back to town so you could sign the papers to begin your waiting period. And Ted told me because I pestered him all night last night until he gave it up!" She said brightly, then paused as she thought of her terminology. "Oh! No! I don't mean he "gave it up." Because he certainly didn't give "it" up to me." She snorted in faux amusement. "Like that's ever going to happen now since I practically rendered him impotent when I was tying my boots this morning and raised my head too quickly. How was I supposed to know he was standing so close! Is it my fault I head-butted him right in the. . .well, it just's wasn't my fault, is all I can say. Oh, what was I talking about? Oh. Yes, Ted told me all about it last night."

"You. . .head-butted him. . .in the. . " Grissom tried to confirm.

"Uh-huh," she turned from Grissom again back to Sara. "So, we need to go to get you a dress. You "are" wearing a dress–aren't you?"

"I–don't know. I didn't even consider it. What's wrong with wearing what I'm wearing now?" She looked down at her tank top and khaki shots, socks and hiking boots, then looked over at Grissom. "A dress?"

"Whatever you want, my dear. As long as you're there, I'll show up dressed in a tunic if you would like me to."

"A tunic," Charlie snorted. "I don't think so! Don't worry, Ted will see that you get the clothes you need."

"Um, Charlie," Sara asked hesitantly. "Just what are you planning about "my" wedding?"

"Oh–I'm coming on too strong, aren't I? I'm sorry."

"You're fine, Charlie. I know you're excited. But really, I don't want this blown out of proportion. I'd be happy to have you and Ted there with us. We will need witnesses. But, I don't understand the need for anything formal, especially when it will take forever to get anything sent to us. We can simply go as we are. Okay?" Sara explained. She had never really given much thought to a "dream wedding." She had never really given much thought to a wedding at all, but when she did imagine herself at the alter with Grissom at her side, she had always envisioned something simple but elegant. She knew that was impossible now, considering where they were, so she wasn't going to put a lot of energy into worrying about if a dress would make it to them in time for a wedding. And she wasn't going to put a lot of expense into it when she'd wear the dress one time, then put it in a knapsack and "perhaps" bring it out of the jungle with her whenever that would happen to be.

"Charlie," Ted interrupted as he approached them after paying for his and Charlie's meal. "Stop bothering them. Give them a chance to breathe."

"Oh, Ted! But it's all so romantic!"

"Romantic," Ted grumbled. "Fine, it's romantic. Then lets leave them to their romance–alone!"

"What would you know about romance Theodore Yost!"

"Believe it or not, young lady, I've had more than my share of romantic encounters through the years."

"Not likely."

"Well, maybe I just have to be "interested" in a female in order to become romantic with her."

"Interested?" Charlie slowly got to her feet as she stared at him. "Interested? You wouldn't know whom to become interested in if the woman came up and grabbed you by the heart!"

"Well, I do know you don't win a man's heart by trying to knock his testicles up through his throat!" Ted blurted out, then realized what he had said in front of Grissom and Sara. Sara didn't know which bothered him more, the fact that he said it in front of them or the fact that he had actually said it to Charlie. "I mean. . .I mean. . ."

"That wasn't my fault!" Charlie rushed back at him with tears forming in her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were standing so close!" She got up and strode past him and into the hotel.

Ted looked at Sara and Grissom and she could swear she saw a hint of red cheeks. "I'm sorry. It wasn't what it sounded like–really. She just bumped into me–really." Upon Sara's understanding nod, he turned on heel and went in the opposite direction than Charlie.

Sara looked back at Grissom to see him with his head leaning back against his chair, his eyes closed and a hint of a smile on his lips. "Ahhh, yes. Isn't love sublime?"

She laughed as she reached out and he took her hand again.

There really wasn't much to see as they walked through the small streets of the town after going to sign all the appropriate paperwork for their upcoming nuptials, but they did come to a small grocery-type store where Grissom took her inside and bought her a Snickers bar. They walked hand-in-hand until they came to a small boutique and she looked inside to see a an ivory muslin dress with crocheted bodice and no sleeves. It fell smoothly down to a ragged hem that would travel just below the knees. Sara stared at it for no more than thirty seconds, then continued walking with Grissom as he pointed out some moth flying about that seemed much too large in Sara's comprehension. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate its life force–she did, truly. She just didn't appreciate its life force flapping its huge wings so close to her head. Grissom chuckled at her as she flinched and ducked her head onto his shoulder, then they continued on their way.

They went back to their room for a shower after they returned and while she stood with a towel wrapped around herself and was adjusting the water temperature, she heard Grissom open the bathroom door and stand behind her. She straightened and turned to look at him, seeing that he was still fully dressed. Her eyes opened slightly as if to ask what he was doing.

"I–um, thought I'd go help Ted gather some of the supplies while you're showering, if you don't mind."

She felt a slight disappointment that he would rather leave at this opportune moment when he could be standing under the water with her and enjoying some afternoon delight, but wasn't disappointed enough to allow it to bother her.

"No. I don't mind. I'll be out of the shower by the time you get back, and you'll be all sweated up again and can hop in."

"Okay," he leaned into her and kissed her lips as if he were a little boy being granted permission to go out and play.

She smiled as she watched him leave their room then opened her Snickers bar and savored the chocolate covered caramel and peanuts. When she finished, she moved under the water and let it sooth her. She wasn't in the shower very long before she felt her stomach start to turn on her again so she turned off the water and came out. The air was so heavy with humidity that she found it stifling. She grabbed the satin robe she had brought with her and threw it on, then moved toward the air conditioner across the bedroom. The last thing she remembered was reaching for the knob before the room seemed to turn on its end and she lost consciousness.

"Sara!" Grissom's voice echoed from afar. "Sara! Honey!"

Sara could feel herself being lifted into a semi-sitting position and felt the sudden ache of her head. She opened her eyes to see the man holding onto her.

"Griss?"

"You're going to be okay, darling. Just lie still. You must have tripped on something."

"Tripped? I didn't trip." She tried to move but another wave of dizziness overcame her. "Griss, let me up. I'm fine."

This time when she tried to get up, she leaned heavily onto the mattress next to her then felt Grissom's hands on her waist again. "Come on, you're going to lie down."

"I'm okay–really."

He ushered her onto the bed in a semi-reclining position and propped pillows behind her. He sat on the edge of the mattress, facing her as he held onto her hand. "Okay," he sighed. "Now, what's going on? If you're not doing well here, then I'm taking you back to the states."

"What do you mean, you're taking me back to the states?" She asked sternly as she pulled her hand from his.

"If there's some underlying reason that you keep getting sick and it's connected to your surroundings down here, then we need to change your surroundings."

"Wait a minute!" She let her anger show. Who the hell did he think he was, just bouncing down to Costa Rica and telling her where to go and when! In all likelihood he's going to come to his senses again and go running back to Vegas as soon as he realizes what a stupid mistake he has made in coming to her! And where will she be then? Back where she started! "You're not forcing me to go anywhere! Anyway–I wasn't getting sick until yesterday and you're the only change in my "surroundings" that there's been in weeks. Maybe it's "you" that I should get away from and all my symptoms will disappear."

He didn't say anything as he looked at her, then got to his feet and went out the door. Her anger dissipated immediately and she burst into tears. This was it. He comes to get her and she forces him away–wasn't that the rules to the game they've been playing for years? If it isn't one pushing the other way then it was the other way around.

She quickly tried to control her crying. This would certainly do her no good. So she moved to the edge of the bed and stood up, feeling rather steady as she tried her legs. She was heading for the clothing on the sofa and prepared to get dressed and go in search for Grissom, but by the time she had her panties pulled on, the door opened and the man in question appeared.

"What are you doing?" He asked in astonishment. "You should be lying down."

"I'm sorry!" She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. "I don't know what's wrong with me! I was afraid I pushed you away and you were leaving!"

"I don't think one little comment is enough to send me running all the way back to Vegas. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

She put her hands on each side of his face and looked at him. "Then where did you go?"

"I went to see if there is a doctor in the area."

"I don't need to see a doctor," she scoffed then brought her hands down to his shoulders then upper arms. "I just got sick from the candy bar. That's all."

"The candy?" He asked as he walked her backwards until she was sitting on the sofa. "Is there any left?"

"You want some of my candy bar?" She asked with raised brows and he smiled.

"No. I wanted to look at it and see if there was anything to suggest it was bad. Did you eat it all?" He smiled again when she guiltily nodded her head. "That was a king-sized bar–and you finished it all. When?"

"Before I got in the shower. I started to feel sick while I was in there, so I got out."

"Well, that might explain a lot. Tell me, my dear, is there any diabetes running in your family?" He knelt in front of her.

"I don't know. It wasn't really a subject that came up before my father was murdered and my mother was put away." She told him, then looked apologetic for snapping at him again. "I'm sorry. No–I don't know."

There was a knock on the door and Grissom got to his feet and opened it. Charlie and Ted walked into the room behind an older man who was carrying what resembled an old medical bag.

"Thanks, Ted," Grissom said then walked the older man back toward Sara.

"This is Dr. Martinez. His clinic is only half a block down the street," Ted explained. "Dr. Martinez, this is Gil Grissom and his fiancé Sara Sidle."


	154. Chapter 154

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Four

"How do you do?" The man asked with a thick accent as he shook Grissom's hand, then turned to look at Sara. "You found her unconscious?"

"Yes, and she just informed me that this happened after she ate a large candy bar. This morning and yesterday morning she had bouts of nausea after drinking an extremely sweet fruit juice."

"And you're suspecting diabetes?" Dr. Martinez picked up on the idea immediately then looked down at Sara again. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Better now," she explained. "But I was very nauseous after eating the candy. Then I passed out."

"Well, how about a little test for blood glucose, eh? Just a poke on the finger and it's all over. Could you wash your hands, please?" He opened his bag and retrieved a small glucometer and she watched as he put on gloves and put a new needle in the stick. When she returned, he poked her finger and allowed the drop of blood to go onto the test strip. After a moment it beeped and he looked at the result. "I'm afraid, Sara, you're having reactions to high glucose. If you don't mind, I'd like to take some blood and return it to the clinic. I should have your results within the hour."

Sara gave him a simple nod, noticing how Charlie was standing at Ted's side, clutching his arm tightly as she watched the doctor's every move. Grissom moved with her until she was sitting again, then watched just as intently, if not as nervously, as Charlie. They watched as the doctor took two small tubes then promptly put a piece of gauze and a bandage over the area he had taken the blood from.

"What was her level on the glucometer?" Grissom finally asked as the doctor put the blood work into his bag.

"Two-forty-three," he told him, then looked at Sara. "It's high, but we'll get a better reading with your blood work. Considering what you just ate, it could be a bit of a false reading."

Sara felt a wave of heat flow over her face and she began to sweat. Diabetes? She had diabetes? She had never even thought of the possibility before. She felt frightened, even though she knew it was a manageable disease. If taken care of properly, it wouldn't show signs of progression for years.

"Do you want us to come down to the clinic?" Grissom asked as he walked with the doctor to the door.

"That would be up to you. If she's feeling better, who knows, maybe some fresh air might help. She's looking a bit peaked again. I imagine it's a lot to swallow, being told you may be diabetic."

Grissom nodded as he closed the door behind the doctor then turned back to look at Sara. Charlie and Ted seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then Charlie rushed to her side.

"Don't worry about it, Sara! It's only 243! It's not like it's over 400 or anything. With diet and exercise, you'll probably be able to manage it without even taking medication."

"We'll accommodate you any way we can, Sara," Ted said with sympathy. "Even if it should go so far as to taking insulin–we'll see that you're always within range of the camp site and we can keep the insulin in the refrigerator for weeks at a time. It won't be a problem."

"Of course not!" Charlie told her. "And I'll put her on an exercise regime! We'll get up at six in the morning and go for a daily jog around the perimeters of the camp! We'll keep her sugar down and she won't even have to worry about taking shots!"

Sara sat quietly and wrapped her robe more tightly around herself, then sighed deeply. "Okay. So I'm diabetic. No big deal."

"Damn right!" Charlie told her, bringing a smile to her lips even though she was still feeling rather shaky over the news. "No big deal!"

"I guess that takes care of any plans for a big meal tonight, doesn't it?" She said to her friends.

"Not at all," Grissom spoke up. "You still need to eat. We'll just eat sensibly. We all could stick to a moderate diet."

"I'm a vegetarian, Gil. How much more sensible can it get?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little less wine with dinner, curb the Snickers bars, cut back on desserts, heavy creams, carbs in general. There are a lot of things we can do. It's really not going to be a big deal."

"Come on, Charlie," Ted suggested. "Let Sara get dressed and we'll meet downstairs in half an hour or so. We can show them where the clinic is."

Charlie nodded her head in agreement and Sara watched the two leave the room. She looked back up at Grissom.

"Ya know, maybe it was a false reading," he said as he knelt by her side again. "There's no sense getting upset over this."

"No," she agreed.

"Come on. Get dressed." He gave her one of his sexiest smiles, and she knew that was the last thing on both of their minds, but he did lift her spirits.

Within an hour and a half, Grissom and Sara were sitting in the waiting room. Sara got up and started pacing the length of the room, prompting Grissom to get to his feet as well. When the receptionist instructed them, they went into an examining room and was soon met by Dr. Martinez.

"Senorita Sidle," Dr. Martinez looked at the slim chart he was holding in his hand then back at her. "I took the liberty of adding an extra test to the blood glucose labs. But first, I'll tell you that your glucose level came back at 210, not quite as high as the glucometer reading but still enough to convince me that my original suspicions were correct."

"And those suspicions were. . .?" Grissom asked as he held onto Sara's hand.

The doctor looked from Grissom back to Sara. "The result of the other test is privileged information."

"You're asking if I want Gil here when you tell me?" She asked, a little taken aback by his comment. "I–I don't see any reason why he can't be here. We're going to be married."

"I just needed to make sure." He looked back at the chart. "Senorita Sidle, your human chorionic gonadotropin levels came back at 126,000."

"My what?" She asked, her jaw dropping.

"Her what?" Grissom mimicked her shock.

"Her hCG levels," the doctor told them.

"Came back at 126,000." Grissom repeated dully, then looked at Sara blankly.

"I'm pregnant?" Sara asked with knit brows. "How can I be pregnant? He just got here a few days ago."

Dr. Martinez looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." The doctor closed the chart and looked at her again. "According to your levels, you are anywhere between 12 and 16 weeks pregnant."

"You were pregnant when you left Vegas?" Grissom asked with raised brows as he looked at her.

"No. Of course not," Sara looked at him a moment then back to the doctor. "This isn't possible. I've had my period almost every month in the past 16 weeks."

"Were they normal periods?"

"Well, no–but I thought that was from all the changes taking place in my life. They were–very light and . . . and . . ." She put her hand to her mouth as she remembered back. "I didn't get my period at all last month. I just thought I was late."

"Sometimes spotting can be mistaken as a menstrual cycle," Dr. Martinez told her.

Sara's mind started spinning. She had no idea. A child. Her and Grissom's child. Again. Immediately her thoughts went to the son she had lost and she looked at the doctor.

"I lost a baby this past year. . .right around this time of the pregnancy. Is there anything I should be doing to try to prevent it from happening again?" Fear surged through her. She didn't know if she could handle losing another child so soon.

"I don't know what the circumstances were with your past miscarriage. Did they pinpoint a reason for it?"

Grissom coughed nervously, then offered. "It was stress-related, and she was being overworked."

"I can only tell you that your hCG numbers are well within range for a healthy pregnancy. We can monitor it weekly, if you like. But, I'd only suggest it for the next four or so weeks. After that, your fetus will be large enough to possibly survive on its own if it comes to that. But for now, I believe you should start with a thorough examination." Dr. Martinez gestured toward the examining table. "There is a gown in the drawer. I'll give you a few minutes of privacy, then I'll return and we'll start measuring your uterus. It will help determine the exact age of the fetus."

Sara watched the doctor leave the room, then turned and looked at Grissom, looking for any signs of reaction. Thus far, she only picked up on as much confusion as she was feeling.

"Um," he began as he looked at her with a foggy expression. "Would you like me to leave for the examination?"

"What?" She didn't think she heard him correctly.

"I mean, would you be more comfortable if I wasn't in the room."

"Would "you" be more comfortable if you weren't in the room?"

"I–I–no, of course not." He retrieved a gown from the examining table. "Here, let me help you."

She watched him as he moved as if in a daze, almost as if he were pulling a sheet back on a corpse in Doc Robbins' morgue. He held the gown open as she removed her tank top and bra, then helped her put her arms inside it. She removed her shoes and shorts then sat on the table. She continued to watch him, wanting him to say something, anything to let her know how he was feeling, but he remained quiet.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What, my dear?" He asked as he looked at her from where he was standing at the side of the table.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"I–I–don't. . ."

"Okay," Dr. Martinez entered the room again. "Are we ready?"

"Yes," Sara answered.

The doctor took her blood pressure then took her hand and gestured that she should lie down. He pulled out the bottom of the bed and lay her legs on it so they were straight.

"We'll begin with an external exam," he explained as he went to her mid-section and started pressing on her abdomen. "Fine, fine. Senorita Sidle, I could do an internal, but considering that you are high risk, it may only aggravate the condition. And to tell you the truth, I can pretty well feel the uterus externally. I'd say with confidence that you are four months pregnant."

"I'll wait until another time for any internal examinations."

"An internal exam would aggravate the chances of miscarrying?" Grissom spoke up finally and received an affirmative nod by the doctor. "But we had intercourse the past two days."

"And still she's in one piece," the doctor stated with half a smile. "No, Senor Grissom, I don't think you've done any damage. I wouldn't suggest you go for a marathon of sex over the next few weeks, or when you do partake in such activities that you go for all=out acrobatics, but unless she starts to complain of cramping, I don't think you have anything to worry about in a normal relationship."

"But what's normal?" Grissom asked quickly. "I mean, what is normal for one couple may not be normal for another."

This made the doctor chuckle as he took Sara's hand and helped her back into a sitting position. He turned his attention to her.

"I'll set up an appointment for another visit. Normally I'd wait four weeks and schedule an ultrasound, but considering your gestational diabetes, I would like to watch you more closely."

"It's a six-hour drive to get here from our camp," Sara told him. "Can't I monitor the diabetes from the camp and if anything crops up, then come in?"

"Of course. We'll get you a glucometer to take with you. I'm going to give you a dietary sheet as well. You can try to use that and monitor your glucoses. If you can't keep them down closer to 120, I'm going to have to put you on medication to get you through the pregnancy, though."

"But what if she begins cramping while we're at the camp? Six hours in a truck over those roads could be hazardous!" Grissom said.

"That is a choice you're going to have to consider. But, I truly can't see anything out of the normal at this point."

"Thank you, doctor," Sara said. "I'll take a glucometer with me. I'd like to schedule the next appointment, too."

"I'll gather some information sheets. I think we have everything in English. Go ahead and get redressed and we'll have you on your way."

He walked out the door and Sara got to her feet, dropping the gown and reaching for her bra.

"I'll help you," Grissom said dully.

"I think I can manage putting my bra on," she told him, then took her tank top and pulled it on overtop. She moved on to her shorts then put her boots on before looking up at the doctor as he entered yet again with the materials he had gone for. He gave her instructions and gestured that they follow him out the door where he took them to the front desk and scheduled an appointment in four weeks. Finally, Sara and Grissom were outside in the heat and walking down the sidewalk toward the hotel and Sara couldn't help but wonder what a difference a few hours had made since the last time they had walked hand-in-hand down this sidewalk. Now, as they walked, they both had their hands shoved in their pockets and Grissom seemed deep in thought as Sara would keep looking over at him. "I think I'm going to skip dinner tonight. I'm–uh–a little tired."

Finally, he looked over at her. "You need to eat."

"I'll grab a bag of chips in that little shop in the lobby."

"No, not chips. They won't help with the diabetes."

"Fine. I'll grab a piece of fruit."

"You know, you're going to have to up your protein for the baby. Is that going to be a problem with your eating habits? Being a vegetarian, I mean?"

"I'll think about it tomorrow." She waited as he opened the door to the hotel and she passed through it. She went into the small shop attached to the lobby and looked through the fresh fruit available. When she left, she carried a nectarine and an orange, then she started up the steps toward their room, wanting to avoid running into Charlie and Ted at this point. "Would you go find Charlie and Ted and let them know I'm not going to be down for dinner? And sort of make it clear that I'd rather not be disturbed. I don't think I'm up to Charlie's enthusiasm or Ted's well-wishes."

Grissom stopped midway up the stairs and put his hand on her wrist, stopping her as well. She turned and looked at him.

"Sara, I don't know what to say. I truly never thought I'd have the opportunity again. I'm having a little trouble wrapping my mind around it."

"I can see that," she said but when she saw the pained expression on his face she sighed deeply. "Never mind, Grissom. It takes a while before it seems real."

She turned and walked up to their room where she undressed and put on a fresh tank top and pair of panties then climbed between the bedspread and sheet. She lay on her back for nearly fifteen minutes before she realized that she was cradling her abdomen. A smile touched her lips. Evidently her body was completely aware of the little newcomer, even if her mind wasn't.

"Don't worry, little one. We'll be fine."


	155. Chapter 155

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Five

Grissom lay in bed, simply watching her sleep. He didn't touch her. How could he touch her now after what he had done to her? She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; a brilliant star in a dark night sky. But he had dimmed that star today with his inability to convey his feelings regarding the news that they were going to have a baby. He knew she believed he wasn't pleased about the pregnancy. That wasn't so. He had been given another opportunity at something he never thought he'd have in his life. No, it wasn't that. His dark thoughts came when he thought about when she became pregnant. Not that it ever occurred to him this time that she could have been unfaithful to him. Foolishly, he had briefly accused her of that with her first pregnancy. No, he wasn't concerned with her faithfulness; he was concerned with his.

He watched as she lay on her side, her lips parted slightly as she breathed in the life-sustaining oxygen that kept their child alive and held her hand protectively over her abdomen. Already protecting the child–from what? From him perhaps? From the danger his inconsiderate actions could cause if she ever found out.

He clamped his eyes closed, not able to look at her.

"Heather, would you stay?"

Sara had been pregnant with his child before she left Vegas.

"Heather, would you stay?"

Sara had been pregnant when she sent the video email to him.

"Heather, would you stay?"

Sara had been carrying his child when he had lain with Heather in his arms.

"Heather, would you stay?"

His eyes grew heavy and dry and he pressed his thumb and forefinger to them. Sleep overcame him quickly after that and didn't release him easily. He was back at the clinic, standing in the reception area as he looked around at the emptiness of the waiiting room. Everything was so quiet and dim, almost as if there was a fog inside the room. The door that lead down the hallway to the examining room opened and Grissom saw the figure standing before him. He was of his height and coloring with medium to light brown hair that curled on his head as if there was no feasible way of taming the hair. "Funny," he thought, "I used to have that problem when I was younger." Then the recognition began to hit him.

"You! I know you!" Grissom said to the young man.

"I don't think so," the man said to him with a chuckle. "I don't think you know me at all."

"You're Christopher! I remember you from the hospital–after Sara's abduction!"

"That was a tough time for everyone."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just checking," he said and he started walking down the hall toward the door at the end. "Sometimes I just need to check on things."

"Things?" Grissom snapped. The kid had the ability to irritate him just as easily as he had that day in the hospital. "What "things" do you need to check up on?"

"It looks like your conscience is getting the best of you." He continued walking toward the door that seemed to be getting farther and farther away from them.

"My conscience is fine."

"Really?" The boy looked at him with a smile. "Is that why you're not able to even touch the woman you say you love?"

"I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do. Are you going to keep them to yourself?"

"I–I need to let Sara know."

"Why? Because you're feeling guilty?" Christopher opened the door that they finally approached and held it for Grissom. "Do you think that will do her any good now?"

"She has the right to know."

"She has the right to happiness." Christopher gestured toward the bed against the wall. "Your conscience can wait, can't it? Or are you going to let "her" win again?"

The scream tore the silence in half, snapping Grissom's attention to Sara as she lay on the examining table and blood dripped onto the floor.

"No!" Sara screamed. "Not again!"

"Sara!" Grissom tried to rush to her side, but a woman dressed in black stepped in front of him. He didn't even think she was aware of his presence as she reached for Sara and took a bundle from the end of the bed. Grissom didn't have to look inside to know it was a baby wrapped inside of a sheet. A dead baby. The woman laughed and the sound was familiar to him.

"No! You can't take this one!" Sara sobbed at the woman, but the woman didn't show any compassion as she started to walk out of the room.

Grissom grabbed for the woman, knowing he had to get the baby back for Sara as well as himself. He spun her around and Heather's face shot before his eyes like a camera's flashbulb, then she was gone. Grissom was blinded by the explosion of light then he was left in darkness. He looked around the room, searching for Sara, even searching for Christopher. There was no one. He was alone.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Christopher!" Sara called joyfully as she walked up to the young man. "Look at you! It's so good to see you!"

He smiled at her and took her hand in his. "How have you been, Sara?"

"I'm good. I'm good. I'm fine."

"And that means. . ." Christopher raised a brow at her as they started to walk together down the path with purple irises and pansies, maroon peonies, orange marigolds and red roses on either side. "Well. Things are looking up now, aren't they?"

Sara chuckled at the boy. He always seemed to read her like a book. It was good to have him back again. She had missed him. "They may be."

"I saw that your good Dr. Grissom has finally found his way to you."

"Yes. I suppose he has."

"But?" He asked and when she looked up at him he added. "It sounded as if there was a "but" tagged onto the end of that sentence."

"But. . .I'm not sure "why" he's here. I'm trying to add two and two but it isn't coming up to four."

"Ah, I'm not very good with math," he told her as he patted her hand. "So what if it doesn't come up to four? Life isn't about math, Sara. Why don't you just accept it at face value and go on from here. You've got a lot to look forward to."

"I do," she beamed at him. "Don't I?"

"Yeah," he laughed at her happiness. "You do."

"Are you saying it's going to be easy from now on?"

"Me?" He laughed again. "That would be a stupid thing to say, now wouldn't it? No, not easy. . .life isn't easy. . .but it's. . . enjoyable. So–enjoy it!"

"I'll try." She looked more closely at him. "I'm glad you're back, Christopher."

"I never went away. Couldn't you feel me?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I felt you."

"You're going to be very happy now, Sara." He stopped and reached down and placed his hand on her abdomen. "You're not going to need me anymore. You've got someone else to take care of now."

"Don't go," she said as she reached for his beautiful face and when she touched it, it began to fade into the mist until she knew he was gone.

She roused from her sleep and when she woke she felt a strange loneliness. She looked across the bed and saw Grissom lying there sleeping. She didn't remember her dream so couldn't explain the loss she felt; it was absolutely senseless. She got up from the bed and moved to the window, looking outside as the moonlight shone brightly on a young couple who were holding hands on the patio. Gradually, the emptiness began to dissipate and she felt a warmth growing inside of her. She looked down at her slightly protruding abdomen and smiled. She merely thought she was gaining weight. Well, she'd be gaining weight now, wouldn't she? She imagined herself incredibly fat with her child, unable to bend to tie her boots anymore, unable to get out of a chair without a crowbar to pop her out, and her hand rubbed the area that housed her child. Everything was going to be fine now.

Sara heard the groaning coming from behind her and turned in time to see Grissom turning onto his side then onto his back again with a violent jerk.

"No!" His eyes snapped open and he looked around in a frenzy. "Sara!"

Sara walked to where the moon seeped through the window onto Grissom's body and she placed her hand on his chest. He jumped in startled surprise then looked up at her.

"Gil?" She said gently, hoping to calm him from his bad dream. "Are you alright?"

"Sara!" She barely had time to register that he had her wrist before she was pulled down on top of him and he was turning with her until he was half-lying on her. "Sara! Are you alright?"

She smiled at him, feeling the new contentment flowing through her veins as she looked into those magnificent eyes of his. "I'm fine. You don't sound so good, though. Did you have a nightmare? Do you want to talk about it?"

"I–I don't know. I mean, I don't remember the dream. I just know I was looking for you and couldn't find you."

"You found me," she smiled brightly at him again as her hand came up and caressed his beard. "You've hit the jackpot this time. Two for the price of one."

She watched as a smile slowly spread across his lips, easing the worry from him as he looked down at her. "I don't know about the "price of one" part of the deal. I have a feeling I'm going to be paying dearly in about five months for impregnating you. I know your temper, my dear. I think perhaps I should watch the delivery of our child from the opposite end of the delivery room."

"Don't bet on it. You're going to be right there, holding my hand or I'll make "you" do it."

"Me?" He chuckled. "I thought I already taught you about the birds and the bees, Sara Sidle. The female gets impregnated, nurtures the child, delivers it, feeds it, changes its diapers, and cleans up any other bodily fluids that it should decide to share with you.. The male impregnates the female, goes for a smoke, drinks a few beers, watches baseball on the television, then when the baby is old enough to sit up on its own, the male will bring a baseball into the room and start teaching it how to throw and catch."

She couldn't stop the huge lump in her throat as she watched him. She began stroking the sides of his face as she reached up and kissed his lips gently, then leaned back again to watch him. "So, Dr. Grissom, does this mean you're beginning to "wrap your head around it?"

"Well," he smirked as he moved his leg higher on her and across her body then leaned more fully on her. "Just so we're clear on this, it's not only my "head" that I'm wrapping around it."

She giggled as she looked at his eyes that had gone from fear to something very closely resembling joy in a matter of moments. "We're okay with this, aren't we? I mean, it certainly wasn't expected, but we're okay."

He dropped his eyes as he took one of her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. "My dear, I'm more than okay with it. And I think if we are careful and watch things very closely, everything should turn out fine."

She hesitated a moment. "But what about my age, Gil? I'm not a young girl anymore."

His brows raised as he looked at her. "Are we questioning your ability to keep up with a child? You've got more energy than most women half your age."

"That would be an 18-year-old, Gil. I don't think I can compete with an 18-year-old."

"Oh, I don't know. Have you seen society's 18-year-olds these days? I have no doubt that you're going to be a spectacular mother, Sara."

"Well," she looked properly embarrassed by his compliment. "Thanks, but I was talking about the chances of something going wrong with the pregnancy. You know there's a high risk of abnormalities in pregnancies with older women."

"Sara, my grandmother had my father when she was 42 years old. She produced a brilliant son. My mother's mother was in her late thirties when she became pregnant with her. Seventy or eighty years ago, it wasn't uncommon for women to have their last children while in their forties. Everything is going to be fine."

She lifted her head again and kissed his neck to which he moaned his desire, but instead of responding any farther, he turned onto his side next to her. He moved his hand to her hip and pulled her until she was facing him, then he let his fingers stroke the sensitive skin of her waist. He glanced up at her eyes only once then looked down toward where his hand played with her skin again.

"Gil?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is there something wrong?"

"No!" He quickly looked at her eyes again. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just more tired than I expected. I think maybe we should try to get some rest and then figure out what we're going to do tomorrow about going back to camp. Maybe we should stay in town for another few days. It will give you a chance to rest before taking that six-hour drive."

"Alright," she said slowly as she watched him lean back into his pillow and pull her against him in an invitation to use his chest or shoulder to lie against.

She complied and took his hand in hers, but noticed that even though they didn't acknowledge it, neither fell back to sleep very easily.


	156. Chapter 156

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Six

Grissom was up before the morning sun and he spent a good portion of that time watching Sara sleep. If he came to any conclusions the past two weeks, it was that he was not going to risk Sara's pregnancy. If she ever found out . . . Oh, God, if she ever found out. . . He'd never be able to face her again if she found out and it caused her to lose the baby.

"Gil," Sara mumbled. "Stop it."

He couldn't tell if she were awake or not as she barely moved from where she lay on her side with her eyes closed.

"Stop what, honey?"

"Lying there worrying. If you worry–then I worry. So, stop it."

"I'm not worrying." He turned toward her and pulled her up against his chest. "I'm just–awake."

"And worrying." She took his hand that he had resting on her arm and moved it down until it was on her abdomen that was bulging slightly. "Do something more productive."

"Such as?"

"Such as getting the boat ready so we can go take the pictures we need for Matthew's submission."

"If it's Matthew's submission, then why can't Matthew get the pictures?"

"Because Matthew is out in the field where I was supposed to be, but can't be because I now have to stick closer to camp because "you" don't want me too far away from transportation back to the clinic."

"Then, I'll go get the boat ready for a trip down-river so we can get pictures for Matthew," Grissom agreed, knowing he would rather do that than risk having Sara too far from camp. He lay still until he heard Sara softly chuckling.

"You're not getting very far with that project."

"You didn't say I had to do it right away."

"I think you're getting lazy, Dr. Grissom."

"I think you're right," he smiled against her hair.

"Keep talking, I think someone hears you."

"Who?"

"Junior in here. He's fluttering around like a little humming bird."

"You can feel him?" Grissom leaned up on his elbow and looked down at her. She turned onto her back and smiled up at him, then nodded her head. "How long have you been able to feel him?"

"Or her," Sara corrected. "I wasn't sure yesterday, but when it kept going on through last night and this morning, I figure it's in there dancing up a storm. A regular little Ginger Rogers."

"Or Fred Astaire."

"Or Fred Astaire," she agreed with a twinkle in her eyes. "Are you going to stay here all morning? I thought you were going to go get a boat ready."

"I'm going," he sighed then turned and got up from the bed. He dressed as Sara got up and did the same. He watched as she stretched and moved past him with a quick kiss on the lips as she went by.

Within the hour, they were sitting in a boat with a lunch Sara had packed and the camera needed for Matthew's journal submission. Grissom rowed them in various locations in search for the tropical birds Matthew was featuring this week but after two and a half hours, they both decided that it was time to take a break. The area was rather secluded; a pool about the size of a small pond with trees surrounding it almost completely. Grissom thought it would be a good place to eat and take a breather. The small lunch of a banana, salad and diet-lemonade went down leisurely as they faced one another in the boat, but Grissom couldn't ignore the lingering gazes he was receiving from the opposite end. He knew he had been neglecting her since they found out about the pregnancy two weeks before, and he really couldn't explain why, other than not wanting to hurt her or the chances of a successful pregnancy. But, deep down, he couldn't ignore the nagging thought of touching her and having memories of a night spent in Las Vegas. Granted, he had made love to Sara quite thoroughly the first few days back and there definitely was no thoughts of the cat-eyed woman he had lain with in Nevada, but that was before he found out Sara was carrying his child. There was a grain of suspicion that deep inside he felt he would be somehow tarnishing their relationship, the creation of their child, if he were to touch her again. Grissom was an intelligent man; a highly intelligent man, and he knew these thoughts were absolutely absurd–but still they remained.

Slowly, she got up and moved in front of him, lowering herself until she was leaning back against him. He held his arms around her casually, occasionally letting his fingers go through a few of her curls, as they watched two monkeys chasing one another at the top of a tree. They remained there, floating peacefully as he would point out different moths or insects that seemed a bit unusual. She seemed to be listening intently for over half an hour, and that was when she turned her head slightly and kissed the inside of his thigh. He became completely still for a moment, then tried to go on as if nothing had happened. But evidently Sara was having none of it as she maneuvered herself until she was kneeling between his legs, opened his shirt and leaned forward to start a trail of kisses from his chest, down over his abdomen. When she reached for his belt, he covered her hands with his and pulled them away, bringing her gaze immediately up to his face.

"It's about time we head back, don't you think? You've got enough pictures and they might worry if we're too late getting back."

"You're kidding–right?"

"No, not at all." He reached for the ores as she pulled her hands away from him. "We wouldn't want to be out here too long."

"What is wrong with you?" She asked and he knew he was hanging by a thin thread.

"Nothing, Darling," he tried as he began to ore, but she grabbed onto the long sticks and held them in place. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Fine! Then what's wrong with "me?"

"You're probably just tired."

"My being tired doesn't make "you" not want to touch me!"

"I was "touching you". I was just "holding" you."

"You know what I mean."

"Sara," he sighed. "I don't think this is a very good time to get into this discussion."

"Really?" She got up, tilting the boat wildly as she stomped back to the other end. "Just when do you think a good time would be? While we're back at camp surrounded by everyone?"

"There's really nothing to discuss."

"Then make love to me!" She turned and scowled at him.

"Right," he patronized. "I don't think so."

"I don't think so, either!"

"I meant. . ."

"I know exactly what you meant!" She sat down and nearly tipped the boat again. "You meant the same thing you've been meaning since you found out I was pregnant." She dropped her voice to a mumble. "I think you've got some kind of perverse attitude toward pregnant women."

"What?" He asked quietly as he eyed her closely.

"You! If I would've known you had this "Holy Madonna" thing, I would never have. . ."

"You would never have, what, Sara? Gotten pregnant? Become involved with me? "Insisted" on having a relationship with me for the past ten years?"

"Insisted! Gotten pregnant! Are you saying I did it on purpose?"

"No! And that isn't the point! I don't know what the hell you're talking about–a Holy Madonna thing!"

"You can't perform now that you know I'm pregnant, can you?" She asked as she eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm sure I could perform perfectly well. Did you ever stop to think that I don't want to risk the pregnancy? Maybe I'm abstaining for "your" good!"

"My good, my ass! I'm past the risk of miscarriage and you know it." She turned her back to him. "Just go. I might as well go back to camp. It makes no difference whether we're by ourselves in a secluded area or surrounded by eight other people." She looked over her shoulder at him. "But tell me this–if you don't want anything to do with me–why in the hell did you come to Costa Rica?"

"I never said I didn't want anything to do with you."

"You didn't say you did, either. You're not the first man to suffer from the Madonna syndrome. You can't get it up anymore when a woman is carrying your child. Well, guess what–it doesn't stop there. It turns out they can't bring themselves to do anything after the child is born, either. It's a maternal fixation." She turned around again to face the front of the boat. "So, just row, or give the ores to me and I'll do it. I want to get back to camp and enjoy the company."

"What do you want me to do, Sara?" He asked sarcastically. "Just service you at the drop of a hat?"

"You can just service yourself for all I care," she remarked just as sarcastically.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I'm not waiting around to see "if" you can manage to get an erection."

He stared at the back of her and let her words wash over him. She wasn't waiting. . . His frustration over the past few weeks seemed to collide with their angry words and he was on his feet before he even realized it. He took her beneath the arms and pulled her to her feet and turned her to face him. They stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity but was only a fraction of a second before his mouth came down onto hers. He held her face to him as she tried to turn away and when she started to object, he thrust his tongue between her lips. He felt her grab onto his shirt in an attempt to push him away, but as his tongue slid over hers and he listened to her moan, her pushing turned into a frantic attempt to remove his shirt which he obliged by letting go of her and twisting his shoulders until the article of clothing was lying half in and half out of the boat. They stopped to stare at one another again, almost as if in shock at their reactions to one another, then he was kissing her again as his hands made easy work of removing her shirt.

All of a sudden two weeks worth of lying next to this beautiful woman knotted in his belly and he couldn't get enough of her. He quickly took one of her nipples into his mouth, licking and biting then sucking as if he were starving for the taste of her. She cradled his head against her as his hands moved lower and opened her pants then shoved them down over her hips. He dropped to his knees and started tugging on her pants. When he had them pushed down around her ankles, he yanked her boots off then tore the pants from her as well.

His mouth moved off of her luscious breasts, breasts that were larger than he remembered, and traveled down to her stomach. His hands clamped onto her waist and pulled her down until she was seated in front of him and without missing a beat, his hunger drove him to lower his kisses until he was tasting the sweet nectar that he knew to be uniquely Sara. She cried out upon first contact as his tongue slid up the length of her, then his only concern was satisfying a yearning that overpowered him. He held her hips tightly, bruising her tender skin with his fingers as he moved her to where he could access her the easiest and when he started to pump his two fingers inside of her he almost immediately felt her muscles clamping down around them. Their intensity was so consuming that he really wasn't aware of where they were on the boat anymore as he moved his tongue and lips to her hardened nub then heard her loud, guttural panting and the repeated calling out of his name.

He was on his knees in an instant, his hands doing what she had started earlier as he opened his pants and shoved them down over his hips. He lifted her legs and pressed inside of her so quickly that she gasped at the intrusion. His mouth was on hers again, intermittently kissing her as he spoke words that seemed to spill from him.

"God, Sara! I've wanted you so badly. I was afraid I'd hurt you. But I'm not. Please, tell me I'm not."

"Gil!"

His hips were thrusting into her and he felt on fire for her, pistoning into her sheath as he clutched onto her shoulders and continued kissing her.

"I didn't want to make you hurt any more, can't you see?" His mouth continued to mate with hers even as she cried out his name again and again. "Jesus, God, I've wanted you!"

He came in hard spasms as he thrust into her, hearing his name each time but not considering what she was actually saying.

"Gil! Stop!"

Her words hit him like a hammer as he released himself into her with one final push and he realized what she was trying to say, but it was too late; the boat was capsizing and tossing them over the edge. He reached for Sara as he came up but she was trying to make her way back to the boat.

"Sara, stay still."

"No! Gil! The boat tipped! It'll sink!"

"No, it wont." He reached out and grabbed onto the contraption and floated next to it. "See. Even if it were to break up in pieces, it wouldn't sink. They're made that way. Come on, lets get back to the shore. I'll explain it later."

He swam, towing the boat and making sure Sara was holding on as well, then as he walked out of the water and had to grab onto his pants that were a sopping mass of material around his knees, he heard her gigging in front of him. He picked up her clothing that was floating nearby and put them on the shore as he moved until he was looking down to where she was now lying, gazing up at him through laughing eyes.

"You did that on purpose!" He said, suddenly realizing what she had been doing.

He dropped down next to her as he sat facing the water. She got to her knees and moved up behind him, draping her arms around him as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"What? Tip the boat? That was all you, Superman! I tried to warn you that we were tipping but you wouldn't listen."

"Yeah, well, I was rather busy at the time." He turned his head to look at her. "And no, I wasn't talking about the boat. I was talking about the "Madonna syndrome thing." You said all that to piss me off. You did it on purpose, hoping to get a rise out of me."

"It worked, didn't it?" She giggled as she kissed his lips. "Anyway, I had to do something. You evidently needed some kind of catalyst to push you past this fear you had of injuring me or the baby. I must say I didn't expect you to flip us into the water though. That was a nice touch."

"Liked that, did ya?" He gave her a tiny smile.

"Hmm. You showed quite a bit of savoir-faire when that happened."

He chuckled at her and took hold of her hands, pulling her around until she was next to him, but facing him. He leaned back until he was lying on the ground, then pulled her down with him.

"I bet I could show you some more."


	157. Chapter 157

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Seven

Grissom sat on the opposite side of the examining table than the ultrasound screen. He barely looked at the doctor as he held Sara's hand.

"I see you've been keeping your diabetes well under control," Dr. Martinez said as he spread gel over Sara's abdomen. "So before we start this, do you want to know the sex of this little package?"

"No!" They both said in unison, then Sara added. "We're going to wait, so when you get to that area, could you turn the screen? We have a pretty good idea what to look for and I'd rather not know."

Dr. Martinez nodded his head. "So how long do you plan to stay in Costa Rica? Am I going to be delivering this baby?"

"We're not sure." Grissom moved his chair closer to the table as he watched the features of a 20-week fetus appearing before their eyes. "There's a chance. . ."

The doctor smiled silently as he noted that the scientist was rendered speechless as he looked at his child. Together they watched as legs and arms were measured. They watched the heart beat and then the doctor turned the screen for a few moments before turning it back.

"It looks like you've got a thumb-sucker," he told them as the image of the baby's head, chest and arm appeared, clearly with it's hand at its mouth.

Sara looked at its tiny nose and could feel herself tearing up. She tried not to think this way but she couldn't stop the thought of her first baby having had the opportunity that this one had. The "if onlys" were immense and each time she would fight to avoid thinking about it. It did no good rehashing the worst part of her relationship with Grissom. They're starting out new. From the moment she conceived this child it was a new beginning for them and nothing could take that away from her.

They continued watching their child and when it was over, they were given printouts of it from different angles.

"Would you like to make an appointment for next month?" Dr. Martinez asked as he walked them to the waiting area. "Will you still be with us that long?"

"Yes. We'll still be here," Grissom told him. "Do you foresee any reason we should leave early?"

"At this point, everything is looking fine. You've got a healthy baby in there; a healthy mama. We'll wait and see how it goes the closer she comes to delivery. Who knows, she might be so uncomfortable by then that she'll want nothing more than to return to the United States and hide in an air conditioned house until she goes into labor." He looked at Sara. "You're halfway there. What are you going to do to celebrate?"

"Um," she said as she glanced over at Grissom with a small smile. "Get married , I think."

"Really?" The doctor asked as he gave an amused laugh. "Well, good luck with that. I'll leave you to your nuptials then and I'll see you in four weeks."

After scheduling her next appointment, Grissom and Sara walked out of the building and he immediately took her hand in his. He looked over at her as they walked and Sara thought she had never seen him look more adorable. His smile was mostly in his eyes, but played at his lips as well.

"What?" She laughed at him.

"He's going to look like you."

"Oh, how would you know that? The image was clear, but not "that" clear. Anyway, I didn't suck my thumb."

"What makes you think "I" did?" His brows raised as he looked at her. "I have you know I was the model of a perfect child."

"Just because she sucks her thumb doesn't mean she isn't perfect too," she smiled.

"Of course he's perfect. I told you, he's going to look like you and "act" like you. Perfection."

She smiled shyly at him as they walked into the hotel where they found Charlie and Ted sitting on the patio, sipping sangria and tequila. Charlie stood up immediately and came to Sara's side.

"Hey! How'd it go?" Charlie asked, then Sara handed her the printouts. "Ahhh. Look, Ted! Isn't it beautiful?"

Ted looked at the paper the girl was holding and wrinkled his brow, not understanding how beautiful an ultrasound of a baby could be. It was just a bunch of shadows and light. Nothing very distinct about it at all.

"Yeah," he said dully but sounding as if he didn't want to hurt Sara's or Grissom's feelings. "It's a great-looking kid."

"Ted, don't be so sour. It's beautiful," Charlie told him then put her arm through Sara's and started walking her toward the front of the hotel.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" Sara asked.

"You and I are going to pick up your boots at the post office. Remember? You sent for them after you "somehow" lost one of your pairs in the river two weeks ago. Anyway, I'm expecting a package too."

"Charlie," Sara objected. "I'm getting married in less than two hours. Can't the boots wait for later?"

"No! Absolutely not! I need to pick up my packages because . . . because. . ." Charlie looked helplessly at Ted.

"Because she ordered a dress to wear to your wedding," Ted spoke up. "You better go with her so she can get it, Sara. If I have to listen to her complaining another night because she hasn't worn anything to distinguish that she's a girl. . ."

"Woman!" Charlie spoke up.

"Woman," Ted said with a roll of his eyes. "Well, all she's been doing lately is complaining about wanting to be able to wear a dress to your wedding. Unless you want to start bunking with her again and let Grissom bunk with me, then I suggest you do it so she shuts up."

"That's right," Charlie said as she looked very seriously at Sara as they started walking out of the hotel. "He isn't kidding. I can really get on his nerves at night. He says all I do is talk, talk, talk! Then he usually gets really mad and leaves the tent until after I fall asleep."

"Gil?" Sara called over her shoulder and watched as Grissom took a seat with Ted. He waved in acknowledgment of her trip to the post office so she turned back toward Charlie. "Charlie, what are you up to?"

"Nothing."

"You don't need a dress to feel feminine. You're so feminine I think every man in the hotel was checking you out."

"A girl always needs something feminine to wear–and anyway. . .the only one who I want checking me out is busy talking to "your" husband-to-be!"

Sara didn't argue as she went along with her young friend to pick up a package that was a familiar on-line store, and three boxes, one of which Sara knew was her boots.

"Come on, I want to show you my new shoes," Charlie said and headed back to the hotel.

"You got shoes, too?"

"Of course, you can't wear a dress without the proper shoes, can you?"

As they approached the patio, Sara looked for the two men but didn't see either one. She was about to inquire about them but Charlie was in too much of a hurry to get up to her room so she could show her the dress and heels she had ordered.

"Yes, they're very nice," Sara told her, wishing she could simply go back to her and Grissom's room and put her feet up for a few minutes before they were to go to exchange vows. But after looking at the black heeled sandals that would fit Charlie, the girl opened the other box and pulled out a pair of daintily strapped sandals of ivory with the same height heel in Sara's size. "Charlie, I don't need a pair of heels."

"Well, you're just going to have to take them because Grissom said not to let you wear those boots to get married in." Charlie went to the closet and pulled out a piece of clothing wrapped in plastic.

"And why not? There's nothing wrong with these boots."

"Because he said they won't go with the dress he bought for you last month." Charlie giggled at Sara's wide eyes as she pulled off the plastic garment bag to reveal the ivory muslin dress she had admired during their last visit. Her hand came up to her mouth as she stared at it then she looked at Charlie who was beaming at her. "He is such a romantic! Why can't Ted be more like him."

The comment made Sara laugh. If she only knew!

It took Charlie an hour to make up Sara to her satisfaction, fixing her hair so the curls fell just so and then after completing with their wardrobes, Charlie went to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bouquet of purple irises. Also, she was informed, picked out by Grissom before their visit to the doctor. When asked where Grissom and Ted were, Charlie told her they were at the magistrate's office already, waiting for the two of them to arrive.

Sara looked into the mirror before she left and couldn't believe the picture she presented. She truly looked enchanting with a soft glow about her and the slight roundness of her tummy only accentuated the sight. Together the two women walked down the street and into the office where the two men stood, waiting for them. Ted in a blue suit and Grissom in black with white shirt. She never thought he looked more handsome as he watched her walking toward him and the way he was looking at her made her felt like his queen.

"You look lovely, m'dear," Grissom reached for her hand and pulled her up next to him and she suddenly could smell the alcohol he had consumed.

"Wow," came Ted's response as he stood on the other side of Grissom, staring at Charlie as she wore an emerald dress that hugged her figure as her long auburn hair fell in wave after wave well past her shoulders. The addition of make-up was something he wasn't used to seeing at the campsite and Sara could see the difference in his reaction to her friend.

"Thank you," Charlie said with a giggle as she stood on the other side of Sara.

"Grissom," Sara said very quietly as she looked at how he seemed to sway just the slightest bit. "How much did you drink while I was gone?"

"I–needed something to–calm my nerves and Dr. Yost suggested we take the bottle of tequila up to our room while we got dressed. Clever man, Dr. Yost."

"Wow," came Ted's response again in a hushed tone as he stood next to Grissom but leaned back to look around him at Charlie's posterior.

"Ah man!" Charlie said as she very nearly stomped her foot with frustration. "Are they drunk?"

"I–am–inebriated," Grissom said to her with a raised brow. "I am not "drunk."

"I am," Ted smiled at her. "Damn, Charlie. You look–different."

"Yeah," she said glumly. "Too bad you'll never remember it once you sober up."

"Charlie! I got a idea! Let's get married too!" He was around Grissom and Sara in an instant as he put his hands on Charlie's waist and spun her around to face him.

"We can't get married, ya fool! First of all, ya have to wait a month, and second–you're smashed!" She started pushing his hands off of her hips. "Now let go of me and go stand next to Dr. Grissom."

"Who says ya gotta wait a month? Tell her Grissom! Tell her we don't have to wait a month and we can get married too because we're special." His hands were on her hips again as he pulled her tightly against him, but still Charlie pushed against him.

Sara watched as Charlie closely resembled the black cat that somehow got a stripe of white paint down her back and was being heavily pursued by the skunk, Pepe le Pew. Grissom simply glanced at them for a fraction of a second before looking back at Sara with that stare that told her he wanted, very badly, to be alone with her right now.

"Ya have to wait a month," Grissom said absently. "I'm done waiting. Sara, you are the most amazing thing I've ever laid eyes on."

She wasn't sure she liked being referred to as a "thing," but she nodded at his compliment before looking back at Ted and Charlie as Charlie finally removed his hands from her behind and ushered him back to the other side of Grissom.

"I told you! You have to wait a month! Now get where you're supposed to be!" Charlie hurried back over to the left side of Sara, straightened her dress, then smiled at the magistrate. "Okay. I'm ready."

The magistrate looked at her then back to Sara and Grissom who were now standing with Grissom's arms around her as he continued to gaze into her eyes.

"When I look at you, it's like a work of art. Your eyes can make me drop to my knees and thank God you've granted me the privilege of being in your life. I had never known what life was truly like until the day you walked into my lecture, and even then, I only got a taste. You opened my eyes to what a complete life is, making me whole and not allowing me to be only a shell of a man anymore. I want to wake up every morning with you lying next to me. I want you to walk by my side as I travel down the road of our lives. You enhance me. You are my life."

The magistrate leaned close to Charlie and whispered, "Was that his vows? He's supposed to wait to say it."

"I don't think so," she whispered back and wiped a tear from her cheek as she watched Grissom and Sara. "But it certainly was beautiful, wasn't it?"

"Si. Si." The magistrate nodded his head in agreement as he looked back at the couple he was supposed to be marrying.

Sara forced herself to look away from Grissom's intense gaze. By God, but he had to be the sexiest thing she had ever seen in her whole life! Just wait until she gets him back to their room! Damn! The things she was going to do to him!

"Excuse me," Sara said to the magistrate. "Could we begin, please?"

"Si. Si." He coughed to clear his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today. . ."

"Charlie?" Ted's voice weakened as he suddenly dropped to his knees then fell onto his back.

Grissom glanced down at the man who had fainted next to him.

"Goddammit, Ted!" Charlie stomped her foot this time.

Grissom looked back at the magistrate. "Go ahead. He's okay."

He coughed again. "Dearly beloved, we are. . ."

"We already did that part," Sara told him. "Could we move it along?"

"Honey?" Grissom held onto her hand very tightly. "I think I drank the worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle."

"I'm so happy for you," she said then looked back at the magistrate. "Can we simplify this as much as possible? Down to the bare essentials?"

He nodded his head. "Are there rings?"

"He's got 'em," Grissom tilted his head toward Ted, bringing an angry huff from Charlie as she quickly went to the man and dug them out of his pocket.

"Go ahead. Here are the rings." She handed Sara's to Grissom and Grissom's to Sara.

"Alright. Please repeat after me, Senor. Grissom. With this ring, I thee wed. . ."

"I'm giving you this as a token of my love for you, for as a ring is unending, so is my devotion to you, my dear." Grissom slid Sara's ring onto her finger.

"Okay, that will work too. Senorita Sidle. . ."

"Wear this ring as a token of my love for you, but know that my love for you is greater than any token can ever signify. You complete me, Gil."

"Um. . ." The magistrate looked a little lost but went on as best as he could. "Senor Grissom, can you repeat after me this time?"

Grissom barely acknowledged the much shorter man. "I, Gilbert Grissom, am taking you as my wife, my lover and my best friend."

"Senorita Sidle, do you accept Senor Grissom's vow?"

"I do. I, Sara Sidle, am taking you as my husband, my heart, my body and my soul."

"Senor Grissom . . ."

"I do."

"Then by the power. . ." He started.

"Charlie?" Ted moaned as he started to rouse. "Charlie?"

"Quiet, Ted! They're almost done!"

The magistrate sighed deeply then quickly added. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may. . ." But Grissom already had Sara in his arms and was kissing her soundly. "Ah, nuts. Sign the papers, pay my secretary and you're done. I'm going home."


	158. Chapter 158

A/N: I just wanted to step in here a minute and tell everyone about my recent trip to Chicago where, once I arrived there, I was left stranded with my family without a means of transportation. The auto rental company I had booked failed to accommodate us. We were in a pinch, and rather frightened and upset at that point, until we were referred to a very small car rental company who "might" agree to do business with us. Needless to say, the larger business was put on our shit-list, but I must tell you that the small company stepped up to the plate and gave us exceptional service when they didn't have to. They took care of our every need to perfection. I left a tiny hint at the name of this agency in this chapter. If anyone would like more information on this remarkable company that is just starting out, don't hesitate to email me.

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Eight

When they returned to the hotel the men proceeded to drink several more shots of tequila then promptly went upstairs where Grissom flopped onto his and Sara's bed while Ted managed to slip past an irate Charlie and passed out on her bed despite her objections that she didn't want a "drunk" in her midst.

"Why do I only get them when they're passed-out drunk?" Charlie stood in her doorway with her hands on her hips, then sighed as she looked back at Sara. "Oh well, good night, Sara. Next wedding, we're hiding the alcohol."

Sara closed her room's door as she watched Charlie do the same, then went back to where Grissom was leaning against the headboard with his legs sprawled down the length of the bed. He still had his jacket on, but open, his tie was missing (she wasn't sure where he had placed that, or even when he took it off–it had to have been when she went to use the restroom and he was deep in a debate with Ted over who was the overall better team, the Chicago Cubs or Philadelphia Phillies. Neither won the argument.) His white shirt was opened to reveal a good portion of his chest.

His eyes were on her with such an intensity that it made her knees feel weak as she walked toward him. He watched as she untied his shiny black shoes then pulled them off. Next she pulled the black socks that remained. She moved up and sat next to his hip and pushed his jacket over his shoulders then pulled it from his arms, tossing it onto a neighboring chair. But when she went for his shirt, he covered her hand with his.

"Now, it's my turn," he said in a voice that seeped sexuality.

She smiled gently at him as he urged her to her feet, then got up and stood in front of her. His hands slid up the length of her arms so gently that she felt the hair rise on them. When he got to her shoulders, he moved on to the back of her neck and pulled her close where his lips met hers and he nibbled and caressed them. His right hand went behind her and lowered the zipper on the dress as his kiss moved down the side of her neck and then he was stepping around her without releasing his hold. When he stood behind her his left hand moved to the front where it held her securely, holding on to the bump that was growing. He moved his kisses onto her shoulder as he used his right hand to push the dress off of them, then he stood erect and took a step away from her.

"My God, Sara, you are a goddess," he breathed as he watched her standing before him in her ivory heels and matching lace bra and panties.

She put her hand on her protruding abdomen and although it wasn't even the size of a cantaloupe yet, she felt self-conscious about it. But he would have none of that as he took her hand and pulled it away, his gaze scanned over her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. He took her hand and gracefully escorted her until she was sitting on the bed where he knelt on the floor before her. Tenderly lifting her foot, he pulled the shoe off then duplicated the procedure with its mate. He placed his hands on her ankles and slowly slid them up her calves as he looked at her with a crooked smile and when he got to her knees, he gave a sudden tug and parted them. She inhaled deeply as he moved himself until he was on his knees against her then lowered her until she was lying on the mattress. She closed her eyes in anticipation as he gently kissed her knee then moved up to her thigh and on to her hip. But when he kept moving upward and stopped directly over her abdomen, her eyes opened in sudden curiosity.

"Hello, in there, Baby Grissom," Grissom's voice reverberated against her skin, causing a tickling sensation run through her. "Where were you when I needed you, huh? I'm in a heated argument about the Cubs and you scamper off with your mom to the bathroom. I could've used you for back-up, ya know."

The realization that Grissom was in the middle of a conversation with their child brought a smile to her lips, then when he kissed the area and blew a raspberry against her skin, she couldn't help but laugh.

"See? See how your mom treats me? Here I am, trying to show her a very memorable wedding night, and she's laughing at me."

"Is that your idea of a memorable wedding night? Blowing raspberries against my stomach?" She asked as she raised herself onto her elbows.

Grissom looked up at her with his most adorable smile curving his lips and a twinkle in his eye. "You'll never forget it, will you?" He looked back to her stomach. "I think she's getting jealous because I'm paying more attention to you than her. Maybe you should take a nap now, and I'll go spend some "mommy time"with her. Deal?"

Sara moved herself back on the bed until she was fully on top of it and watched as Grissom put his hands and knees on each side of her and slowly crawled up until he bent his head to meet her in a brief kiss. She slid her hands inside his shirt and up over his chest as his blue eyes absorbed her inside of them.

"A little overdressed?" She asked with a raised brow and he simply smiled and turned onto his back next to her.

She leaned over and he turned his face into her kiss as she leisurely began plucking the remaining buttons and tugging the shirt out of his pants. He worked on his belt, then his button and zipper and soon his clothing was hanging open on him but instead of removing them, he turned more fully to her and continued their kiss. Sara gloried in the sensations he was creating as his fingertips brailed her from her face town to over her throat and shoulders, over her arm and hip, back over her abdomen where he seemed to pause before continuing up over her breasts and back to her face again.

When she felt herself beginning to tremble, she moved to his shirt and pushed it off of his shoulder, and off his arm. She moved her kiss from his lips, over his beard and on to his throat and shoulders. He momentarily propped himself up as he removed the shirt the rest of the way, then lay back down in silent invitation to continue her exploration. She tasted him, nibbling at the muscles of his chest and then on to his stomach. She always loved his stomach, even at his heaviest, he wasn't what you would call flabby, only a bit larger than usual, nothing unattractive about him. Now, after being in the rain forest for over a month, his diet had changed drastically and he was slimmer than when he had arrived. She slid her hand down along his pant-covered thigh and he spread his legs slightly, allowing her to continue with her seduction as she drew it back up and massaged his hardened staff through his boxers.

"God, Sara," he moaned as his fingers moved through the curls on her head, not forcing, but informing her of his desire. "You are so beautiful. You take my breath away."

His right hand continued to stroke through her hair as he ran the back of his fingers down over her back until he met with the lace of her panties and he repeatedly stroked over the fabric, taking pleasure in her firm bottom beneath it. She reached inside and pushed his boxers down, exposing him and taking him in her hand. With the gentlest of nudges, he showed her how he wanted to be touched and she didn't hesitate. She took him into her mouth, slowly sliding down over him as he released a deeply held breath. She could feel him trying to control himself as he bent his knees slightly. He was a beautiful sight to behold as he lay exposed while still wearing the black trousers to his suit and not a stitch else and as she glanced at his powerful thighs her hunger for him grew. Soon she was taking him completely, alternating between massaging him with her tongue as she would lick him from base to tip then circle his head which always made him twitch. When she heard his moans, indicating she was teasing him to the point of near loss of control, she would consume him, taking him into her mouth and running her tongue in all the appropriate places, sucking just at the right height, frequency and strength and using her hand where he was too large to fit entirely in her mouth.

She knew she had him excited to the point of incoherent thought as he slid both hands into her hair and started to rock his hips in response to her strokes. Suddenly he pulled her away and quickly flipped her back up until they were facing one another. He grabbed onto her knee and drew it up over his hip then slid his fingers down to the leg of her panties, finding the string that tied the front to the back.

"Nice," he mumbled as he pulled the string and nibbled hungrily on her lips.

Grissom moved on to cup her already throbbing center, then upon the sound of her appreciation, he slid his fingers between her labia, sliding over the sensitive areas he found there until she began squirming against his hand. He took hold of himself and pushed inside of her opening, taking one long, slow thrust until he could go no farther. He feasted on her lips as his hips rocked against her and soon her responses were encouraging him to move faster and harder. They moved together, their words and sounds that came from the backs of their throats increasing their titillation until they seemed to be one huge current of charged atoms, sending off electricity in shockwaves until she felt herself being wound so tightly she thought she would explode. When she did find her release she clutched him to her, their kissing having ended as they clung to one another, face to face, lips to lips, breath to breath. She could feel his imminent climax as he turned her onto her back and increased his tempo. His body strained against her, pushing into her so deeply she wondered if he were going to tear her in two and then she felt him releasing himself into her as he blared her name.

While still trying to catch his breath, with eyes tightly closed, his fingers traced over her cheek and he chuckled. "Well, Mrs. Grissom. I hope my becoming an old married man hasn't dampened my abilities to satisfy you."

She simply laughed and hugged him to her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara and Grissom felt remarkably refreshed the next morning as they dressed and went downstairs to get some breakfast. They were enjoying poached eggs, toast and orange juice with a coffee for Grissom when they heard the commotion coming in their general direction.

"Don't you DARE apologize!" Charlie hissed as she rushed onto the patio carrying a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with Ted following behind her running his hand nervously through his hair.

"But, I'm so sorry, Charlie! I should have never. . ."

Charlie stopped and turned on him in a split second, holding up her hand with her forefinger pointed at him. "Enough! I told you not to say it!"

"Oh, Charlie, can't you see I never meant to. . ."

"That's it!" Charlie flipped her plate of food down over top of Ted's head and stomped back inside the hotel.

Ted stood still for a moment, shook his head vigorously to remove the food, then turned and looked at Sara and Grissom watching him.

"Ted?" Sara asked gently. "Is. . .everything okay?"

"No," he said as if it were obvious, then he slowly walked over to their table and took the extra seat. "It's. . .just that. . .I drank too much. Things got out of hand and I couldn't help it. Now she's angry and never wants to see me again. How in the hell am I supposed to work with someone day after day when they can't stand being in the same room as me?"

Sara and Grissom glanced at one another. "I'm finished eating. Maybe I'll go see if Charlie's okay."

She got to her feet and watched as Grissom poured a cup of coffee for Ted. Within moments she was knocking on Charlie's door.

"Go away, Ted!" Charlie yelled through the door.

"It's me, Charlie. Can you let me in?" Sara waited a moment then heard the door's lock being opened. When she stepped into the room with her, she quickly noted Ted's boxers and socks strewn about. "Are you okay, Charlie?"

"He apologized, Sara! He said he didn't mean for it to happen! Why in the hell do men feel the need to say something like that "after" they get sex?"

Sara raised an eyebrow as she looked at her young friend. "So, um, you two, um. . ."

"Yes," Charlie sniffed. "And it was . . .well, it was a surprise, I'll say that much. I thought he was dead to the world, then about one in the morning he woke up and became very. . .interesting. God, Sara, I never saw him like that before! And, well, one thing lead to another and well, it wasn't long and we were. . .ya know. . .and not just once! My God, he went at it like a teenage boy!"

"Are you complaining?" Sara asked a bit sarcastically.

"No! Not about that! I "loved" that! He was so charming, so romantic, so goddamned sexy! And then he wakes up this morning and right away starts telling me he was sorry it happened and he shouldn't have done it. . ." Charlie went to the end of the bed and dropped down with her head in her hands. "I finally get what I want, Sara, and he regrets it immediately!"

Sara watched her, not really knowing what to say, then she heard the knock on the door behind her and Charlie lifted her head in responce.

"It's probably Ted," Sara told her

"Don't let him in!"

"I think he should come in, Charlie."

"No! He can stay out there and rot!"

Sara smiled sympathetically at her and turned and opened the door to an overwrought Ted. He glanced at Sara then at Charlie before entering and going to where Charlie sat. He kneeled before her and forced her to look at him.

"I'll, uh, just let myself out."

Ted took Charlie's hands in his. "Charlie, honey, I'm not apologizing for what happened. I'm apologizing for "how" it happened. I wanted everything to be perfect for us when we made love for the first time. I didn't want to be coming out of a drunken stupor and attack you like some raging bull let loose in a field of cows."

"Now, you're comparing me to a cow," Charlie said quietly as she looked at him, and he smiled at her.

"Not a good comparison, huh? Charlie, I'm sorry if I offended you, and I'm sorry I didn't have wine and roses for you. I wish I had gone about it differently, that's all."

"Well," Charlie sniffed again. "I can't say that I'm complaining about "how" you did anything. You were rather remarkable."

Ted smiled at her and Sara closed the door behind her then went back downstairs where Grissom was waiting. They soon packed their things, went to the Greenberg Rent-A-Car and rented a vehicle that took them to the closest neighboring city where they planned to stay for several days of relaxation. They sighed with relief as they drove away from the Paraiso del Hotel and their amorous occupants.


	159. Chapter 159

Chapter One-Hundred-Fifty-Nine

Sara lowered her bag onto the end of the bed as she looked around the hotel room. They were almost ready to leave after a two-week honeymoon in Cartego. She had been feeling wonderful up until the past four days when heartburn entered her realm of being. All she had to do was look at a taco and she was suffering; even the "thought" of chili had her trying to suppress the acid that plagued her. It was rather difficult as Grissom seemed to take this opportunity to eat everything he had been denying himself since coming to the rain forest. She'd sit and watch him devouring an enchilada and she'd cover her mouth with her napkin; a tortilla with hot salsa and chili peppers would send her senses reeling. Grissom was able to practically gorge himself with them all–you name it–if it had peppers in it, he was munching on them. She hoped this little gem of a symptom would be over quickly. Sometimes she'd sit there nursing a cup of yogurt as he ate a three-course meal of jalapenos, garlic and hot sauce and she'd simply want to throw the plastic container at his head. Then he'd look up at her and smile and she'd melt inside.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror, looking at herself and she knew she had to be at least fifteen pounds heavier than when she came to Costa Rica. And her back hurt! Dammit! She looked at the small case she was to bring to their rental car and decided flat out that from now on, that was Grissom's job!

"You ready?" Grissom asked as he came back into the room and picked up the bag she had been carrying.

"No!" Her tone made him stop mid-stride and turn back to look at her. "My feet are swelling! They're not supposed to swell this soon, are they?"

"I–I don't know," he answered, almost as if he feared the wrong answer might upset her further.

"My God, if they're this swollen now, what are they going to look like in eighteen weeks when I have the baby? I'll look like a goddamned elephant."

"But you're "my" little elephant," Grissom smiled at her and she gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought of his comment. "Okay. So we'll keep your feet elevated."

"How am I going to work if I have to have my feet raised all the time?"

"I don't know about work, but it would be an awful convenient position for when I get home at night."

"Gilbert! You're not helping!"

"You'll be fine. Now, let's go. It's time to head back." He held the door for her then walked her to the car where he opened the passenger's side and waited until she got inside. "You're beautiful, Sara. You know that."

Sara looked up at him as he leaned in and kissed her lips then closed the door and went around to the driver's side. She closed her eyes as he started the car then felt his hand cover hers as they pulled out of the parking garage. She was sleeping before they made it four blocks. It was a three-hour drive back to Paraiso del Hotel and ordinarily they would have met Ted or one of the other guys who would have driven them straight back to the camp but considering Sara's condition, they decided to stay overnight at the small hotel.

By the next morning they were on their way again, only this time their ride wasn't quite as smooth as the previous one. After their truck ride, they were offered to be transported back to the site in the electric cart, but by then Sara's behind was so numb from all the bouncing and riding that she refused and walked the two miles back to the site.

Once they arrived, her feet were swollen again and she wasn't in the best of moods until Grissom finished putting their things in the tent and suggested she come with him. After a look of doubt, she got up and followed him through the trees until they came to their favorite water hole by the falls. He promptly stripped down to his boxers then came to where she was standing and knelt down to remove her boots. Soon he had her only in her bra and panties and was lowering her into the water where he sat on a ledge and held her between his legs as he rubbed her shoulders.

"Dr. Grissom, are you trying to seduce me?" She asked as she leaned back against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Now, if I were doing "this," then I'd be trying to seduce you," he told her as he dropped his hands down to cover her breasts and he started massaging them. She giggled and he moved back to her shoulders. "You looked like you were ready to drop from exhaustion. You looked extremely hot. . ."

"Why thank you," she inserted quickly and he kissed her neck then went on.

"And, you were complaining about your feet, so I thought the cool water might be just the trick."

"Hmm," she let her hands rub over the hairs on the tops of his thighs and calves. "Are you going to bring me to the falls every time my feet swell? We might be spending most of our time here. We'll never get anything else accomplished."

"I can get at least one thing accomplished while we're here."

He bent and kissed her neck again, this time bringing his hands down over her breasts and letting them linger. She hummed her appreciation of the sensations he was creating and continued her assault on his legs until she could feel him growing against her back. He reached for her chin and turned her to face him, meeting her in a kiss that started tenderly then mounted with need.

"Are you going to accomplish it now?" She breathed against his lips as she turned until she was on her knees in the water, facing him. He answered by intensifying their kiss and pulling her more tightly against him. Her fingers slid up the backs of his calves and thighs, then back again until she was at his ankles. Then with a swift jerk, she pulled him off the ledge and into the water as she dunked him. She jumped back a step and stood laughing at him as he surfaced and stared at her through irritated eyes. "That's what you get for tossing me in here when I was fully dressed."

"That was over a month ago!"

"I guess I hold a grudge," she said saucily as she started to wade toward the ledge and put her foot up to step out, but he stood up quickly and lifted her high in his arms again. "Gil! No! Don't! You'll hurt the baby!"

But instead of tossing her into the water, he stepped out of the pool and moved until he lay her down on the grassy mound close to the falls. "I wouldn't hurt you, or the baby. You know that, don't you?"

"Promise?" She smiled at him as she looked up at him and she saw the intensity of his blue eyes as he looked down at her then looked away. "Gil?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes as he looked back then got up and took her hand to pull her up. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

"No. What's wrong?" She pulled her hand back.

"Nothing's wrong," he insisted. "We don't have to go back to eat yet, if you don't want to."

"You're sure nothing's wrong?" She asked doubtfully.

"Absolutely," he smiled again and she sighed then started pulling her dry clothes on again.

"Then let's go feed you. Junior seems to be putting up a fuss, too. Must be as hungry as Dad."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They had been back to camp for only two weeks before it was time to turn around and go back to the doctor again. During the ride, Sara complained that they should have simply taken a four-week honeymoon instead of only two, then they wouldn't have to travel this god-awful continuous rut someone decided to call a road. This time the majority of the communication was done by Sara a la grumbling complaints while Charlie slept through nearly the whole ride. When Sara asked her about this, she was promptly told that Ted had kept her up the majority of the night before. It seems, she told her, that she got more than she wished for in this man. Although she was loving every second of it, his sexual drive seemed to be making up for the past ten years since his divorce from his previous wife.

"Have you been having any unusual sensations this past month, Senora Grissom?" Dr. Martinez asked as he probed her tummy. "Ah! A strong one. Doesn't like to be pushed around, I see," he said, referring to the baby that gave a mighty kick when it was pressed again. "Not too much different than its mama, huh?"

"I don't know about that," Sara said as she lay on the examining table with Grissom sitting next to her. "I might have a quick temper. But it's father is the stubborn one who doesn't like to be pushed. I should know."

"A long and arduous relationship, hmm?"

"You could say that," Sara grumbled.

"Now, honey, we're together now. That's what's important, isn't it?" Grissom asked as he watched the doctor's hands moving on Sara's soccer-ball-sized stomach.

"Hmph," Sara winced when the doctor pressed on her lower abdomen.

"Sorry," Dr. Martinez smiled. "It looks like I should let you up so you can go to the washroom."

"Please," Sara sighed and he held her hand and helped her into a sitting position then off the table.

"Is this normal?" Grissom asked as he watched her disappear behind the bathroom door. "I mean, she's going all the time. I know pregnant women urinate frequently, but I never imagined it would be this often."

"It's only going to increase," the doctor told him as he wrote some notes in her record. "How has she been? Around right now, her hormones are probably going crazy."

"She's. . .well. . .she can get. . ." Grissom was reluctant to answer.

"Angry? Sad? Both at once?" He chuckled.

"Yes."

"That's to be expected. It won't last forever. But, if she's angry now–just wait until she goes into labor. You may not want to be in the same room as her. Perhaps we could put up one of those double-sided mirrors that you use in your line of work? She could have the baby in the interrogation room and you observe from the other side of the window?"

"That might be an option," Grissom said quietly as he heard the toilet flush and then the running of water in the sink. After a few moments she entered the room again and looked at Grissom.

"I heard that. If you have that attitude you can start making arrangements for that choice. I'll go back to Vegas and you stay on the other side. I'll have Jim and Nick hold my hand. AND, I'll ask Greg if he wants to watch the baby come out!"

The doctor chuckled then looked back at Grissom sympathetically, as if to say, "See, I told you–but it's normal."

"I wouldn't think of it," Grissom smiled at her. "I'll be right there with a catcher's mitt if need be."

She looked from him as she sat on the end of the table again then immediately back to the doctor. "I can't see my toes!" She told him and when he chuckled again she went on. "No! Seriously! I can't see my toes!"

Grissom lifted one of her feet and extended it out in front of her. "Now, can you see them?"

"Of course I can seem them if you lift them up in front of my face! I meant I cant see them past my stomach!"

"Soon, you won't be able to tie your shoes or perhaps put on your socks," Dr. Martinez smiled at her. "So, what about those sensations? Anything I should know about?"

"I don't think so," she said slowly. "I have cramping once in a while. But that's Braxton-Hicks, right?"

The doctor's attention went to her more fully now. "At twenty-four weeks, I'd rather not risk the chance that it isn't. How often are you having them?"

Sara shrugged. "Maybe once a week or so."

"How long do they last?"

"Only for a moment."

"Are you doing anything in particular when it happens?"

"I don't know. Walking, taking pictures, climbing up a small embankment one time." This remark brought Grissom's focus onto her.

"It may only be stretching of the muscles that you're not used to–or at least not used to while they're in this condition. If it's only happening about once a week, I won't insist on keeping you here, but I want you to pay particular attention to it. Even if it starts happening only three times a week, I want you back in here to be examined."

She nodded her head in acknowledgment and took Grissom's hand as he helped her to her feet again.

"Are there any childbirth classes available?" Grissom asked the doctor.

"Hmm, in San Isidro."

"San Isidro?" Sara asked with raised brows.

"I'm afraid so. There isn't much calling for such classes here. San Isidro would be the closest."

"I'm not going to San Isidro," Sara complained.

"But, Sara, we should be as educated as possible."

"I know, but if we have to go to San Isidro every week, we'll be on the road all the time. We'll never have time to do anything other than travel back and forth."

"There are on-line classes available. It may not be as interactive as live classes, but I'm sure it will convey all the information you need."

"We can use the satellite system at the camp site," Sara suggested.

"Then I think you're all set until next month. Your diabetes is well controlled, which was a concern, but it looks as if you're doing a remarkable job with it." Dr. Martinez moved to the door and held it open for them. "Stop at the receptionist and I'll see you back in four weeks."

Sara and Grissom made their appointment then walked outside into the heat. She turned toward him and gave him a shy smile. "So? Am I really turning into a super-bitch?"

"Never," he smiled back at her and took her hand in his. "You're a bit temperamental, and moody. But then if I had someone growing inside my body in this kind of heat, I'd be a bit grumpy, too."

They started walking down the street, deciding to avoid the hotel where Charlie and Ted were closed up inside of their room. "Grumpy and fat. What a combination."

They continued to walk past a small school where some children were playing. "Grumpy–maybe once in a while. Fat? Not quite."

She turned into his arms and he held her against him. "But I can't see my toes, Gil."

He smiled broadly as he pulled away from her and looked down at her leather sandaled feet. "Well, I can see them, and they're beautiful."

She gave another shy smile as she put her arm through his and they started walking again. "So, you're into toes, huh?"

"Only yours, my dear."

"They get ya all revved up?"

He chuckled again and looked over at her. "This is the symptom of the second trimester that I enjoy."

"Then lets go back to the hotel and take care of that symptom, Dr. Grissom, because the way you're looking at me makes me want to dive inside your pants right now."


	160. Chapter 160

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty

Sara had lain awake for nearly an hour. Everytime she thought she was going to go back to sleep, he would kick again. And it wasn't just the cute little butterfly flutters of the beginning. No, she was trying to kick a field goal from sixty yards! She had a feeling she may have to name this child Pele! She heard the soft snoring coming from the other side of the bed and she turned around to look at Grissom. Asleep. Sleeping. How nice!

Oh! There! It stopped! That's all he wanted, just to turn over. Sara could handle that, she thought joyfully–until the next kick, and the next, and the next. And still, Grissom continued to snore. No, it wasn't the earth-shattering growls that a lot of women have to put up with in their men. No. It was these soft little sounds of air traveling between his nose and lips, these little "irritating-the-shit-out-of-me" little breaths. In. Out. Kick. In. Out. Kick. Kick again. Oops, out of rhythm. In. Out. Kick.

That's it! She's had it! She moved closer to him and he automatically put his arm around her to snuggle against his side. He didn't even wake up for that! Bastard! Snuggle. Snuggle. Right smack up against his waist–her stomach fit right into the tender spot beneath his ribs. Ah, she smiled with satisfaction, then slowly the smile dissipated.

Come on! Kick! Kick now! Don't you dare stop kicking now that you can so rudely awaken your father! She waited, and waited. Finally, her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep, satisfied that her child had found a comfortable position, but completely vexed that it had to be against its father to find it.

Grissom woke just as the morning sun filtered through the tent and he glanced over to see Sara lying on her back, mouth slightly open, and snoring the slightest bit. She was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. He let his eyes wander down over her to her enlarged breasts. He never would have considered himself a breast man before, but he wasn't complaining about the added size to her already gorgeous globes. He reached up and started massaging one of them, eliciting a soft moan from her as she nestled farther into the bed. Then he let his gaze fall lower, to the basketball that was protruding from beneath her tank top. It really was cute, seeing her lying in her panties and tank top that she tried so diligently to keep over her growing abdomen. But it never failed, no matter what time he would wake up in the morning or night, he would always find the shirt pressed up beneath her breasts as her stomach stood out proudly.

He slid his hand down over the bare stomach and was immediately rewarded with a huge bump. He lowered himself on the bed as he rested his head on his arm and with his other hand he started to stroke over the angry foot.

"Hey, what are ya doing in there? Awake already? I bet you're hungry. Only a few more months and I'll be able to pick you up and go feed you and we can let Mommy sleep and get her rest." Another huge kick and Grissom smiled. "Or we can just get up and go for a walk through the rain forest. I'll point out the largest grasshoppers I can find. Dragonflies! Wait until you see the size of the dragonflies, they're about the size that you are. But they are amazing. Do you want to go dragonfly hunting with Daddy in a few months? No response to that one, huh? It must be time for you go to back to sleep then. Sleep tight, little cricket." He leaned closer and gently kissed her stomach then moved back again and simply watched it as he kept his hand splayed across its expanse. After a few moments of silence, the kicking started again. Rapid-fire kicking that seemed to be going on in the top and the bottom of her stomach. "Hey, what's the matter? Don't tell me you're mother's temper is making you have a tantrum already. We can't have that. There's only one person allowed to have tantrums in this family and it isn't you or I." He moved his hand softly over her tummy again and slowly the kicking ceased, then when he remained quiet again, he felt a large bulge pressing at her navel.

"Holy shit!" Sara moaned as she woke and tried to roll onto her side but couldn't quite make it. Grissom knew it wasn't that she was too large. She still was rather small to be incapacitated like that.

"Honey?"

"Get–me–up!" She strained but when he tried to lift her into a sitting position she shook her head negatively. "Not gonna work. Help me roll out of bed."

"What's wrong?" He looked on with worried eyes as he finally got her so she was standing on the floor in front of him, holding herself by her breasts.

"Foot! Up under my ribs. . .trying to climb out through my throat, I think!" She turned irritated, sleepy eyes on him. "Do something!"

He didn't know exactly what to do, so he stooped down and put his hands on the hard bulge again and started murmuring against her skin. "Hey, cricket. Let up on Mom, okay? You're going to need that extra room in there to grow over the next few months so don't go shoving things around that don't need to be shoved around. Calm down, little one."

He could tell the moment she felt relief, both by the disappearance of the bulge at her bellybutton and the deep intake of breath that she took. He looked up at her and smiled, feeling rather proud that the baby seemed to be connected to his voice already.

"Ya know, I had a part in making this child, too," Sara told him as she held onto her abdomen and tears filled her eyes. "So, why does it hate me and always want to be with you?"

"He doesn't hate you, Sara. He loves you as much as I love my own mother. We Grissom men are devoted to our mothers. You have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah–well, we "Sidle women" aren't quite so dedicated to our mothers as you men evidently are. She hates me!"

Grissom sighed as he hid his smile and took her in his arms, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. "Not much sleep last night?"

"No!" She moped.

"Well, it isn't because the baby hates you. You are the most important thing in the baby's and my lives. We're nuts about you. Do you hear me?" He felt her gentle nod against his shoulder.

"Keep saying more."

"Okay, how about if whenever the baby is keeping you awake at night, you wake me up and I'll read to him until he goes back to sleep, okay?"

"I tried to wake you–but you kept snoring and the baby kept kicking and I thought, I'll wake him up by letting the baby kick at "his" stomach but as soon as she felt you, she went right to sleep," she cried. "See! I told you! She loves you more than she loves me!"

Grissom was trying very hard not to chuckle at her. The mere thought of it was absurd, but he could feel her sorrow. Slowly, he felt her turn her head and look at him, then the sorrow turned to anger as she slapped his arm, then slapped it again and when he started to laugh outright, she punched it.

"Sara!" He chuckled again. "You have to realize how ridiculous that idea is."

"You "like" that idea! Don't you! You "want" her to love you more than she loves me!"

He pulled her back into his arms again and hugged her, allowing her to put her head back on his shoulder as her hands held onto him. "Never. This baby loves you so much he wants to stay awake just to be with you–you know–like that Aerosmith song, "Don't Want To Miss a Thing?" When he hears me he just gets bored and goes to sleep."

"I like that song," she sobbed.

"I know," he soothed her.

"Ohhh! There she goes again!" Sara said and Grissom could feel her abdomen getting hard as it came in contact with him. He was half afraid to offend her by trying to calm the baby down again, that is until she stepped back and nudged him. "Gil! Do something!"

"Come here," he said softly as he pulled her along until he was sitting on a somewhat sturdy chair and he pulled her down until she was sitting between his legs and leaning back in his arms. He shushed her and the baby as he ran his hands over the stubborn little tyke. Soon enough, it was releasing its pressure and giving its mother breathing room again. He continued rubbing her tummy as she leaned into him and soon he could feel her breathing easing out, telling him that she was asleep again. "Good little cricket. Let Mommy get some sleep now."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Another doctor's appointment and another trip to town. Sara was so tired of the traveling that she checked into the hotel then slept until dinner time. They went down for dinner and then went for a walk in the late afternoon air before returning and spending the rest of the evening playing cards with Adam and Matthew.

"Man, what did you two do to Ted and Charlie?" Adam asked as he played his hand. "If they aren't stuck inside their tent, then they're so involved with each other that they can't hear you talking to them anyway."

"What makes you think "we" did anything?" Sara asked as she sat on chair next to Grissom's. "They're big kids. They do what they want."

"Hey, there was none of this hanky-panky going on before "he" came here," Matthew nodded toward Grissom. "Now ya can't walk anywhere in the site without running into one couple or another making whoopie!"

"Whoopie?" Adam laughed. "No one says "whoopie" anymore."

"Okay," Matthew said. "How about making "romantic overtures" toward one another. Is that more to your liking?"

"Not to "my" liking, Loverboy!" Adam discarded then watched as the play moved on to Grissom. "I call a spade a spade–it's screwing. Now, unless we can get a few extra females shipped in to work with us, then I think you two, Larry and Marie, and Charlie and Ted should just cool your tools for awhile. It's more than a healthy young guy can take, listening to all that gruntin' and moanin' in the middle of the night."

"Ah, poor Adam," Sara said as she moved to get to her feet. "What makes you think that if we get more girls to come on the team that they'd find you acceptable in the romance department?"

"We'd be the only males in a hundred miles!" Adam told her. "What choice would they have?"

"The same choice I had before Gil came. You didn't see me going around drooling over any of you. We "are" capable of a singular existence without a man to entertain us."

"Huh!" Matthew spoke up. "No one had a chance with you, Sara. Your mind definitely wasn't on any of us. It was completely occupied with him."

"Ya know, guys," Sara raised a brow at them. "There are some things a girl doesn't want a guy to know about her. Now, if you all will excuse me. I'm going to bed. I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow."

Sara leisurely made her way across the patio and started toward the stairs leading to the second floor.

"Well, I guess that's my cue as well, guys." Grissom tossed down his hand and started to follow her.

"Come on, Grissom! I'm down two trips to the water hole. Ya can't just walk away and not let me try to make it up!" Adam complained.

"You're down "five" trips to the water hole and "six" nights of dish-duty. . .but who's counting?" Grissom said without looking back.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom no sooner walked into his room than he was pushed against the door. His smile began the moment he felt her hand slide inside his shirt and begin opening buttons. Her mouth was on his instantly, and her hand slid lower, inside his shorts until she was grasping him. This was one of the perks of this pregnancy, he thought, as she used her other hand to unbuckle his belt then unbutton and unzip his pants all the while squeezing him into a very quick erection. She growled against his throat as she moved lower on him and he simply remained against the door as he watched her progression. He shrugged his shoulders and allowed his shirt to fall she pushed his pants over his hips. She moved on to his shoulders and her mouth nibbled the hard muscles there then went down to the muscle-covered chest. Her tongue flicked his nipples, sending shivers through him as she blew her breath on them then went down to his stomach. God, but she could do the most amazing things with her mouth. Her tongue danced around his navel, darting inside, then she nipped onto the skin of his belly. As she moved onto her knees, her hands went to his boots and made quick work of the laces, then pulled them off his feet and helped him step out of his pants. When she looked back up at him he knew what she was hungering for and he wasn't going to stop her. She took his length and made love to it, kissing it and licking its steel hardness before engulfing it inside of her mouth; her lips, tongue and teeth sending him on an abyss of physical sensations.

"God, Sara, how did you know? I've been thinking about this all night," he breathed as his fingers found her curls and he took pleasure in their softness. But this wasn't all he had been thinking about and when he had the option of continuing as they were or stopping, he chose to stop her and pull her to her feet. Without hesitation, he took her to the end of the bed and lay her down, removing her maternity shorts and panties, then he pushed her blouse up above her breasts. Jesus, but she was a sight as she lay before him, and he didn't think he could wait to complete this act of love. He positioned himself and pressed inside of her, knowing from previous experience with her that she would already be wet and ready for him. She was, and god it felt like paradise as he slid inside of her depths. He moved with her until he was on his haunches with a knee on either side of her and her thighs over top of his. He held her hips tightly and drove inside of her, watching as her body reacted to his. He bent lower and took one of her nipples between his teeth and gently squeezed it, eliciting a moan from her that sent chills through him.

"Gil, baby, harder, please. . ."

He didn't argue and started moving his hips in powerful thrusts. His mouth continued to work at her breasts as he bent over her extended abdomen. The thought of her swollen with his child was sending his senses reeling and soon he was reaching between them, strumming over her hardened nub and bringing throaty cries from her as she called his name, demanding that he take her over the edge. He complied and with her intense spasming around him, he exploded within her. He had to shake his head to clear it as he held himself up with his hands and finally, unable to hold his weight any longer, he pulled from her and turned until he was lying next to her. He blindly reached for her hand and held it within his.

"Oh, baby," Sara sighed. "They might "think" they know what they're missing, but those boys have no idea!"


	161. Chapter 161

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-One

"I can't believe they pulled the plug on us!" Sara said as she sat in the airplane next to Grissom.

"I don't think anyone can," Grissom murmured as he went over his emails on his laptop. "Greg sends his love."

"To you?" Sara asked.

"No, dear. To you."

"Whose emails are you reading? Mine or yours?"

"Mine. Catherine was writing and evidently Greg wandered into her office. So, he sends his love."

"Fine. Send my love back to him. I planned on having the baby in Costa Rica, Gil!" She put her hand over her 32-week pregnant abdomen. "I don't "want" to have it in Paris!"

He looked up from his computer at her, then closed it. "You're telling me "now" that you don't want to have the baby in Paris? Sara, didn't this thought occur to you three weeks ago when we were told we were going to have to leave Costa Rico and I accepted the position in Paris? Did it occur to you two weeks ago when I started gathering all our things and shipped them to France? Did it even occur to you last week when we left the camp and stayed in San Jose so you could rest before the plane trip? Or what about two days ago when we landed in Miami?"

Sara looked at him and felt her eyes water. He was yelling at her. . .well, not exactly yelling, but he was admonishing her! Then just as quickly as the first tear fell, her sorrow turned to irritation as she wiped her eyes.

"You go right ahead and talk to me like that, Gilbert Grissom! See how far it gets you!"

"I'm sorry," he sighed and reached over and took her hand in his but she remained stiff. "Sara, we're almost there. Once we get into a hotel and rest for a few days, I'm sure you'll be more reasonable."

"Reasonable? I didn't realize I was being "unreasonable."

"We discussed this. Right from the very beginning. You were enthusiastic about going to Paris. You wanted me to accept the position."

"But that was before I realized I'd be having the baby there!"

"Honey, how could you "not" have realized it? The baby wasn't going anywhere. It's still there and will be for another eight weeks."

"Oh," she sighed as she pulled her hand from his and placed it on her abdomen again. "What do you know? You don't know what it's going to be like going through labor in a country where I'm not fluent in their language. How am I supposed to know if they're saying push or breathe?"

"I'll be right there to tell you." He took her hand back and brought it up to his lips. "Honey, you know what's going on, are you willing to admit to it?"

"No," she said quietly.

"Sara," he said just as quietly, making her look at him.

"I'm having an anxiety attack brought on by an overabundance of estrogen flowing through my body right now," she answered as if she were reciting it for a teacher. "It doesn't help to "know" that you're having one when you're having one–you do realize that, don't you?"

"What?" He asked, confused by her sentence.

"Nothing. Just wake me up when we land." She settled back against her seat and closed her eyes then repeated, "I just can't believe they pulled the plug on us," before drifting off to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara thought she'd never get off the damned plane! Her legs were doubly swollen! Her back hurt! And she was hunrgry! When they entered the terminal and she caught sight of a McDonalds, she raced as fast as she could waddle to stand in line. Grissom got the bags and finally caught up to her just as she was opening a container which looked to hold a super-sized burger.

"What are you eating?" Grissom asked in shock.

"A Bmphtsee wout theat," she said with a full mouth.

"What?" He looked at her blankly, still not believing his eyes.

She chewed her mouthful and swallowed it. "I said a Big and Tasty without the meat."

"Oh," he said thoughtfully. "Did you get anything for me?"

She just looked at him as she took another bite, then shrugged her shoulders in apology. "'orry."

"Well, what all do you have in that bag?" He moved to her side and reached for the large McDonald's bag but she pulled it away and stared at him through huge eyes.

"I have gone almost a whole year without a single McDonald's fry! They're mine!"

"Ya know, you're getting kinda ferocious. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going to make it until you go into labor."

She stopped eating and looked at him again. "Wha's tha s'posed t' mean?"

"What?" he asked as he wrinkled his brow and stared at her. "Swallow your food first."

"I said–what's that supposed to mean! You going somewhere before I give birth to your child?"

"Not at all," he moved to get in line and quickly ordered a number three, king size, with sweet tea. "I'm talking about basic survival, that's all."

They walked to a small table and sat down where they went about trying to eat their meals, but their diet for the past several months didn't let them eat very much before becoming full and packing the rest of it up to take with them.

"Finally!" Sara thought as she lay on the bed with her feet raised on pillows to help relieve the swelling and the air conditioner blasting over her to help the hot flash she was having. She watched as Grissom unloaded some of their clothing, then went to the bathroom where he started to take his shirt off for a shower. God, but he was gorgeous, she thought as she watched from the bed. It didn't seem to matter how many times she saw that man naked, it always amazed her how very beautiful he was.

"Gil?" She called gently, but he didn't hear as he turned on the shower. "Gil?" She tried a little louder, but still quiet enough to attempt to be seductive and when he didn't answer the second time, she gave up seductive and went all out for a bellow. "GIL!"

He stuck his head out of the doorway and looked at her. "Did you say something, dear?"

"I'm cold," she whined as she looked at him.

"That's because you're laying with the air conditioner on full blast. Turn it down." He disappeared into the bathroom again.

"Gil? GIL!"

"Yes, dear?" He looked out at her again.

"My back hurts."

"It's from the long flight. Once you get yourself relaxed, the muscles wont be all tensed up." He returned to the edge of the tub.

"GIL!"

This time he came to the bed and looked down at her. "You're doing that on purpose."

"Clearly."

"Is there some reason why you don't want me to get a shower?"

"Is there some reason why you don't want to lie down and cuddle with your wife?" She crooned as she took his hand in hers.

He leaned over with his other hand on the bed as he gave her a brief kiss then looked at her. "It couldn't be the fact that in the taxi over here, you told me that under no uncertain terms was I to disturb you once you had a chance to lie down–that you were dead tired and needed some sleep."

'Oh, that." She smiled shyly at him.

"Yeah, that." Although his lips were stubbornly refusing the smile that threatened him, his eyes gave him away.

"Well, I'm not tired right now."

"I can see that."

"Are–you going to do anything about it?"

He paused and looked at her a moment longer then moved until he was lying next to her and she turned onto her side quickly to face him, an excited grin now covering her face as she got her way.

"What am I going to do with you, Mrs. Grissom?" He mumbled as he continued to watch her.

"I don't know. Let's find out," she giggled as she leaned into him and pecked his lips.

"You know, my dear, I'm at a disadvantage here." He gestured his nakedness while she was still fully clothed except for her shoes.

"Oh, I don't know. I'd say you were the one with the advantage. I'm the one who has to try to get all these clothes off." She leaned more fully toward him and pushed him onto his back, then moved until her head was lying on his shoulder and she was spooned up against his side.

"You're not going to get your clothes off this way," he whispered as she started kissing his neck.

"Mmm, it can wait." She went back to running her tongue over his throat as her hand took its pleasure in the muscles of his chest. She slid her leg over his thigh and ran her socked foot down his calf, nudging his legs apart as she did so. Her hand traveled lower, taking its time across his stomach, pausing to play a moment at his bellybutton before moving on to his abdomen. She smiled against his skin as she felt his semi-rigid erection growing and grazing against her hand as her caress moved on to his thigh. Then as she grazed her nails back up the inside of his thigh she felt his sharp intake of breath. Her nails moved higher, softly scratching through the nest of hair she found, then running the pad of her forefinger up the underside of his shaft. She teased him only a moment longer then took him in her hand and began stroking him. Her leg kept his left leg pinned to the bed, but his right was bending at the knee, trying to find a comfortable position and possible way to enhance the experience she was giving him. She moved up and down his shaft, occasionally stopping long enough to cup and caress him then moving back to the strokes that she knew he liked.

"Kiss me," he said hoarsely as his left arm pulled her more tightly against his side.

"I am kissing you," she smiled, knowing what he wanted.

"Up here." At this point he turned onto his side and raised himself up onto his arm as he leaned over her taking over the kiss that he was craving. She could feel his breathing catch but still he kissed her until finally he pulled his head back with his eyes closed and swayed a moment, almost as if dizzy. "Um, unless you want it to finish this way, we better make some changes soon."

"This is fine for now," she told him and easily pushed him onto his back again as she continued stroking him.

"Sara," he murmured and put his left hand on the back of her neck and pulled her back into a kiss as his hips started to buck against her in response to his nearing climax. She continued until she heard his growl and felt his right hand cover hers and assist her in the final strokes that had him spilling his seed . To prevent a mess, his hand automatically moved to his tip and shielded the fluid from them as her hand slowly eased him back to reality. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her smiling down at him.

"Now–you may go and have your shower. I'll be waiting for you when you come out," she instructed him.

With one final kiss, he carefully lifted himself and went to the bathroom where the water was still running. Sara rolled off the bed and went to the sink to wash her hands but as she looked down at them, she noticed they were beginning to swell. She looked at her wedding band and saw that it was rather snug. When she tried to remove it, she found it was stuck, then coating it with some liquid soap, she managed to slide it over her knuckle. "Well," she thought as she placed the ring on the counter and moved back toward the bed where she started to undress, "it looks like I won't be wearing this again until after the baby's born."

Once she was completely nude, she peeled back the bedspread and slid between the sheets. The softness of the cloth was a contrast to the cot they had shared at the site, and even the hotel room's much drabbier sheets when they would stay overnight during her doctor's visits. She let the softness of the cloth caress her skin until she unexpectedly fell asleep. When she woke up she looked at the clock and saw that she had been asleep for several hours. Grissom was in bed behind her, wearing only his boxers and a tee-shirt, and spooning against her back, but she could tell from the way his arm lay across her in total relaxation that he was asleep. It was then that she realized what had awakened her as she felt the throbbing in her head. At first she tried to ignore it, then she tried to simply lie still and hope the pain would go away, but it only got worse. Quietly, she got out of bed and went to their bag and pulled out some acetaminophen. She drew some water from the sink and washed two caplets down then took a robe from the bag and wrapped it around herself. She didn't want to disturb Grissom so she went to the sofa on the other side of the partition, separating the bed/bath area from the sitting area. After about half an hour, the pain started to subside so she leaned back more fully into the cushions and before long she was sleeping again. The next time she woke up she found her head and neck at an odd angle, when she tried to move to get up and go back to bed, her headache returned full force, making her previous headache seem minimal. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands to try to ease the pain, but it didn't help.

"Gil," she called quietly, then again. This time she didn't yell for him and the third time she called his name, he responded.

"Sara?"

She could hear him moving as if looking for her in his still half-asleep state.

"Gil. Come here," she said gently and she heard him get out of bed immediately and rush to her.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"I had a headache and took some acetaminophen then I came over here to wait until it went away. I fell asleep and must have slept with my head turned. My neck is stiff and my headache is back worse than before."

"Can you come back to bed?"

"It hurts too much. Maybe a cool cloth for my forehead? Or a warm one for my neck to relax the muscles? I don't know, but I need something."

He went to the sink immediately and brought back a cool cloth that she immediately held to her forehead, then he moved next to her as he tenderly probed her neck.

"Does this hurt?"

"No. My neck doesn't hurt now. It's just my head."

"Your muscles in your neck don't feel like they're in spasm. I don't think that's the problem?"

"Then what is?" She tried to look up at him but her headache made her squint.

"It could just be a bad headache. Come on, come back to bed." He took her arm and maneuvered with her until he was putting her back between the sheets. "What time did you take the pills?"

"I think around eleven."

"Well, it's after three. Lets give you another dose."

He got her water and more pills, waited for her to swallow them, then put her glass on the night table. He moved to his side of the bed, but when she tried to get into their usual position, pressed up against his side, she complained that it made her head feel worse, so she ended up turning away from him and he moved up behind her with his hand around her and resting on her abdomen. She hoped that when the sun would come up, her headache would be gone. It wasn't.


	162. Chapter 162

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Two

She lay very still as Grissom slept behind her. Finally, as the morning sun broke through the windows, Grissom started to stir, a habit he had gotten into while in the rain forest. His first movements pulled her against him as he attempted to go back to sleep for a few more moments but when he moved her and she moaned in response he opened his eyes. He looked at her then propped himself up on elbow.

"Sara? Is it still bad?"

"It isn't the worst headache I've ever had, but it won't seem to let up. It just nags and nags."

He reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingers but stopped as he looked at them more closely.

"When did your hands start to swell, honey?"

"Last night," she looked at them. "Why? Well, it's a good thing I took my ring off or it would've been stuck there."

"I think we need to see a doctor as soon as we get settled in Paris."

"I'm not due for another appointment for four more weeks."

"Hmm, well, I still think it wouldn't hurt to call that doctor Dr. Martinez forwarded your records to. Do you want to get up yet? Or wait a little while?"

"I'll get up. No use just lying here all morning just because I have a headache."

She lifted herself up on elbow, then pushed until she was sitting. The pain in her head was a bit nauseating, but still she pressed on. Within moments she was in the shower and getting ready for their departure to Paris late that morning. They had it planned down to the minute, almost. If they grabbed a light breakfast downstairs then caught a cab to the airport, they should have enough time to check in and relax at least a half hour before boarding time. She certainly wasn't looking forward to an eight-hour flight. Sitting in one seat that long was going to be torture.

She stood beneath the spray of semi-cool water in hopes of taking the swelling out of her feet and hands. It wasn't doing much for her headache, but one problem at a time, she thought. She slowly washed her hair, finding that the act was aggravating her headache, then she stood under the water again and rinsed herself completely. The towel she used was wonderfully soft and she took her time about drying herself, noting that the swollen appendages were sensitive to touch.

The more she thought about sitting on that damned plane, the worse she felt. Silently, she went about getting dressed as Grissom watched the morning news on television. Each article of clothing she was putting on was causing the dull pain in her head to become heavier and heavier until finally, after pulling on her slacks and top she turned to look at Grissom.

"Gil. Something's wrong."

That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in a hospital bed. Her head was hurting worse than ever and as she glanced around she noticed she had IVs and a blood pressure cuff attached to her arm. Grissom was sitting at her bedside. He looked exhausted.

"Hey," she choked out though a parched throat and tried to lift her body but decided to leave her head on the pillow afterall.

"Hey, yourself," he said as he gave her an encouraging smile.

"Are we gonna be out of here in time to catch the flight?"

He glanced at the floor and she could see the disappointment in his eyes before he looked back at her and tried to mask over it. "The flight left about twenty minutes ago."

"What?" She demanded. "How long was I out?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Long enough. How do you feel?"

"I have a crashing headache. Any ideas why?"

"It seems your blood pressure is running rather high."

"How high?"

He coughed nervously. "It's 160/110."

"That can't be right!" Sara told him with certainty. "They made a mistake."

"No. They didn't, honey. They've been monitoring it for the past two hours."

"Fine, then give me some hypertensive meds and I'll be on my way."

"Sara! You can't just leave because you're too stubborn to listen to the doctors, anymore. You've got to stop and consider what's best for the baby."

"I "am" considering what's best for the baby," she said through clenched teeth. The idea that she wasn't taking this child into consideration made her angry. "But I may not have planned on having this baby in Paris, but I certainly hadn't planned on having it in New York City while you're six thousand miles away, across the ocean!"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" He squeezed her hand as he looked down at her.

"But what about the position?"

"I called and told them I'm running into a little difficulty. I'll call back when we know exactly what's going on here. But for now, all we can do is wait for the tests to come back and watch your blood pressure."

"Have they given me anything for it?"

"Not yet. They're waiting for your blood work to come back."

Sara nodded, understanding what he was talking about. "Preclampsia?"

"Yes."

"Well," she sighed and closed her eyes. "I'll deal with it. I'm not going to lose this baby because of some stupid frickin' blood pressure issues."

"Mrs. Grissom," said a tall, dark-haired doctor who entered her room with them. "You're awake. That's a good sign."

He took his penlight out of his pocket and approached her but she glared at him.

"I hope you're not planning on shining that in my eyes right now. I have a headache."

"Well, I could shine it other places, but I don't think your husband would be too happy about it." He moved to stand near the bed and went about examining her eyes, then pressed a button which started the blood pressure cuff to tighten on her arm. "168/120. You, are getting worse, not better. So I think you better plan on an extended stay in our wonderful city of New York, because I'm not releasing you to go anywhere."

"Dr. Morris! Are you supposed to be in here examining this patient?" Came a stern voice from the doorway.

Sara turned her head to see a woman who would normally seem short, but was wearing spiked heels. Her skirt was so tight she couldn't understand how she walked in it and her sweater had not only "Dr. Morris" looking at her wares that were about to spill out of the opening, but had Grissom glancing at her as well. The woman's black hair fell below her shoulders and Sara was getting confused as why she was in her room

"No," Dr. Morris said in an over-exaggerated and sarcastic voice. "I just stop in to check on all the pregnant women for the thrill of it. Something about their swollen feet and hands that really do the trick for me."

The woman took two steps inside and turned a smile toward Sara which was rather stiff and never reached her eyes, then looked at Grissom with an appreciative glance before looking back to Dr. Morris. "Conference room! Now!"

"Can't. In the middle of an examination, here."

"Who "are" you?" Sara finally got out as she eyed the woman closely resesmbling a high-class prostitute.

"I'm sorry," the woman's voice gentled as she looked back to Sara. "I'm Dr. Andrea Roberts, Hospital Administrator." Then just as quickly her gentleness was gone and she looked back to Morris. "I'll give you three seconds to leave this patient's room and join me in the conference room."

They all watched as she spun around on her heels and stormed off down the hallway. Morris simply chuckled and mumbled, "She only does that to turn me on. She gets into this whole master/servant thing."

Sara didn't have time to respond to his callousness, not that she really wanted to–she wasn't interested in his bedside manner–just the medical care that he provided. Just then a slim blonde girl entered the room with them. She was wearing slacks and a blouse beneath her white coat and Sara felt an immediate connection with her. She also noticed how the girl's eyes rarely left Dr. Morris.

"Dr. Morrris?"

"Dr. James?" He snipped back.

"Thank you for checking her for me. What do you think?"

"There's nothing else I could find to suggest anything other than the preeclampsia. I don't think you need me around to take care of this." Dr. Morris looked at the girl, but his gaze didn't seem to go anywhere except the young girls eyes. They held as they continued their conversation.

"So, you agree to start her on antihypertensives and bed rest."

"You got it," Dr. Morris abruptly turned and walked out the door where he saw Dr. Roberts standing at the end of the hall with her hands on her hips in a childish stance of impatience. "God, ya gotta love it when they're past caring about making a spectacle of themselves over you."

The man didn't expect an answer, nor did he get one. But Sara did notice how Dr. James' eyes followed him down the hallway and she could sense the girl's heart breaking into pieces. When both doctors disappeared into a room, Dr. James looked back at Sara with a gentle smile that was so warm it radiated from her.

"Mrs. Grissom, I'm sorry to agree with Dr. Morris, but your proteins came back rather high as well and you're clearly in the stages of preeclampsia. You're at 32-4 in your pregnancy, so we're going to try to regulate your blood pressure very closely as well as your protein leakage. I've got to tell you that it's going to get rather uncomfortable at times, but we want to prolong delivery of this baby until the thirty-sixth week."

"I'm supposed to be in Paris tomorrow," Sara told her.

"Oh no! You're not getting on a flight across the ocean. You're going right home and getting on your sofa or your bed. You're going to be down for the next three and a half weeks."

"Home is in San Francisco," she explained.

Dr. James looked back at Grissom then at Sara again. "Well, I'm not sending you to San Francisco either. Do you have family in New York?"

"No. We were only stopping here so I could get some rest between flights."

"Then, you're staying in the hospital. I'm not risking anything by sending you anywhere on a long airplane ride." Dr. James put her hand on Sara's abdomen. "This little one's too important to do that."

"You're keeping me in the hospital for three-and a half weeks," Sara said with disbelief.

"Unless you can promise you'll find a place to stay close to the hospital," Dr. James looked at her with a sympathetic smile. "Look, you can always refuse, but for the sake of your safety as well as the baby's, I'd truly advise against it. I promise you, I'll make sure you get the best possible care through this. You will be closely monitored. And it isn't as if you're going to be a prisoner here in the city. You'll be allowed to get up and walk around. If your blood pressures drops low enough, we'll even let your husband walk you around for a about an hour or so each day. So, please know we're doing what's best for you."

"He–won't be staying," Sara said as she stared at the blanket beneath her hands. "He's got a job waiting in Paris that he needs to get to."

"Oh," Dr. James looked at Grissom. "I see. Well, then "I'll" make sure I take you for walks every day after my shift is through. I know I won't be as gratifying as your husband, but I can keep up a mean conversation if I need to."

"I'm not going to Paris and leaving you here alone," Grissom told Sara as if shocked that she would believe otherwise.

"James!" Dr. Morris bellowed from down the hall, turning the young doctor's attention in that direction. Sara watched Dr. James' response to the man before turning back to look at Sara.

"Well, I'll leave the two of you to discuss this."

Sara watched her walk down the hall and then the two of them disappear into the room that the hospital administrator was still in.

"She's in love with him," Sara said as she continued to watch them until the door closed.

"Hmm, I could tell. And he's nuts about her, too," Grissom said absently.

"Really? How could you tell?" She looked back at her husband.

"I don't know. I guess the way he was looking like he was going to pounce on her at any second while they were in here with us. If she hadn't left before he had, I was afraid their heat was going to spontaneously combust."

"I–wasn't talking–about that one," said eyed him even more closely. "I was talking about the young doctor. She's in love with him. I don't know what you saw between the administrator and him, but it wasn't love. It was dark and unnatural."

"Sometimes a man's attracted to the darker side. I imagine considering she's the administrator she's forbidden fruit to him–so he wants it."

"I see," Sara said quietly as she looked away from her husband. The analogy hitting a little too close to home for her comfort. She felt the pain in her head increase and she raised her hand to her forehead. "Isn't there anything they can give me for the pain?"

Grissom pressed the button on her bed and a nurse's voice came over the intercom.

"Yes, Mrs. Grissom?"

"Can you give my wife something for her headache? She's having a lot of pain right now."

"I was just on my way in, Dr. Grissom. We should have her feeling better in a moment."

True to her word, the nurse entered the room with some syringes that she used to inject two different types of medication into Sara's intravenous line. Within seconds she felt as if she were on fire and broke out into a sweat.

"I'm having some sort of reaction to this medicine. I feel extremely hot."

"It should be alright in a minute, Mrs. Grissom. I'll stay here until it passes. It's just one of the side effects of the medication."

Sara nodded her understanding then she felt better in less than a minute and she watched as the woman injected the second medication. When the nurse left, she looked back at Grissom. After a moment, she spoke.

"Maybe you should go to Paris ahead of me," she said quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere right now. I'll just call and let them know I'll be there next month. If they don't want to hold the position for me. . ." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Then you'll regret it."

"I'd regret not being here with you." He moved to take her hand again, but she closed her eyes and allowed the medicine to work its magic on her as she drifted off to sleep.


	163. Chapter 163

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Three

Grissom found a hotel suite for them to stay in and soon had Sara instilled inside with visiting nurses scheduled to check on her twice daily. She didn't know exactly what had her so groggy over the next days, but she'd barely wake up before she'd be going back to sleep again. Her headache seemed to have dissipated, or at least she didn't notice it anymore before she'd say a few words to whomever was in the room with her then drift back to sleep

Finally after nearly a week she began feeling more alert and day by day she remained awake longer. At first she'd wake up and notice Grissom would be on the bed behind her, spooned up against her as he slept, or he'd be working on a crossword puzzle across the room, or talking on the telephone. At one point she remembered hearing him tell her, "Catherine says hello." Sara nodded and wondered just what he was telling Catherine. She wasn't in favor of everyone knowing her business, that's why they hadn't even let anyone know she was pregnant. When she was alert enough to question him, he told her that they were simply talking about work and the fact that he would be delayed getting to the Sorbonne due to unforeseen problems. He said he didn't go into what the problems were.

On her second and third weeks she was feeling much better, although she was still swollen and her head ached for extended periods of time, she was learning to live with it, and as long as the baby was still doing alright, she was okay it.

On her weekly visits to the hospital, every time she would see Dr. James beautiful face dim upon the sight of Dr. Morris, Sara's heart would break for her. And every time she would see Dr. Roberts in her skin-tight skirts with her too-big ass ready to bust through the seams, and her blouses that even drew Grissom's gaze, she wanted to shove her out of a goddamned window. But still, how could she blame Grissom for looking at what was so blatantly offered to him? Especially with her looking fat and bloated like this. It still didn't make it any easier to watch it happening. Dark side, indeed!

Sara and the baby were being monitored continuously and up until her 35th week, she was still holding her own. She didn't feel good. She knew her blood pressures were still too high, but they managed to keep it down below the danger point. She had just managed to reach her thirty-sixth week when the severity of her headaches returned, and as she suspected, when next checked, her blood pressure was back up again.

This time there were no delays as she was prepared for surgery and Grissom was taken to a changing room before being allowed in the room where Sara lay on her back with a curtain draped between her head and body. Sara's arms were immobilized as they were strapped to boards and had IVs in them.

"Please not again, please not again," Sara was chanting to herself after she had been injected with a numbing agent.

"Shh," Grissom told her as he was seated by her head and he began stroking the hair back from her face. "It's going to be alright. You just lie here and we'll have our baby in a few minutes."

"But she's early, Gil!"

"He's going to be fine, Sara. Please stop worrying, it won't do you or the baby any good."

"Are you feeling any pain, Mrs. Grissom?" Someone asked from the other side of the curtain.

"Do you mean on my stomach?" Sara asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"N-no. I don't feel anything."

"That's great." The doctor turned his attention back to what he was doing. "It should only be a few more minutes."

Sara nodded her head absently as she looked up at Grissom. His face was covered with a mask but she would recognize those eyes anywhere. And she could also recognize the worry that she saw in them, but when he looked down at her, they smiled.

"It's going to be okay, honey."

Another nod of her head and he leaned down and kissed her forehead through the mask. They listened to murmurings coming from the opposite side of the curtain, then she felt a tugging at her stomach. She listened to the sounds that were mingling around her, voices giving directions to one another, the sound of water sloshing about then the noises moved to the right of her.

"You've got a daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Grissom. A beautiful little girl."

She looked up at Grissom but he was intently watching what was going on to their right. She waited for what seemed to be an eternity and still there were no sounds coming from the area where her newborn daughter was being worked on.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked frantically. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's having a little trouble breathing, Mrs. Grissom. We're going to need to take her to the PICU immediately. It shouldn't be anything to worry about, she's four weeks premature so this could be expected." A nurse was standing at her head, then looked at Grissom. "If you would come with me, we'll sew Mrs. Grissom back up and she'll be on her way to the recovery room. You can come to the PICU waiting area."

"I want my baby!" Sara said in a rush. "I want to be with my baby!"

"It's going to be alright, Sara," Grissom told her, then kissed her again. "I'll just go see that she's doing alright. I'll report everything back to you."

"Mr. Grissom?" The nurse hinted and he got up and followed her out of the room.

Suddenly time stood still while at the same instant it sped by so quickly that Sara wasn't sure how long she had been in the recovery room before being wheeled to her patient room. She was transferred into her bed and instructed that she should try to get some rest and they'd be in to check on her momentarily. She could feel the medication trying to lull her back to sleep but she wanted to see her daughter. She waited in an anxiety-stricken-panic as her eyes never left the doorway to her room, then after a few minutes she heard Grissom's voice as he stopped in the hallway, out of her sight.

"We don't know yet. I know you weren't aware that Sara was pregnant. I needed a friend to talk to. I'm not quite sure what to do. I feel scattered. Because you're the only friend I have that has lost a child. . ."

Sara didn't hear any more as she closed her eyes and let the darkness overtake her. She didn't want to hear any more.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Sara?" Grissom's voice broke through to her but she was reluctant to open her eyes. She just wanted him to leave her alone. "Honey? Someone's here to see you."

"I don't want to see anyone right now," she said as she attempted to turn away from him, but the pain in her abdomen shot through her like a bullet.

"I don't think this person is going to take no for an answer," Grissom told her and she wondered how he could sound so damned light and almost joyful after what she had heard on the telephone the night before. She felt the edge of the mattress dip as he sat on it next to her and still she refused to look at him. "She's pretty insistent. . .just like her mother."

Sara's head jerked to the right at his words. The sight of him holding a bundle wrapped in a white blanket made her draw her breath in sharply. That was when she heard the noises coming from within the little package. "Gil?"

"She's gorgeous, Sara. She's got a head full of dark hair, just like yours."

"But. . .I thought . . ."

"She had some trouble breathing initially, but she soon got the idea of it. Didn't ya, cricket?" He looked up at Sara. "Are you ready to look at her?"

She gave him a nervous nod and he turned the baby around and lay her against him so that she was facing her mother. Sara stared at the child. She had never seen anything so precious in her life. She tentatively reached out and lightly stroked her finger down the child's cheek and giggled when the little girl turned her head toward it as if wanting to suckle it.

"Already hungry?" Sara asked.

"I–um–I've been feeding her since about three o'clock this morning. I hope you don't mind. She was hungry and I thought it would be best to get her started on some formula. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You've been feeding her?"

"Yeah, I–uh–was talking to some one last night and they suggested I feed her instead of the nurses so she'd bond with me and not some nurse." He stood up with the baby and placed her in the bassinet that was close by, then he turned back to Sara and moved toward her. "Lets try to move you into a more comfortable position and you can hold her."

He moved her bed up into a sitting position and held onto her hand as she tried to scoot up a little more. When she nodded that she was ready, he picked up their daughter and brought her back, laying her in Sara's arms. Sara beamed down at the tiny round face and she kissed her forehead. She was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She opened the blanket and looked at her tiny body, counting fingers and toes, double-checking to make sure she really was a girl and they hadn't made a mistake. She did find that her daughter was wearing a wet diaper, though.

"I think she needs changed," Sara said and looked up at Grissom.

He brought back a disposable diaper and stood next to her, waiting expectantly. Sara lay the baby on her lap and spread the blanket open but the moment the air hit her, she started to fuss and when the diaper was opened, she went into a full-fledged cry. Sara looked up at Grissom helplessly and he quickly and efficiently pulled off the wet diaper and put the other one back on, then lifted the baby into his arms and cuddled her.

"Shh. Such a fuss over a simple diaper-change," he cooed to her. "Now calm down. That's no way to meet your mother. Come on now, that's it, mmm-hmm."

And the baby was silent again as she opened her eyes and tried to look at where the voice was coming from. Grissom moved back to the bassinet and picked up a fresh bottle of formula and offered it to the child which she eagerly accepted, even if she only drank for about a minute or two. She was soon back to sleep when Grissom's cell started to ring. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and looked at the caller ID then brought the baby back to Sara.

"I should really answer this," he told Sara he handed their daughter to her and turned to answer the telephone. "Hello. Yes. Thank you again. Um. . ." He turned and looked at Sara then walked out of the room to finish the conversation and she could hear no more. When he walked back into the room his phone was already put back into his pocket.

"Your friend who suggested "bonding" with my daughter before I could?" Sara asked with a raised brow although she kept her eyes on her sleeping baby. "You know, the one you had to talk to last night instead of coming into my room and talking to me?"

"I wasn't talking to anyone on the phone last night, and by the time I got back to your room, you were already asleep," he told her but Sara looked up to see a strange expression covering his face. "That was Catherine just now. It was no big deal."

"I'm sure it wasn't."

"Sara, you were sleeping last night–even if I "had" been on the telephone, you would never have been aware of it. The moment they put you into this bed, you fell asleep.."

"I heard you."

"If you heard anything, you overheard me talking to Mr. Grimes. His wife is in the next room and "he's" the one who suggested that I bond with the baby. And Sara, I understand that you're going through massive hormonal changes right now, but still, you've got to realize that the idea that I would want to bond with her so she couldn't bond with you is absolutely ridiculous. You were heavily sedated when they brought you back here. You didn't even know I was lying in the bed behind you for several hours before I went to see if I could feed the baby, and believe me, by that time the baby was not only breathing on her own, she was giving her lungs an excellent workout with ear-splitting wails."

Sara glanced up from the baby to him and back again. She knew postpartum hormones could do immeasurable damage to one's psyche. Hadn't she seen that enough in the field? She took a deep breath and pulled the baby more tightly against her for a tiny hug then turned her and placed her against her shoulder as she stroked her back.

"Hello! Dr. Grissom?" A man of about Sara's age stood hesitantly in the doorway with suitcase in hand. "I see that you took my advice. Did it work? Is she bonding with you?"

"Yes, Jonathon," Grissom said as he approached the young man and shook his hand then turned back toward Sara and the baby. "She's doing her "bonding" time with her mother now, though."

The man smiled in at Sara. "Well, we have to allow them that much, don't we? Sylvia is feeding our little guy right now, then we're leaving. I just wanted to say it was nice meeting you and your family. And good luck!"

"Thank you, Jonathon." Grissom watched the man turn and disappear down the hall then turned back to Sara.

Sara glanced up at him then away, feeling all kinds of strange emotions, but the predominant one at the moment was guilt. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said quietly then smiled as his precious little angel let out a belch that could put Greg Sanders to shame.

Sara pulled the baby back from her shoulder and looked at her with wide eyes, also wondering where all that noise could have come from, but their little princess simply looked back at her mother with eyes that were trying very hard to see what this familiar person looked like on the "outside."

"My! You sound like your father after a large dinner!" Sara joked.

Grissom reached down and stroked his forefinger down his daughter's cheek. "Or your mother after half a beer."

Sara watched as Grissom pulled a chair opposite the one that was sitting next to her bed. He sat on the new chair that was now facing her direction and propped his feet on the other chair. She could finally see the weariness etched on his face as he watched his wife and baby. He must not have slept a wink the night before. He interlaced his fingers and lay his hands across his abdomen as he leaned back in his chair and within moments, he fell into a blissful sleep.


	164. Chapter 164

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Four

As Sara attempted to turn onto her side, she was positive she had been in a Mexican bull fight and gored, or at the very least, gutted by a savage serial killer. Jesus! She never realized a Caesarean would feel like this! The actual surgery was a piece of cake! Recovery was a bitch! She was trying very hard to move her butt that now felt as if it were being stuck with a thousand pins and needles from lying on one position for too long but it suddenly seemed to weigh five hundred pounds!

"Gil," she whisper-shouted so she wouldn't wake the baby still lying in her arms. The fact that she still had an IV in her arm didn't help matters much as she was fighting not to get the tubing caught on the baby's blanket whenever she moved her. She looked at her husband who was still lying in the chair with his head lying against the back of it. "Gil!"

Still no response as he continued his heavy, even breathing. She tried again and again but no response, finally giving up on the whispering idea and gave a full holler. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around at his surroundings then up to see Sara watching him.

"Did you say something?" He reached up and wiped at his mouth as if cleaning of some imaginary drool.

"Only for the last five minutes," she told him. "Could you take her? And then find me an extra pillow?"

"Yeah." He quickly put his feet to the floor and stood up, then picked his daughter from Sara's arms. "Hey, beautiful, you just keep sleeping like a big girl, and mommy and daddy can have some time to ourselves for a few minutes."

"The extra pillow?" Sara asked after he put the little girl in her bassinet and continued to stand there watching her. He turned and looked at her as if questioning what she was referring to, then turned and went to the closet where he got the pillow off the top shelf. He watched as she pressed it against her abdomen with one hand then grabbed onto the railing of the bed with the other and pulled herself onto her left side, facing the window. Her moans of pain and sharp intake of breath brought him to the other side of her where he reached down and pushed a stray strand of hair back from her forehead.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She looked at him for a moment and thought about it. "Maybe, if you could slide up behind me and put pressure on my back, and if I hold it from the front, it might make it feel better."

"Ya know, honey, you can ask for more meds."

"I'll take some of that too."

He nodded his head and pressed her call button then explained that Sara needed another dose of medication to help curb the pain. They waited until the nurse administered it then after she left Grissom moved to check on the baby again. After a glance or two, he moved back to the bed where he slid off his shoes then got onto the bed behind her. Every movement he made brought pain to her abdomen but she grit her teeth against it, wanting him to provide some relief to her stiff back. As his big body spooned up behind hers she leaned back against him while holding the pillow against herself and felt immediate, if not total relief to the muscles of her back.

"How's this? Any better?"

"Mmm-hmm. Gil, what happened when they took her to the NICU? How did she recover so quickly? How can they be sure she's breathing alright? Should we have her over here with us so we can watch her sleep?"

"She's fine, Sara. And they didn't keep her in the NICU. Once they examined her, they sent her to the nursery."

"They sent her to the wrong department?"

"Not really, but, well–yeah, I guess. There was a little over-reaction by a new OB nurse. She wanted to take extra precautions. They checked her thoroughly."

"But she's premature–she's so small."

Grissom chuckled a little at this. "Maybe small in the same way most newborns are small. But, my dear, you had gestational diabetes–her size is larger than most for a 36-week baby. She's a healthy six and a half pounder."

Sara smiled at this. "You make her sound like she's some fish you caught."

"No. I caught her mother, though." He kissed her hair then murmured as his hand slid up and down her arm, "Sara." She could feel him moving more closely behind her until he couldn't put a molecule of air between them. "Honey?"

"Yes?" She asked a bit apprehensively.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"I said, kiss me."

"No," she chuckled.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll get horny."

"I will not."

"You will so! The last time I kissed you when we were lying this close, I ended up giving you a hand-job."

"You don't "want" to give me a hand-job?" He acted shocked.

She couldn't stop her giggling as she felt him lifting himself onto his elbow until he was looking down at her from behind.

"You're not going to give up on this–are you?" She smiled at him.

"Never." He smiled back as she turned her head more toward him without moving her body too much and he leaned down and placed his lips on hers in a slow and gentle kiss then moved until he was lying behind her again and let out a deep sigh. "Now, if you're willing to consider that hand-job. . ."

She was still giggling as she drifted off to sleep again.

When she woke up again, she needed to turn over but was pinned between him and the extra pillow. She tried nudging him but that was a bit awkward as she had her back to him, then she tried to shake his arm but he wouldn't budge for that either. Then, as a final resort, she reached behind herself and grabbed onto the front of his jeans and gave it a little bit more than a gentle squeeze. He jerked in response then grabbed her hand before mumbling against her hair.

"Are you making plans of preventing any further children? Is that your aim? To damage my source of future generations and put me out of commission?"

"It seems to be the only way to wake you without ripping out my staples. Could you help me turn over? Please?"

He got off the bed then held onto her hand and helped her onto her right side. Then he wandered back to the bassinet and looked inside. Sara looked as well and saw a tiny hand rising sporadically, then heard a chirping whimper and a little cry. She didn't even have a chance to go into a full bawl and her father's hands were lifting her from her tiny bed.

"Hey, cricket, what are you doing up already?" He said softly and what was going to progress into an exercising of her lungs and voice subsided as he placed her against his chest and shoulder and stroked her back, eliciting another belch that widened his eyes as he looked back at Sara. "She gets that from you, ya know."

Sara smiled at him and watched him pull the blanket back from her head, showing the beautiful head full of dark hair that he kissed then stroked with his fingers. He went to the chair and sat with her, looking into dark eyes that was still trying to focus on his face.

"I hope that isn't the name you plan on putting on her birth certificate, Dr. Grissom," Sara mused.

"What name is that?" He looked over at her as he pressed his large finger inside his daughter's much smaller ones until they partially wrapped around it.

"Cricket–and don't say it!"

"Say what?"

"That instead of cricket, we could call her Acheta Assimilis or Gryllidae."

"Hmm, Gryllidae Grissom? Sounds good to me."

"I don't think so."

"We could settle for Katydid."

"Um–no. Katy is too close to Catherine."

"Now you've got something against Catherine?"

"No. But I never planned on naming my child after her. She'd never let Nicky or Greg live it down."

"Well then," Grissom said more to his daughter than to his wife as he looked down at his little girl. "I think we better settle on a name. Any ideas?"

They both looked up when a short woman with curly black hair entered the room. Her scrubs indicated her status as a nurse as she went to Sara's IV pole and changed one of the bags. "How are you feeling, Honey? How's the pain?"

"I'm having trouble turning."

"I know it's uncomfortable, but try not to move around too much today. Give it a day to try to heal and early tomorrow morning we'll get rid of that catheter and then we'll have you up and walking around your room." Sara looked at her doubtfully and made the nurse chuckle. "Believe me, you'll be feeling better each day until you won't even know you've had a baby." She looked over at Grissom. "Have you decided on a name yet? I heard you discussing it when I came in."

"No," Grissom said simply as he took the bottle from the baby's mouth then started to burp her, holding her up against the side of his face as he patted her back. "Not yet."

"Hmm," the nurse looked at them indulgently. "I'm no expert but I'd say Abby would be fitting–short for Abigail which means "exalted father." It looks like this daddy certainly is exalted."

"I think Layla is suitable," Grissom spoke up and the nurse approached him and looked down at the child.

"Dark-haired beauty. She certainly is that." She started for the door again. "Well, whatever you decide, I'm sure it will be fitting. If you need anything, just buzz and I'll bring it in."

Sara watched as Grissom continued to feed the baby and she ran the names over in her head. The more she thought about them, the more she liked them.

"Abigail Layla Grissom?" Sara suggested. "Abby for short?"

Grissom looked up at her with a smile. "Abby it is."

Sara took turns with Grissom throughout the rest of the day and evening, giving her daughter up to him when she would become too sore in one position or the medication would make her drowsy. Early the next morning she was relieved when they finally removed the catheter then unhooked the IV. She was now a free agent, so they said. The only problem was, it still felt like she was the assistant in a magician's show that went dreadfully wrong when he tried to saw the lady in half. Grissom, though, was not going to allow her to laze around and do nothing. He had her sitting up and walking at least every two hours, even if it only started with walking from one end of her room to the other. By that evening she was walking the length of the hallway outside of her room and by the following morning, she was feeling so well that when they agreed to discharge her in another day or two, she immediately sent Grissom out to find clothing for the baby. She would need the bare necessities even to go back to their hotel room, then Sara would accompany him to the store and they could get enough to last until they finally made it to France.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

At one month of age, Abby was easily recognizing her mother and father and responding with little noises when they would pick her up. Sara buttoned the white hand-knit sweater on the little girl, then put on her matching cap and tied it.

"Well, Miss Grissom, are we ready for your first airplane trip? It's going to be a whopper of a ride." Sara lifted her and kissed the softness of her cheek, smiling when the baby turned her head toward her in search of a bottle. "Hungry again? Well, how about if we give you this, instead, and save the formula for on the plane?"

Sara gave Abby a pink pacifier as Grissom entered the hotel room and picked up the infant car seat and brought it over to where they were waiting. With one hand she spread a blanket on the seat, then put Abby into it and strapped her into place. She looked up at Grissom and she didn't know who looked more upset, Abby or her father.

"It's going to be alright, Gil. Really. She's going to have to get used to sitting in a car seat. You can't hold her and drive at the same time."

"But I'm not driving. We're riding in a taxi and New York doesn't require car seats in taxis, and she doesn't have to be in a seat on the plane. I think we should just leave it here and buy another once we're settled in France."

"Gil," she said as she looked into his eyes. "You're going to survive this. I promise. Now, if you stop making such a fuss, you can hold her hand the whole way to Paris."

"I'm not making a fuss." He started toward the door as Sara picked up the diaper bag and started to follow him. "I'm just, concerned. What if she becomes frightened and needs to know we're there? How is she going to bond with us while sitting in this contraption?"

"Gilbert Grissom!" Sara closed the door to the hotel room and followed him down the hall toward the elevator. "How many times did I hear you reminding us that seat belts are the law? You were a stickler for child seats on the job."

"Yes, dear." The doors closed and he pressed the button for the first floor then leaned over and kissed her. "And I'm a stickler for keeping Abigail safe as well. But the second she starts to cry on the airplane, out she's coming."

She chuckled at his sensitivity to the child and stroked his back until the door opened and they went to the taxi that was waiting for them out front. In the cab, Abby curled her little fingers round her mother's pinky with one hand while she held onto her father's index finger on the other side of her. She slept quietly but retained her hold on them both. Sara looked out the window at the city that she hadn't really seen much of, even after spending two months there. Two months that they were supposed to have been in Paris. Thankfully, Grissom's assignment had been held for him, just postponed a semester. She thought about everything else she hadn't had time to deal with in the past two months and wondered if she'd ever get caught up with her papers she had intended to write on their sojourn in Costa Rica while they waited for another grant to fund them. She hadn't had the energy or patience to sit in front of a computer since they left the rain forest, but she planned to change all that after they got settled in France. She imagined her emails alone would be outrageous and smiled to herself when she realized that most of them would be from Greg Sanders, followed closely by Charlie and Ted. Oh well, within two days she'd be in her own apartment, in a new city, starting a new life with her family.


	165. Chapter 165

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Five

Sara was on the bed, leaning with her legs down over the side as she stood on her knees. She was looking into the most beautiful set of blue eyes she had ever seen in her life, and they were staring back at her. Then suddenly, they smiled! And Sara's heart did a somersault!

Click! Click! Click!

"Oh! Gil! Look! She smiled!"

Sara was overjoyed as she continued to shoot pictures of her six-week-old daughter as she lay on her stomach and lifted her head to try to see her mother. It was a struggle for the baby, but Sara knew it was strengthening her muscles in her neck. She felt, more than saw Grissom move to stand behind her and look down at the child who had dropped her head back down onto the comforter she was lying on.

"Hey, gorgeous!" Grissom said as he leaned down until he was hovering close to Sara. "Abby, are you going to show us your beautiful grin again?"

Upon the sound of his voice, she lifted her head again and started searching for her father before dropping it to the mattress and resigning herself to watch her parents from that position. When Grissom moved closer to her and her eyes slowly focused onto his bearded face, she smiled again and this time gave an enchanting gurgle along with it. This opportunity was too good for Sara to pass up as she began snapping photos of her husband and daughter staring at one another, both captivated with the other.

"Are you sure we're going to make it to the doctor's office on time? We've only got half an hour, and I don't know exactly where it is."

"It's only about fifteen minutes from here. You'll be on time–if you put the camera away and stop taking pictures of Abby long enough to actually put your shoes on."

"But she smiled, Gil!" Sara explained as she snapped two more pictures. "How could I "not" take pictures of her first smiles?"

"And what were the fifty pictures you took "before" she smiled?" He reached down and lifted his daughter and brought her up to his chest, then looked over at Sara again. "Go on, shoes."

Sara sighed then brought the camera up for another quick shot of the two of them before returning it to the night stand on her side of the bed. She went to the closet and pulled out a pair of sandals and slipped her feet into them. She grabbed a bag on her way to the living room where she found Grissom tying a yellow bonnet on his daughter's head.

"The yellow bonnet? Isn't it a little hot today for a bonnet?" Sara asked but he continued with his task as he shrugged his shoulders.

"It matches her dress. And it will keep the sun off her head. We don't want her to have her scalp getting sunburnt."

"Through all that hair? And we're only going to be outside for fifteen minutes."

"That's quite long enough for her tender skin," Grissom told her as he held Abby in front of himself and lowered her into the baby carrier he had strapped to himself. He then threw his backpack-type diaper bag over his shoulder and went out the door that Sara was holding for them.

"Whatever you say," she smiled indulgently at him as they started down the hall then outside and up the sidewalk to their destination.

"I say–I hope you understand that once you get the doctor's okay, I'm going to be rushing you back home and showering "your" tender skin with extra tender loving care."

Sara looked over at him and laughed. "So, that's the reason you stayed home today. Here, I was thinking you were merely concerned about my physical health–and all along you were concerned about my physical capabilities."

He gave her a sideward glance with half a smile. "Of course I'm concerned about your health–but there's nothing wrong with a little celebrating when we get the green light. Anyway, who's going to take care of Abby while you're being examined if I'm not there?."

She took his hand and continued on their way to the doctor's office where she underwent the usual six-week check-up, then was sidetracked by the cutest boutique along one of the side streets. Sara and Grissom headed straight for the infant clothing where they started picking out their favorites and by the time they returned to one another, they looked at their choices suspiciously then chuckled as they went to pay for their purchases. Sara looked at Grissom's choices and admired the white dress with pink rosettes that adorned its bodice and the bonnet and booties that matched it, then she looked at the pink and white checked sun dress with matching bonnet and socks. He added a pair of black Mary Janes to the clothing. Then she looked at her selection and admired them equally. She thought the blue denim bibbed overalls were charming and loved the light blue shirt that she would wear with it, and then there were the beige capris and tiny orange tank top she thought would look great with the dark sunglasses and tiny flip-flops she had grabbed. Seeing the sunglasses, Grissom quickly grabbed a package of three lace headbands; one with daisies, one with pink rosettes and one with purple pansies. In retaliation, Sara grabbed a small New York Mets baseball cap.

"No," Grissom moaned. "Not the Mets."

"They don't have the Cubs. This will have to do."

"I'll send for one–just don't get the Mets."

"Promise?" She asked as she held the cap and upon his nod, put it back again, then looked down at her dark-haired-beauty who was watching her from her position against her father's upper stomach and lower chest. "See, honey? Pretty soon we'll have you practicing your baseball skills and you'll be in little league before you know it."

"I don't think they have little league in the rain forests, or wherever we're going to be when she's that age." He removed his wallet and got out his credit card as the clerk rang up the items.

"Then, we'll just have to take a baseball and bat along with us and we'll have our own little league, won't we Sweetie?" She put her finger in her daughter's grasp.

"I was thinking more along the lines of ballet," Grissom mumbled as he swiped his card but as he started to sign the electronic device, Abby started to fuss. "And piano."

At this point Abby let out with the most pitiful cry imaginable. "Ah, see?" Sara reached into the carrier and lifted the little girl away from Grissom. "She doesn't want ballet and piano." As Sara lifted Abby against her shoulder, the baby let out with an ear-shattering burp which made her mother laugh and look at her father. "Baseball it is!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"All I'm saying is that you're going to turn her into a ruffian," Grissom complained as he lay a sleeping Abigail in her crib and pulled her sheet up over her legs and chest.

"And you're going to try to turn her into a little cheerleader!" Sara said as she toed off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse with a little more effort than was necessary.

"What's wrong with cheerleaders?" Grissom asked with a raised brow as he turned and looked at her.

"Nothing's wrong with cheerleaders–if you're a "cheerleader type!" Sara pushed her blouse over her shoulders and tossed it into the hamper along the wall and turned back toward him, now wearing only a pair of jeans and her bra. "And Abby isn't the cheerleader type."

"And you know this–how?" He asked as he slowly walked over to her and placed his hands on her hips.

"Because she's half me–isn't she? And "I" was in the Math Club, not on the cheerleader squad." Her hands moved to his shirt and started unbuttoning it. "And as far as I know, "you" weren't on the cheerleader squad, either."

"Maybe not the whole squad, but I was on one or two of them," he said, bringing her eyes up to his in shock. She stopped unbuttoning his shirt immediately and pulled her hands away as if burnt.

"You pig!"

"What?" He chuckled as he continued to hold onto her. "It isn't as if I could go to your Math Club and request your services, my dear. If my calculations are correct, you weren't even in nursery school by the time I was a senior in high school."

"So you had to go and try out as many cheerleaders as you could? You–are–a–pig!" She crossed her arms in front of her.

"I hardly think two girls in high school put me in the category of swine." He pulled her hips closer to his own. "Would it have made a difference if they were two girls from the Debate Team?"

"No," she tried not to smile at him. "You'd still be a pig, but you'd be an admirable pig. At least you would've had sex with them for more than the sake of nailing some blonde with a bra size bigger than her IQ!"

"They weren't blonde," he murmured as he jerked her against him, letting her know that his pants were filling up with his erection at a rapid rate.

"But their bra sizes were bigger than their IQs?" She laughed at him.

"I don't know, I didn't stick around long enough to talk about the size of their. . .brains." His hands slid down over her denim-covered bottom, then up over the skin of her back.

"Are you saying you "didn't" stay long enough to have a relationship with them?"

"No, didn't last that long."

"Poor baby, incapable of having a complete relationship with the bouncy cheerleaders."

"I'm having a lot of trouble having a relationship with the math club scholar right now, and she's my wife!"

She couldn't help but laugh at him this time. "You're lying about all this–aren't you?"

"About having trouble getting you in bed right now–no–you're proving to be most disagreeable."

"No." She put her hands on his hands and started backing up toward the bed. "Not me. About your escapades in high school."

"You're just gonna have to wonder about that for right now. I've got more important things to talk about."

He pushed her onto the mattress with enough force to make her bounce slightly.

"Now, who's being the ruffian?" Sara asked as he came down on top of her and she spread her legs around him.

"Would you rather I behave like a bouncy cheerleader?" He asked with raised brows.

"Yes!" She laughed at him. "Go ahead, Gil! Stand up and do a cheer for me."

He smiled down at her. "I don't think so. If I'm having this much trouble getting sex out of you, can you imagine if you'd be carrying the image of me shaking my pom-poms in your head? I'd never get sex again."

"Ya never know, I might get turned on," she murmured as she looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Really?" His brows rose again and he started to lift himself off of her. "If you're sure that's what will do it for ya."

"No!" She laughed as she clamped her legs around him and pulled him back down to her. "You're right! I'm having a hard enough time getting the picture of you wearing a little skirt and varsity sweater out of my mind. I don't need to actually see you doing a cheer for me," she smiled broadly at him.

"Mm-hmm." He lowered his head until his lips and tongue came in contact with her neck where it joined her shoulder. "How about we move onto a different subject about right now?"

"Okay," she said as she tried to sober and relax as he continued to kiss her throat and his right hand moved until he was massaging her breast over her bra, but she couldn't stop the smile that erupted again, then the throaty chuckle.

He continued kissing her neck, but paused enough to say, "You thought of it again, didn't you?"

She guiltily nodded her head. "I did. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you're sorry." He nudged his hips against hers and made her moan at the sensation, then he lowered his head again and started to kiss her chest.

Her fingers clenched in his hair and the smile started fading from her lips. "Oh! I am," she whispered as he pulled her bra straps down over her arms then reached behind her for a quick release of the hooks and pulled a rigid nipple into his mouth.

She tilted her hips and tried to relieve the tension he was quickly building in her core but he had moved lower on her body and she wasn't able to make contact with the part of him that she knew was pressed firmly into the mattress. His kiss moved lower, across the bottom of her chest and on to her stomach and he maneuvered his body so he could cup her over her jeans. Her reaction was instant as she started rolling her hips against his hand, her movement clearly having an effect on him as he quickly rose up onto his knees and grabbed onto the waistband of her pants. He unbuttoned and unzipped them so fast she thought they might tear and then he reached under her and grabbed onto the denim by the pockets and yanked them down her thighs. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he looked at her body, then before she realized it he was sliding his hand between her legs and inserting his middle finger into her, causing her to moan loudly at the intrusion.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he moved his finger in and out of her and when she nodded her head yes, he added his forefinger as well.

He moved again as he lay on the right side of her legs and leaned on his elbow that was near her waist. His intention was clear as he continued to move his fingers in her and leaned down to feast on her breasts again.

"Gil," she breathed as he suckled on her while using his fingers inside of her, then stroking over her bundle of nerves with his thumb. "God! Gil! I want you inside me!"

"Not this time," he whispered against her and resumed his attention to her, stimulating her until she didn't think she could survive if he didn't take her over the edge soon, and then when it did come, she panted his name between demands of "more–more" as she grasped onto him tightly. He slowly worked his way back up to her lips as he allowed her to ride out her orgasm, then when she looked at him, he smiled gently. "No problems with that?"

"What do you mean?" She asked between breaths.

"No pain? No cramping or anything?"

She shook her head slowly and reached to his shirt, finishing the job of opening it that she had begun earlier. She lifted her head and met his lips with hers as she pushed the shirt over his shoulders, then pushed him onto his back. He offered no resistance as she moved her kiss down over his beard, onto his neck and then onto his chest. Her hand trailed down over his stomach and beneath the waistband of his pants, coming in contact with the heat of him immediately.

She smiled slightly as she moved to lean on her elbow and looked down at him. "How about you? No pain or cramping?"

He reached down and opened his pants, then lifted his hips as he pushed them lower, freeing the part of him that suddenly seemed huge to Sara. God! But he was a beautiful man! She ran her hand over the velvet steel of him and leaned down to kiss his lips again. His impatience and lack of physical contact in the past months became more than he seemed to be able to contain as his right hand covered hers as his left moved to the back of her head and held her in place as his tongue pressed inside her mouth in a deep kiss. His began stroking her hand up and down the length of him. His eagerness showed in the mating of their mouths and how he was now leaning toward her and occasionally bucking against her hand, then suddenly, he pulled back and pulled her hand away. He turned away from her and reached for his night stand, yanking open the drawer and pulling out a foil packet that he grabbed with his teeth and swiftly tore open.

Sara watched as he tossed the foil onto the floor then looked back at her. "You? Or me?"

She took it from his hand and moved lower but when she was about to place it on his tip, she couldn't help herself and lowered her head to take him between her lips and run her tongue over him. The sound of his arousal echoed throughout the room and his hand went to her head immediately, the indecision clear as he pushed her head down at first, then released her immediately and grabbed onto the sheets beneath him. She gave him a few more strokes with her tongue and lips then placed the condom over his tip and rolled it down his length. He rolled her over onto her back before she could straighten from her task and without removing her jeans, he lifted her legs and moved up beneath them. He guided himself to her opening then grabbed onto her hips, letting an almost animalistic growl escape him as he slid into her sheath. She looked up at him as he moved with deliberate slowness and saw how his concentration was completely on keeping himself from releasing before he could give her some pleasure. She watched the sweat begin to bead and then run down his chest and still he held himself at bay while he stroked her until she was beginning to feel the tingling sensations that announced her revitalized hunger. She couldn't reach much of him in her position but what she could reach she took pleasure in. Her fingers moved up and down his thighs as he held her legs with his left arm and slid his finger down through her curls with his right. She was so tight in this position and her movement was extremely limited and yet she could feel his double stimulation taking her to the brink again. This time when she climaxed, he pulled out of her and turned her onto her side so he could lie behind her and slide into her from that angle. His thrusts became much faster and more forceful and it didn't take long for him to reach the end he had been trying to prolong.


	166. Chapter 166

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Six

*Warning*Warning*Warning*

Proceed with Caution!

Sara lay on the mattress, smiling with amusement as she watched her daughter repeatedly fling her right hand back in response to the tickling her thigh was receiving. Each time she flung her hand back, it smacked her father in the chin or cheek. She watched as Grissom winced with each strike, wondering how long it would go on before he would awaken. He had come home over an hour before and after a quick kiss on his way through the living room, he went straight for the bedroom. He was mumbling something about catching up on a few minutes of rest that he had lost the night before when Abby decided only "Daddy" would do to rock her back to sleep at three o'clock in the morning.

"You're doing that on purpose," he grumbled as his hand covered his daughter's and held onto it securely, then he opened his eyes to look at his wife. His voice turned Abby's focus toward him immediately and she began flailing her arms and legs with more vigor, this time seeming to bat at his face with purpose as she gurgled with delight. Grissom looked down at the little girl. "Don't do everything your mother tells you, Abigail! She's going to get you in trouble!"

Sara moved until she was sitting on the bed, Indian-style, as she looked down at them.

"You listen to me all the time, don't ya Abby? Mommy wouldn't get her baby into trouble." She quickly tickled the child's thigh and watched as she swung her arms again, but kept her attention on her father's blue eyes. He released her hand as he looked up at Sara but quickly looked back at Abigail as her tiny fingers found his nose. Her excitement grew as she discovered that she could actually hold onto the protruding object and her sighs and pants grew louder.

"Did you teach her this, too?" Grissom looked back at Sara with Abby's hand still grasping onto his nose then she rolled onto her side and used her other hand to feel it as well.

"I don't have to teach her anything," Sara told him. "Our little three-month-old picks up things so quickly, I'm half afraid she's going to be reading those Shakespeare sonnets all by herself by the time she's two years old."

"She certainly enjoys listening to them when I read them to her."

Sara giggled as she looked down at where Abby now was investigating his lips. "I hate to burst your bubble, babe, but she really enjoys listening to the Pokey Little Puppy when I read that to her, too."

"Of course she does," he remarked as he turned onto his back again then picked up Abby and sat her on his belly. "She's going to be interested in everything. She's a genius."

"Yes, well this little genius needs a diaper change, in case you haven't noticed."

"I'm trying not to," Grissom gave her one of his most charming smiles, letting her know that he would prefer not to take on the task of changing a soiled diaper.

"Fine," Sara sighed and got to her feet then took Abby to the changing table and proceeded to unsnap her onsie and take off the offending diaper. "It looks like it's just you and me to tackle the dirty deed."

"I got an email from Catherine today. She thanked us for the pictures we sent of Abigail," Grissom said from where he adjusted himself on the bed and loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.

"I know, she sent me a message too. She also informed me that they're in dire need of help. Nick and Greg thought the pictures were great. Nick suggested we keep her well hidden from Greg or he'll be asking for her hand in marriage the next time we see him."

"Hmm," Grissom pulled his shirt from his pants. "I suppose if I had a choice between Greg and Hodges as a son-in-law, I'd choose Greg."

"Which reminds me–have you heard from Hodges?"

"Frequently. He seems to be looking up all kinds of helpful information on the internet regarding the appropriate stimulation for Abby as she reaches each new stage of development. I try to reassure him that we're doing just fine on our own over here but I don't think he trusts us."

As Sara finished cleaning Abigail, the baby let out a squawk of disapproval and before she had time to fasten the new diaper onto her, the squawk had turned into a full cry of rebellion. It only took a moment for Grissom to be on his feet as he tossed the tie and shirt toward the end of the bed then moved to the changing table in only his slacks and tee-shirt.

"Hey, Cricket, what's all the fuss about?" He asked as he bent down and kissed her tiny hand, turning her attention to her him with watery eyes as she continued to cry.

"One more moment," Sara sighed as she quickly snapped her onsie, then allowed Grissom to pick her up, stilling her cries immediately. "I'll get her a bottle if you want to feed her."

He only grunted as he went to the rocking chair and sat with the little girl, rubbing her back as she lay against his chest and before long, the cries disappeared and by the time the bottle arrived the baby was fast asleep. Grissom stayed in the chair for nearly an hour, rocking her as she slept against him, then finally relinquishing her to her crib so he could go in for a shower.

"Gil? Did you move the camera?" Sara asked as he came back into the bedroom.

"No. Why? You're not going to take pictures of Abby right now, are you? She's sleeping."

"Since when did that stop me before?" She asked then turned and looked at him. "Who says I was thinking of Abby, anyway?"

"You're not taking pictures period–I don't have any clothes on!"

"I know. That was the point. Just think of everyone's reaction back at the lab when they open up this year's Christmas card with that gracing the front of it." She smiled at him. "No. Seriously, where did you put the camera?"

"I didn't put it anywhere," he told her as he went toward his bureau for clean clothes. "You had it before I left for work."

"I know. I "thought" I put it right here." She moved around the room until she spotted it on the edge of the bureau. "Here it is."

"No pictures," he said absently as he pulled out a pair of boxers.

"Ah, come on," Sara teased as she aimed the camera at him.

"Sara!" He looked at her as the flash went off and her hand flew to cover her mouth.

"Oop!" She laughed. "I didn't mean to do that–really–I didn't."

"Delete it." He moved across the room toward her. "Now!"

"I don't know, Gil," she said as she studied the photo she had just taken. "It's such a nice picture. I'll just keep it for me to look at."

"Sara–delete it!" He continued to walk toward her.

"I like it." She took several steps back.

"Give me that camera!" He reached for it but she took a sharp turn to the left and rushed toward the doorway out of their bedroom.

"It's mine, Trigger! Now when I tell people you're hung like a horse, I'll have proof!" She giggled as he lunged after her and caught her around the waist, lifting her in the air as he carried her back toward the bed again. He held her with one hand while trying to grab onto the camera with the other. She only laughed harder then started to whinny at him. "Down boy! Or should I say giddiup?"

Finally, he caught hold of the camera and released her long enough to press the delete button. He handed the device back to her then grabbed his boxers and stepped into them. When he heard her moan with disappointment, he looked back at her.

"What?" He asked. "You really didn't expect me to let you keep that, did you?"

"Gil! You deleted all of them! All the pictures I took this morning of Abby are gone!"

"I did not. I only deleted the one shot."

"Well, evidently some little photo-hating gremlin came into our apartment while I went for a walk with Abby and deleted them, because they're gone," she said with disappointment as she flopped down onto the edge of the bed.

"So, you'll take more tonight." He walked toward her and took the camera from her, sitting it on the bureau, then pushed her back onto the bed and crawled overtop of her. "But for right now, I can think of other things to take care of."

Sara smiled at him and put her arms around his neck as he settled between her still jean-clad thighs. He lowered his head and met her lips with his, starting the kiss slowly, but within seconds allowing it to heat up and show the passion he was feeling. He slid his hand down to her stomach and up under her blouse where he cupped a breast and began massaging it. Soon, he was rocking his hips against her and was moving his hand lower, aiming for the part of her that had started to throb with need. Abigail's cry soon put a stop to their affectionate exchange and with a heavy sigh, Grissom rolled off of her, then got to his feet and went for a clean tee-shirt and jeans as Sara went to pacify their daughter.

"It's okay, sweetie," Sara cooed at her, but had an idea that it wasn't going to accomplish anything. "I know–I know–it's that time of day, isn't it? Once Daddy's home, Mommy's chopped liver. Here ya go, Daddy. Time for you to take over."

It didn't bother Sara too much that Abigail had such a connection with Grissom. Christ, how could she hold it against her for idolizing the man as much as she did. And it wasn't as if she didn't get on with the child. Whenever Grissom was at work, Mommy was just fine and they enjoyed most of the day entertaining one another. But the child's evenings belonged to her father and by that time Sara was more than happy to hand her off to him. She thought of Grissom's and Abby's bonding time as the time she needed to tend to her own personal needs such as bathing, resting, checking her emails and taking care of correspondence with friends left behind. No, she didn't mind that the child preferred her father when he was home. She was grateful for it.

So Sara took this time to go through any new messages she could have received from the states. She got herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat it next to her laptop, then glanced over at father and daughter as Grissom read from his latest forensic journal and Abby looked at the contrasting pictures on the pages. Sara saw there were two messages from Charlie; the first one stating that she and Ted were going to. . .where it abruptly ended. The second message apologized for hitting the send button prematurely, then went on to explain that she and Ted were going to vacation in Florida for a few weeks before going back to stay with his family until their grant comes through. She glanced over the next few emails, recognizing all the names until she came to one from "Hadley."

"Hadley? I don't know anyone named Hadley, do you?" She asked Grissom but he continued reading to Abigail. She opened the email and read on.

"The interpretation of names can be fascinating, can it not? Having heard how you debated over what to name your. . .little one. . .I know you'll find the irony in my pen name amusing. I enclosed an attachment for you, Sara, that you might also find amusing. If not amusing, then certainly beneficial. Wishing you a most "beneficial" evening, Hadley."

"I got an email from someone calling themselves Hadley. They said I'd find the interpretation of their name amusing. Have you ever heard of the name before?" Sara asked as she clicked on the attachment and watched as it went to Media Player. She didn't notice how Grissom's head suddenly snapped in her direction and only vaguely heard his reply as she watched a darkened room come into focus on her computer screen.

"Hadley? A field of. . .Heather." Grissom said with a dry throat.

Sara tried to recognize the bed in the Victorian-styled room but couldn't. It took a moment longer for the figure lying on the bed to become familiar and she felt a shiver begin in her spine. The voice that followed made her go numb.

"Heather, would you stay?"

Heather Kessler moved into the screen shot, approaching Grissom as he lay on the bed. There seemed to be a reluctance in the woman as she sat on the chair and Sara could only stare as she watched the woman cross her shapely legs and then her husband reach out and touch the calf of her leg. Sara watched Grissom turn on the bed until he was on his back and then Heather got to her feet. That was when she turned and looked directly into the camera and sighed. She went into the arms that were waiting for her on the bed and soon they were lying side-by-side.

"I'll always be here. You know that," Heather murmured.

"I know."

"And you'll always come back to me because I'm your secret."

Sara listened to the sounds they were making, comforting one another, and it was the only noise that she could comprehend until the screen dimmed. She vaguely remembered seeing Grissom's hand unplug the laptop from its electrical source and then grab the computer and flip it to remove the battery pack.

Sara knit her brows in confusion. It was inconceivable what she had just witnessed. It didn't make any sense to her. It was some kind of video alteration that made it "look and sound" like Grissom was with Heather. This couldn't be real–could it? She slowly looked up at her husband who was staring back at her.

"I swear to God, it only happened once!"

The guilt poured from him and suddenly things started to make sense. Little remarks made to her ever since his arrival in Costa Rica. Oh, nothing she could even put he finger on anymore, but the "feeling" that something was off just the slightest, was always there.

"Only once?" She asked blankly, really only repeating the words as a numb parrot might imitate its master.

"I–I needed a friend. . ."

"A friend. . ." The word started to waken something inside of Sara and suddenly she was so tired of that term and excuse that he had hidden behind for years that she felt she were ready to explode. "A friend?"

"Sara, honey, you've got to understand. . ." He started, then stopped and tried another direction. "Nothing happened!"

"Nothing happened?" She was on her feet before she realized it as she felt all her safety, all of her security of the past few months crash around her. "Nothing happened? Everything happened! The moment you even considered going to that whore's house! A friend?"

She didn't even realize she was striking him until he grabbed her by the arms and shook her. "Stop it! For Christ's sake!"

She tore herself out of his hands and reached for the closest thing she could find and swung it at him. The camera came in contact with his cheek and broke the skin as it knocked his head back. He covered his face with his hand as he stood looking at her and she stopped all movement as she stared back.

"_Now you know how Mom felt_," ran through her mind as she stared at him. "_Now you know what it's like to have that one final betrayal snap you–break you–and make you lose control_!"

She took a step back from him and glanced at her surroundings. Slowly, things began to focus again around her. She could hear Abby crying from where her father had evidently put her before he went to the laptop.

"_Is this what you want your daughter to see? Is this the road you want your daughter to travel_?" Echoed through her mind and she knew she wasn't going to follow her mother's example. The violence was going to stop now. And she definitely wasn't going to allow her daughter to witness it, no matter how young she may be. It wasn't going to start here.

Sara looked around, finally laying her eyes on her jacket. She grabbed it but as she started out of the room, Grissom pulled her back inside. This time when she looked at him, the pain that was ripping her apart turned to anger and then numbness again. She only waited a second for him to speak and as she suspected, he couldn't find the words. She pulled out of his grasp and fled out the front door before she would do something she might regret.


	167. Chapter 167

A/N: Again, the majority of the reviews were so very, very, supportive and I want you all to know how much I completely depend on and value those reviews. And to answer one reviewer's remark (only one reviewer)–no, I don't hate Grissom. I don't think I could have written 1,025 pages (so far) about someone I hate. LOL! So, keep the comments coming–they are my fuel to continue.

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Seven

She needed to get away from him. In the matter of a few seconds her world had turned upside down. She racked her brain to try to think of any way to salvage this relationship. Think of what you have! She kept reminding herself, but when she looked at it through eyes that were no longer tinted by illusions, she saw what she had. She had a baby. And she had a man who repeatedly went to the arms of another woman–that woman; a man she could no longer trust. At first, she tried to tell herself that "nothing happened," just as he had tried to convince her. And although she found the phrase to be completely absurd, she tried to see it in the context that he had intended. He meant, he didn't fuck Heather Kessler. But the truth was, the moment he conceived the idea to go to that house, he was unfaithful to her. That was the moment "everything" happened both emotionally and mentally. Again, Grissom chose Heather. The point at which they had actually gone was still unknown to Sara as he had disconnected the power to her laptop before she could see much else.

She immediately made her way to the public library and used the amount of French she had learned as she managed to pull up her email account. She put the headphones in and after making sure the screen was not within anyone else's line of vision, she clicked on the message from Hadley. She watched as the "nothing happened" turned into another lie. She watched everything her husband did and the tears slid down her cheeks until with a quick click she stopped the show. She logged off then went out into the cool night air where she walked for hours, stopping here and there to warm up with a cup of coffee, then getting up and going on her way again.

It was about six-thirty when Sara silently slid the key into the locked door, then pushed it open. She had been gone for twelve hours and had gone through a lifetime of hell. She noticed that the lamp was left on in the living room, dinner was left untouched on the counter next to where he evidently had taken it out of the oven and there was a light coming from their bedroom. She didn't want to face him but didn't have anywhere else to go. Everything she owned was in this apartment. She couldn't even leave and start out fresh because her passport was still here. She needed to gather things, most of which were her thoughts and her sanity. When she sat her keys on the end table, he rushed from the bedroom where he paused in the doorway and stood staring at her. She looked up to see how his face was swollen where she had cut him and he hadn't bothered to clean the blood from his beard or the small amount that had dropped onto his tee-shirt. She looked away from him and went to the hall closet and pulled down a pillow and blanket from the top shelf. She moved back to the sofa and put the pillow down then spread the blanket across its length.

"Sara," he said weakly.

"You should be getting ready for work." Her voice was dull, emotionless.

"I'm not going in today."

She stopped her attempt to fix the blankets and turned to look at him a long moment then looked back toward the door for a means of escape but thought better of it. "Suit yourself. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

"We need to talk. We need to settle this."

She gave him a single nod. "Alright. It's settled. Now, go to work."

"You can't expect me to just leave you here. Not after what you think you've seen."

"Think" I've seen?" She questioned him, then gave a false smile. "Oh, that's right. You shut down the laptop, didn't you?"

"There was no reason for you to see it. I told you nothing happened."

"I never actually considered you a liar, Gil. I actually believed everything you've said–believed "in" everything you've said over the years. Well, guess what, the library offers use of their computers and I can access my email account from them as well."

"You watched the whole thing?" He seemed to pale as he watched her.

"Oh yeah," she said as she gave him a broad, spiteful smile. "And guess what. . ."Hadley" sent two more messages. Each of them had you discussing our relationship with her. It seems you felt the need to get her permission to come in search for me before you could actually do it. Then, when she granted that permission, I watched you. . .you. . ."

Now her smile had faded and her breaths were getting caught in her chest at the memory of what she saw.

"Sara!" Grissom moved into the room with her where he took hold of her upper arms. "Sara, don't do this to yourself."

"Do this to myself?" She couldn't believe his audacity as she struggled to contain herself. She wiped at her tears while pushing his hands away at the same time. She looked at him and her face hardened. There was no remorse for having hit him. There was no feeling guilt for worrying him all night. There was only the vision of him in Heather Kessler's house; in Heather Kessler's bedroom; in Heather Kessler's bed. She pushed him away and when he tried to grab her again, she swatted at him until he engulfed her in his arms with his chest pressing against her back. Finally, her breathing returned to normal and she stopped struggling, but her mind went numb again. She spoke in complete dullness. "Even if I hadn't seen anything past you asking her to stay with you–do you seriously think I'd believe nothing happened? I know your reactions. I can read what was on your mind, and honey–it wasn't me. So don't EVER try to convince me that you went to that building with nothing more than a shoulder to cry on in mind. I don't know which tears at me more–the fact that you went with the thought of making love to her–or the fact that you went to her to get her permission to come after me. So, you've succeeded. You've destroyed us completely. There will "never" be what could've been. I'll never trust you again–I'll never give myself to you again. You're not a man, but some kind of freak who needs to justify his appetite for someone his "mamma wouldn't approve of" by turning it into an absurdity in his head. I don't need that imitation of a man in my life. You've destroyed any self-esteem I may have had remaining, proving to me that your preferences are for Heather, by running back to her time and again, but the judgement of society keeps you from running to her as you want to. Instead, you hide behind me–hide behind this term of "friendship" that is a complete and utter desecration of the term. She was being a wonderful friend to you as she invited you to spend the night in her house, and you were being such a wonderful friend when you asked her to stay in the room with you all night. Those–alone–sicken me. So don't "ever" try to patronize me with your term of "friendship with this woman." Someday you may grow up and be a man and call a spade a spade and drop this fascade of her being your dear, dear, friend. You make me sick!"

He turned her to face him then released his hold on her. "So this is it? You're giving up on "everything" because of "this?" YOU were the one who ended it, Sara! YOU were the one who got on a ship and headed off to Central America! YOU were the one who released me and told me to go on without you!"

"And you didn't waste a goddamned second before you ran to her fucking arms!" She yelled at him. "Tell me something, Grissom–if friendship is so important to you–where was your friendship where "I" was concerned? You selfish bastard! I can't even stand the sight of you!"

Sara's rants wakened Abby and her startled cries sent Sara past Grissom to the child. She picked her daughter up and started to rock her but in her anger at her husband, her movements were a little more jerky than usual. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to soothe the little girl.

"Give her to me," Grissom said quietly as he took the baby out of her arms then reached into the crib and got her pacifier then gave it to her. He settled her against his chest, rubbing her back as she nestled herself against him and quieted. Sara nodded her head in silent submission then walked past them, back to the living room where she went to the counter for her bag with her wallet in it. She only took two steps before Grissom put his hand on the bag and stopped her. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere I can. I need to think."

"You can think here. Go to bed. I'll stay out here with Abby."

"I'm not going to that bed."

"Why?" he asked stiffly. "Because you share it with me?" When she didn't respond, he went on. "Then sleep on the damned sofa, but don't leave this apartment. I'll stay in the bedroom."

She shrugged his hand off of her bag and took another step toward the door but he stepped in front of her and looked at her with silent warning. "Fine! I'll stay on the couch–for now!"

Sara tossed her bag back on the counter then went to the sofa where she stretched her body without even removing her jacket or her shoes. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling so trapped that she could scream. But she had no where to go–not now. She didn't have Nick or Greg to run to so they could talk her through this. She didn't have Jim there to tell her things would turn out eventually. She didn't even have work to go to so she could escape the reality of what had happened. And she needed an escape because she couldn't face this anymore.

She slid her hands up to cover her face when flashes of Grissom in Heather's bed consumed her. Nothing she could do seemed to let her escape it. She could hear Grissom gently talking to Abby in the bedroom, then after a few moments she heard him walk into the living room again and move to sit on the chair behind her. She listened to him pick up the telephone and dial it, then in his best French, he told someone that he wouldn't be in today, that he was facing a family emergency. Again, she waited for him to leave, but he remained in the chair and she knew he had no intentions of leaving her alone. He would never leave her alone. He would never give her peace. She heard him get to his feet then go to the kitchen before returning a few moments later where his footsteps stopped directly behind her.

"Here. Drink this."

She tried to ignore him, but he nudged her shoulder, making her open her eyes and look at what he was offering her.

"Trying to get me drunk, Grissom? Is that how you're going to deal with this?"

"Drink it. It will help you relax and maybe sleep."

She turned around and sat up, taking the jigger of whiskey and downing it in a gulp before getting up and walking past him to the kitchen where she retrieved the entire bottle. He didn't say a word as he watched her take her seat again on the sofa and pour another shot.

"This is going to take more than a single shot."

After she downed two more shots, he took the bottle from her and poured one for himself, then sat in the chair opposite her again. She could feel the alcohol hitting her quickly, mixing with the effects of her sleeplessness and emotional exhaustion as her eyes began to blink. They sat in silence until she finally allowed her eyes to travel to him only to find that he was watching her closely.

"I wanted to tell you," he said in a monotone voice that expressed his exhaustion as well. "But I decided it would do neither of us any good if I did."

"How big of you." She waited for a response but he remained silent as he continued to watch her. She couldn't stand to look at him any longer so she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. "Just go to bed and let it be."

She listened as she heard his footsteps take him back into the kitchen and finally sleep overtook her. Her dreams took over immediately, spiraling her into rooms filled with antique furniture and a sensation of something indescribably ill. She could find no other way to describe it other than the sensation caused her stomach to stir uncontrollably. She found herself lying on a bed and immediately sat up and looked around the room, her entire body tense as she looked at the doors on the other side. One opened and she watched the black silhouette standing there, watching her and her heart felt as if it were being squeezed from her chest. Her breath was being cut off and she felt as if her mind were going to explode.

"Sara!" She snapped her head toward the other door that opened suddenly to see light and color, green grass and blue sky, trees and flowers, and there standing with his hand extended to her was Christopher. She glanced back toward the dark figure and saw that door slam closed but it started to shake on its hinges as the silhouette tried to gain entrance. "Sara! This way! You've got to come this way!"

She leaped from the bed, running over a carpet of muck until finally his hand grasped onto hers and she was pulled from the thick blackness that was trying to smother her. The instant she was through the doorway, into the clear blue sky, she felt cool air quenching the thirst in her lungs and her heart beat freely. She looked up into the blue eyes of the young man standing before her and she threw her arms around his neck, allowing her tears to escape.

"Christopher! You've come back!"

"Shh." His hand stroked her hair as he rocked her gently back and forth. "You're alright. You're strong, Sara. You can survive this. You've got a magnificent heart, Sara. You've managed to make your way through all of this, and yet you were able to forgive everything."

"Everything–but this." She raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "I can't fight evil."

"Evil?" Christopher smiled at her. "She isn't evil, Sara. She's just a woman; just a broken woman who is used to getting her own way."

"And what about him? How can you explain him?"

"Well," he smirked. "Does the expression asshole mean anything to you? How about fool–idiot–complete imbecile?"

Sara gave him a weak smile as she wiped at her face, then allowed Christopher to do the same as his touch soothed her scorched skin.

"I don't know what to do." She looked at him again. "I can't stand being around him. He's not who I thought he was."

"No, I suppose he isn't."

"I trusted him."

"I know you did."

"I gave him my heart."

"Does he still have it?" Christopher asked.

"What he holds now is shriveled and dead. He killed it."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He took her hand in his. "Maybe it isn't dead yet, only critically wounded."

Sara smiled at him as if he were a young child, incapable of understanding the workings of a woman's heart, incapable of understanding how "cheating" kills trust, and without trust, there is no love. "You don't understand, honey. You don't know what it's like to have someone push and push at you until you have no choice but to walk away, and then have them run into the arms of someone else. You don't understand what it's like to have that person value the judgement of the other person so much that he would allow them to dictate whether he stay or go, all the while knowing how you had begged and begged for him to come with you in the first place."

"Sara," he sighed and she knew he had no words of wisdom to point her back to her husband. "How can I help you get through this?"

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it then looked back at him with a sad smile. "You're helping right now."

His blue eyes smiled back just as sadly, then he turned and looked behind her. He looked at her with alarm. "Sara–you've got to wake up. Wake up! NOW!"


	168. Chapter 168

A/N: My apologies to those of you I have upset, and my thanks to those of you who have come to my story's defense. Please understand that I was not vying for compliments (although I truly appreciate the support), I was merely asking a question. A simple question of whether you wanted me to continue or not. I received my answer tenfold and will continue and hopefully wrap this up with a happily ever after in the end. But it will take awhile for them to reach that point (chapter-wise). Again, thank you all for your support. (Oh, I particularly want to apologize for sending that last "A/N" through as a chapter. I knew better than that–I truly did, but must have had a lapse in my jumbled memory at the time. Sorry 'bout that. I'm going to replace that chapter with this one.) Bear with me and we'll get there! : )

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Eight

Grissom was exhausted, there was no doubt. He had been awake all night, waiting for Sara to come home. He had hoped that he had turned off the computer in time and she hadn't really seen what transpired between himself and Heather. He couldn't believe that Heather would do this to him. Yes, she made it abundantly clear that she wanted him to decide between herself and Sara the night he spent with her, but she seemed to have accepted it when he told her he was leaving the following morning. That was why he called her shortly after Sara had stormed out of the door.

"Grissom," Heather acknowledged. "Why are you calling here?"

"Heather–I–want to know why you sent Sara that email. I can't imagine you'd try to hurt her this much."

"Grissom, what are you talking about?" She asked with irritation. "First, I haven't sent . . . your fiancé. . . any emails. I–unlike you–do not have the resources to come up with someone's email address out of the blue. And second, I don't have to try to "hurt her." She does that enough all by herself by not accepting the side of you that I have."

He was silent for a moment. "Is that why you videoed us together? Is that why you asked me to stay in your "extra" bedroom?"

This time the silence was on the other end, then Heather's voice rose with a cold anger. "Did you say "videoed us?" In the extra bedroom? There was . . . I haven't had any video equipment set up in that room for over two years. I used it for some of the clients who wanted to communicate their wishes to their significant others when they couldn't push themselves to do it verbally. Everything I videoed was absolutely legal and with the consent of those involved! I "certainly" wouldn't video myself–especially now that I'm a professional therapist!"

"You're saying you were unaware that we were being taped?"

"Of course I was unaware!" There was a momentary pause. "That means there was someone in my house! Grissom! In my home!"

"Heather, call the police and have them come and search the property. Whoever is behind this knew I was going to your house that night. They sent Sara the video of me asking you to stay with me."

"You hadn't told her, had you?"

After a long pause, he answered, "No."

"So–I "was" your secret. After you left that morning, I knew I was your "revenge" against her for leaving you. Sometimes, when I look past her naivete and blatant inferiority, I can almost pity Sara. Sometimes."

"Call the police, Heather."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom put Abby down for the night and was waiting, moving himself from pacing through the apartment, to sitting in the living room, to sitting in the bedroom when he would check on Abby. The sound of Sara's keys being sat on the end table in the living room alerted him that she was finally home and he lunged from the bed to stand in the doorway. The look that covered her face stopped him and all of his insecurities washed over him again.

"Sara," he said weakly.

"You should be getting ready for work." Her voice was dull, emotionless.

"I'm not going in today."

"Suit yourself. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

"We need to talk. We need to settle this."

"Alright. It's settled. Now, go to work."

He didn't expect it to be easy, but he did expect her to listen. The fact that she had zoned him out like this frightened him.

"You can't expect me to just leave you here. Not after what you think you've seen."

"Think" I've seen?" She gave a false smile. "Oh, that's right. You shut down the laptop, didn't you?"

"There was no reason for you to see it. I told you nothing happened."

"I never actually considered you a liar, Gil. I actually believed everything you've said–believed "in" everything you've said over the years. Well, guess what, the library offers use of their computers and I can access my email account from them as well."

"You watched the whole thing?" He felt his strength waning as he realized what she must have seen.

"Oh yeah, and guess what else. . ."Hadley" sent two more messages. Each of them had you discussing our relationship with her. It seems you felt the need to get her permission to come in search for me before you could actually do it. Then, when she granted that permission, I watched you. . .you. . ."

Her smile faded as she looked away from him and her breaths were coming out rapid and he knew she was about to hyperventilate.

"Sara!" Grissom moved into the room with her where he took hold of her upper arms, hoping to calm her enough for her to control her breathing. "Sara, don't do this to yourself."

"Do this to myself?" She wiped at her tears while pushing his hands away at the same time. She looked at him and her face hardened. She pushed him away and when he tried to grab her again, she swatted at him until he engulfed her in his arms with his chest pressing against her back. Finally, her breathing returned to normal and she stopped struggling. When she spoke, it was completely without emotion. "Even if I hadn't seen anything past you asking her to stay with you–do you seriously think I'd believe nothing happened? I know your reactions. I can read what was on your mind, and honey–it wasn't me. So don't EVER try to convince me that you went to that building with nothing more than a shoulder to cry on in mind. I don't know which tears at me more–the fact that you went with the thought of making love to her–or the fact that you went to her to get her permission to come after me. So, you've succeeded. You've destroyed us completely. There will "never" be what could've been. I'll never trust you again–I'll never give myself to you again. You're not a man, but some kind of freak who needs to justify his appetite for someone his "mamma wouldn't approve of" by turning it into an absurdity in his head. I don't need that imitation of a man in my life. You've destroyed any self-esteem I may have had remaining, proving to me that your preferences are for Heather, by running back to her time and again, but the judgement of society keeps you from running to her as you want to. Instead, you hide behind me–hide behind this term of "friendship" that is a complete and utter desecration of the term. She was being a wonderful friend to you as she invited you to spend the night in her house, and you were being such a wonderful friend when you asked her to stay in the room with you all night. Those–alone–sicken me. So don't "ever" try to patronize me with your term of "friendship with this woman." Someday you may grow up and be a man and call a spade a spade and drop this fascade of her being your dear, dear, friend. You make me sick!"

He felt chilled to the bone. Everything he had hoped to gain in his life was collapsing around him. Fear was running rampant as turned her to face him then released his hold on her. "So this is it? You're giving up on "everything" because of "this?" YOU were the one who ended it, Sara! YOU were the one who got on a ship and headed off to Central America! YOU were the one who released me and told me to go on without you!"

"And you didn't waste a goddamned second before you ran to her fucking arms!" She yelled at him. "Tell me something, Grissom–if friendship is so important to you–where was your friendship where "I" was concerned? You selfish bastard! I can't even stand the sight of you!"

Her comments hit him harder than any physical jab she could have thrown at him. He hardly noticed Abby's cries until Sara pushed past him and into the bedroom. He watched as she tried to comfort their daughter but it wasn't working. Abby was feeling the tension in her mother and was picking up on it.

"Give her to me," Grissom said numbly as he took the baby out of her arms then reached into the crib and got her pacifier then gave it to her. He subconsciously settled her against his chest, rubbing her back as she nestled herself against him and quieted. Sara walked past them, back to the living room where she went to the counter for her bag with her wallet in it. She only took two steps before Grissom put his hand on the bag and stopped her. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere I can. I need to think."

"You can think here. Go to bed. I'll stay out here with Abby." He was grasping at straws to keep her there. He couldn't take another moment of not knowing where she was as she walked the streets of Paris.

"I'm not going to that bed."

"Why?" Her poisonous reply struck him like a slap in the face. "Because you share it with me?" When she didn't respond, he went on. "Then sleep on the damned sofa, but don't leave this apartment. I'll stay in the bedroom."

She shrugged his hand off of her bag and took another step toward the door but he stepped in front of her. He didn't know what else he could do to make her stay, but right now he wasn't thinking clearly and was only acting on instinct.

"Fine! I'll stay on the couch–for now!"

Sara tossed her bag back on the counter then went to the sofa where she stretched her body without even removing her jacket or shoes. She turned her back to him and remained still for several moments. Grissom went into the bedroom where he lay his daughter down and stroked her tummy until her eyes closed and she dozed off. He didn't even realize what he was saying to her as words simply spilled from him, lulling her back to sleep. He went back to the living room and dialed, alerting them that he wouldn't be coming in to lecture today since he was facing a family emergency.

He knew she was still awake, and he knew she wanted him to go back to the bedroom but he couldn't bring himself to leave her. Instead, he moved to a chair close to the sofa and stared blankly at her. He noticed how her body remained rigid, then as she covered her face with her hands, he could sense that she was crying and it tore him up inside. He went into the kitchen and got a bottle of scotch down from the cabinet and poured some into a glass.

"Here. Drink this," he told her when he returned to the sofa.

She knew she was trying to ignore him so he nudged her shoulder.

"Trying to get me drunk, Grissom? Is that how you're going to deal with this?"

"Drink it. It will help you relax and maybe sleep."

She turned around and sat up, taking the jigger of whiskey and downing it in a gulp before getting up and walking past him to the kitchen where she retrieved the entire bottle. He didn't say a word as he watched her take her seat again on the sofa and pour another shot.

"This is going to take more than a single shot."

He allowed her two more shots, then felt the need for some as well. He poured himself one then sat down again. He watched as her eyes began to droop in exhaustion and knew he had better say something–anything that could help the situation.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, feeling the effects of the past night more than the alcohol. "But I decided it would do neither of us any good if I did."

"How big of you." She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. "Just go to bed and let it be."

He watched her quickly succumb to a deep sleep, and still he continued to sit there and watch her. He took another shot of scotch as he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her. She was so goddamned beautiful. She meant everything to him. Why couldn't she see that? He waited until her breathing grew deep and he got up and moved to her.

"Sara?" He asked quietly and when she didn't respond, he called a little louder. When she still didn't respond he put the bottle of scotch on the end table and bent down to her, sliding his right hand behind her back and his left under her thighs. He lifted her and carried her in to their bed and lay her down. He took off her shoes and placed them in their place on the floor, then he moved to the other side of the bed and lay down. He was so emotionally and physically exhausted that sleep overcame him the moment he moved up against Sara and put his arm around her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He heard Abby happily cooing and he opened his eyes, immediately becoming alarmed upon sight of the man reaching inside the crib. He tried to spring to his feet but he seemed to be tied to the bed. It was almost as if he were paralyzed as he listened to the curly-haired young man talking to his daughter.

"Hey there, gorgeous! Well, aren't you getting big! Where'd you get that big smile? Hmm? I bet I know. You're looking so much like her! But then, we already knew that, didn't we?" The young man chuckled as he let the little girl play with his finger. "But she's not smiling so much now, is she? Don't you worry, little one. She might have tripped and fallen, but she's going to get up again, and she'll be stronger than ever. Just don't give up on her until them, okay? We're just gonna have to help her through this, you and I."

Grissom watched as the man slowly turned and looked at him. The brownish hair, the scruff on his face, the dimpled chin, the brilliant blue eyes. He had seen him before, and then he remembered.

"I know you," breathed Grissom.

The man didn't smile at him this time, not like he had always managed to smile at him before. "No, you don't."

"You're Christopher. What are you doing here?"

"It doesn't matter what I'm doing here–not to you, at least. Let's just say I was needed."

"By whom?"

Christopher finally smiled at him but it never reached his eyes. "You're going to destroy all three of their lives–do you know that?"

"Three?" Grissom finally pushed himself up to lean on his elbow, the urge to get Christopher away from Abby now gone. "You mean, Sara, Abby and Heather?"

Christopher closed his eyes as his smile faded and he gave s slight shake of his head, as if losing faith in any chance of succeeding in his reason for being there. He seemed defeated, then he opened his eyes and Grissom no longer saw the gentle person he had recognized from his past.

"You've got to choose!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. What do I have to choose?"

Grissom looked down at Sara as she started to stir next to him, then when he looked back at the crib, Christopher was gone. Sleep encompassed him as he started to fidget on the bed. Finally, he awoke and was unable to relax any longer. He went to the living room and hooked up Sara's laptop then went to her email account. He watched in stunned silence as the emails unfolded before him. The first showed him entering the bedroom and lying down, then asking Heather to stay with him. He closed his eyes in pain, knowing what was coming next, knowing what his wife had witnessed. Then the next email went back to before they even went upstairs and they had discussed his relationship that was in jeopardy with Sara. Another email showed him arriving at the very beginning of his visit, drenched and cold from having stood outside in the rain for such an extended period of time.

If Heather didn't send these emails, or even have knowledge of their existence, then he wanted to know who did. He got his phone and called Las Vegas. He was going to find out who was ripping his life apart and why.


	169. Chapter 169

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is sticking with this story. To those of you who aren't, I can understand fully. But this show will go on. I wanted to alert everyone that I changed the previous chapter to a "real" chapter instead of simply an author's note, so please go to Chapter 168 before reading this chapter. Thank you!

Chapter One-Hundred-Sixty-Nine

The blue sky was overcome with black shadows and the wind began to blow. Sara looked at Christopher's face as he looked past her, looking in the direction of where she had come from. Sara looked to see the doorway leading back into the bedroom and the dark figure standing there.

"I'm his secret," whispered the dark voice before the door slammed closed between them, it's bang reverberating through her body and jerking her awake.

Sara blinked her eyes, at a loss to where she was for a few moments, then the sound of the baby cooing across the room reminded her that she was in Paris with her husband and daughter. Sara stretched and got up, moving to the crib with sleep-filled eyes and looked in at the dark-haired cherub looking back up at her. As was Abby's usual custom in the mornings, upon seeing her mother, her cooing turned to angry declarations of the need to be picked up.

"And just what are you going to do if I refuse, little Miss Grissom?" Sara playfully asked her daughter and watched as her arms and legs started pumping frantically as she got excited. "Alright, alright. You win."

Sara lifted the little girl into her arms and cradled her against her shoulder, chuckling when the baby turned her head toward her and started rooting against her mother's cheek. It was now more than clear that the baby wanted a bottle, so Sara started out of the bedroom.

"Check the address, Arch, I want to know who this "Hadley" person is and where they're located," Grissom said into the telephone as he stood with his back to Sara.

His words tossed Sara back into the nightmare she had been able to avoid since her awakening. She stopped in her tracks as she watched him hang up the telephone then turn toward her. His expression showed that he hadn't known she was awake and clearly hadn't intended for her to hear his telephone conversation. She looked away from him as she walked past on her way to the kitchen for a bottle of formula.

"What's this? Couldn't even wait twenty-four hours before running to your lady fair's defense? How sweet." She went about preparing the bottle as she kept her back to Grissom.

"Heather didn't do this," he said quietly.

She stopped all movement for a few seconds as she digested what he had just said, then finished with the bottle. "And you know this–how?"

"I talked to her while you were gone last night."

Sara slowly turned to look at him. She felt as if she had been kicked in the chest. For her baby's safety, she quickly made her way to the room where she lay Abby and propped the bottle for her to drink. The last thing she wanted to do was drop her because she felt faint. She looked back at Grissom and noticed how he was looking at Abby and it was evident that he didn't approve of her propping the bottle the way she did. He started to walk toward them.

"Give her to me–I'll feed her."

"I'd prefer if you didn't touch her right now."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sara," he told her as he approached them again.

"DON'T," she started, "hide behind my baby! You stand there and tell me that you've been in contact with that woman! Is that how she knew we had such a "difficult time finding the right name for the baby?" You were talking to her on the phone the night I had Abby! I just went through a damned Cesarean section to deliver your child–and you snuck off to talk to her on the phone! Then you told me I was hallucinating! Is that how you came up with the name for Abby? Is that where you got Lela? You had to ask that whore for permission to name our baby!"

Grissom stood silently before her and his silence only served to convince her that everything she was saying was correct. The slap echoed throughout the apartment, and when he simply looked back at her, she repeated her actions. A third attempt had her forearm caught in his grip as he held her still before him.

"You're overreacting to everything now," he told her. "You're imagining things that just aren't there. When I came to Costa Rica I had made a decision that you were my life and I devoted myself completely to you!"

"And that's why you called Heather – how many times since then?" She smiled spitefully as she yanked her arm away from him and turned away. "And what about before then, Grissom? How devoted to me were you when you dove into bed with her?"

"I needed a friend!" He nearly shouted.

"Friends don't FUCK friends!" She shouted back. "Friends don't do what you did to her!"

"I. . .didn't. . .fuck her. . ." he said reluctantly and she laughed at him. "I watched the video, Sara. You didn't see me having intercourse with her."

"Don't even speak to me anymore. Don't patronize me with the lies that keep spewing from your mouth." She picked up Abby and started back into the bedroom where she went to the rocking chair and rocked her, but he followed.

"You couldn't have seen it, Sara. It didn't happen. I. . .I. . .couldn't do it."

"Get out!" She hissed.

"Sara! I couldn't get an erection! I wanted to–God, I wanted to! I wanted to wash the memory of you away for at least one night and let myself find peace–but even my own body betrayed me." His voice broke as he added. "I kept seeing you–only you–and I couldn't do anything."

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. You couldn't do anything. Well, Gris, you gave a pretty good imitation of it on camera. I guess this means that if you "could have gotten it up" you'd still be there with her. So, would you like to tell me what kinds of disease you may have spread on to me and our daughter while she was in utero?"

"None."

"None?"

"Heather doesn't have anything."

Sara could only stare at him. He really had no idea how each answer he gave drove another nail into her soul. "Heather. . .doesn't. . .have. . .anything. And if anyone would know–it would be you, wouldn't it? I mean, being such good friends and all. So, tell me, did you get up and leave her after finding yourself impotent? Did you walk away?" She asked, but his expression gave him away. "No. I didn't think so. Do you seriously believe that it makes me feel one bit better knowing you didn't have "intercourse" because you couldn't get it up? You admitted how much you wanted to!"

"I wanted it to be you!"

"Yes. You wanted it to be me–so much so that you spent the rest of the night in her arms." She gave another harsh chuckle. "Well, ya know what? Next time I'm with a good friend of mine, I'm going to go have sex with him–and wish it was you, while I'm doing it."

"Don't be absurd." He dismissed her comment, clearly not taking it seriously.

She rocked their daughter who was greedily sucking at her bottle, and she slowly nodded her head as she studied him. "Mmm-hmm. Absurd. We'll see."

"What do you mean? What are you planning to do?"

She didn't answer as she removed the empty bottle from Abby's mouth then got to her feet and patted her back as she went to the changing table and started to change the baby's clothing. "Hey, little lady, how about a walk in a Paris morning? Hmm?"

"Where are you going with her?" Grissom asked immediately as he watched her take off the pajamas then change her diaper, but Sara didn't answer as she went on to put on a pair of slacks and matching shirt, then socks. She started toward the living room with Grissom at her heels.

"You want your walk, don't you?" Sara asked Abby who responded by promptly reaching up and grabbing her mother's nose, making her laugh as she grabbed her coat and hat and started putting them on the child.

"You're not taking her out, Sara."

"No?" She looked back at him as she placed Abby in the stroller. "And why wouldn't I?"

"She doesn't need to go for a walk right now." He moved to stand in front of the door as he watched her coming toward him. "You're simply running away from the issue."

Sara barely looked at him as she reached for the door. "Abby and I always go on a morning walk, something you'd know if you weren't working while we were doing it. And yes, Abby does need an hour or so outside in the fresh air. And yes, I need it even more. AND, if you'd use your head, "you" are the one running away from the issue–and I'm the one chasing you with it." She pushed the stroller around him. "Abby and I are going for our morning walk."

She made her way around her husband and closed the door behind her as she started down the hall. Inside the elevator, she let a gasp escape as she tried to hide a sob, then she was exiting the building and starting down the Parisian streets. She occasionally wiped at her eyes as she didn't notice friendly faces she had come to know over the past few months. Instead, she made her way to the park and sat on a bench with Abby in her stroller.

She thought about this the entire way to the park, debating with herself over whether she wanted to go through with it or not. Then she opened her cell phone and dialed. When the other person finally answered, she said, "Hey! Yeah, it's me. I'm fine! I'm great!" Then a sob escaped her and she began to softly cry. "I need you so much."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara was gone for nearly three hours, only coming home when Abby alerted her that she was becoming hungry again. She entered the apartment and was met with silence, noting quickly that Grissom was sitting on the sofa with his head leaning against its back. He was sleeping with his hand on the telephone and she suspected she knew whom he had been talking to while she was gone. It wasn't getting any better; only worse. In the park, she had talked on her cell for a long time, poured her heart out as she had never done before, knowing the person on the other end loved her and would help her any way possible. Things were set in motion and she wasn't going sit idly by to wait for circumstances to beat her. In the matter of twenty-four hours, she was going to have a plan in action. She just needed to come up with the plan–but that will be easier once "he" arrives and they'll put their heads together. They always worked extremely well together in the past. He was one of the few people she would, unequivocally, hand her heart to. He would never destroy it.

Sara walked through the living room with Abby and went to the kitchen to prepare another bottle. She removed Abby's pink jacket and her matching hat and felt her heart tear at the memory of the day Grissom walked into the apartment with a little bag he had picked up on his way home from the Sorbonne. Sara had made a fuss about his choice in getting Abby a pink jacket with lace and rosettes, but Grissom merely gave her one of his boyish smiles as he picked the baby up and held her close. "Nothing less for my little angel," he had said and Sara had to agree. Her thinking was that although the child may resemble her in some aspects, she is definitely going to have her very own personality and if that included all the frills of being a girl, Sara was finding that more and more acceptable as she fell more and more in love with the child.

"How are your pants, little lady?" Sara whispered as she checked her daughter then proceeded to change the damp diaper. When she finished, she went to the rocking chair and fed her. After another half hour of simply rocking her and burping her, she took her to her crib and lay her inside. It was going on two o'clock and Sara was so tired she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. What was usually bath time for Abby, would have to wait until she got some sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara fell asleep almost immediately and slept the deep sleep of one trying to escape reality. In this dreamless state she had no problem, she had no worries–she was numb to everything that could harm her. She felt safe in her black cocoon as she lay on her bed but then her body started to betray her. Bit by bit she was waking and could feel the familiar hands of her lover as he caressed her body. She tilted her head to the side as she felt the soft whiskers against her shoulder and throat and the hot breath as he kissed her neck from behind her. She could feel the familiar pressure of him as he pressed against her backside and pulled her hips back against him even more tightly. It wasn't the first time she woke up like this, and every time he would eventually tell her that she was the one who initiated the event while she was still sleeping. She felt him putting pressure on her hip until he was turning her onto her back and he leaned over her, meeting her mouth in a coaxing kiss. But there was something different about this; something about the force he was using. It was almost timid, almost fearful which was not like Grissom at all. She moaned her confusion as his mouth covered hers and he grazed his tongue over her opened lips. Then he pulled back from her a mere millimeter and his voice was filled with anguish as he whispered to her.

'Please, don't leave me."

The words woke her completely and memories crashed around her. She pushed against him but he tried to keep her beneath him until after a few seconds he gave up. She looked at him and could only see him lying in another woman's bed, in another woman's arms, and she suddenly felt sick. Her hand covered her mouth and she rolled off the bed and ran for the bathroom where she dry heaved because she hadn't eaten anything since the afternoon before. He was behind her in an instant, kneeling next to her as he tried to comfort her, but she kept trying to push his hands away with weak attempts. Finally, the heaving ended and she started to sob as she sat on the floor and leaned against the side of the bathtub with her hands covering her face.

"Sara–please. . ."

"No! Leave me alone! The thought makes me sick. So just leave me alone."


	170. Chapter 170

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy

Grissom looked at her as he stooped on the bathroom floor in front of her. He wanted so badly to hold her, to pull her against him and stroke her soft hair and tell her that everything was going to be alright. But she told him she couldn't bear his touch. He continued to watch for a moment longer, then stood up and exited the room. He went to the living room and positioned himself on the sofa where she had left the pillow earlier. He hadn't anticipated going that far. He had only wanted to get some rest as he lay behind her, but then he felt her reach back and pull his arm around her. He lay completely still as she pulled his hand up to cover her breast in a familiar position that always initiated a session of lovemaking. When she pressed herself back against him and turned her head toward him, then whimpered her disapproval at his lack of response, he only meant to kiss her once to lull her back to sleep. But she turned her back to him again and pressed her hips against him with a seductive wiggle. He wasn't sure what she wanted, so he proceeded slowly as he kissed her neck and worked her around until she was lying beneath him. His words escaped him as he spoke his greatest fear.

"Please, don't leave me. . ."

And that was all it took as she came crashing back to reality. He should have known better and it was only a moment of pure hope that had him pursuing the chance of a reconciliation, if only a physical one, for the time being. He continued to listen to her as she controlled her sobbing, then he heard the flow of water as she most probably was trying to cool hers off. A few moments later, he listened to her pad across the floor, then saw through the open doorway as she walked to the crib and picked up her sleeping daughter. She carried her back to the bed and lay down, this time with her hand resting on the child's chest as she quietly lay next to her. He watched as she fell back to sleep and her irregular breathing finally turned even and wasn't laced with occasional tiny sobs. He remained lying on his side, watching her sleep from twenty feet away, until finally, after nearly an hour, he fell asleep as well.

The soothing sound of Sara's voice woke him several hours later. She gently sang a lullaby to Abby as she fed her. He moved his stiff body into a sitting position and wiped his hand down over his face in an attempt to wake up more fully. After a few seconds to gather his bearings he got to his feet and moved into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was past dinner time then he opened the refrigerator and looked for anything to make. Deciding he had better ask her what she was in the mood for, he turned and went back to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway momentarily then moved inside. As soon as she noticed his entrance her singing stopped and she removed the empty bottle from the baby's mouth, then turned her to burp her. She finally, very reluctantly, moved her eyes up to him and acknowledged his presence.

"I was going to make dinner. What would you like?" He asked.

"I'm not hungry."

"When do you suppose you might want to eat?"

"I guess that would be when I get hungry again."

"O-kay," he sighed then moved back and sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like to talk to me yet? Or is this going to go on?"

"I. . .guess. . .I'm taking this whole situation a bit too seriously, then?" She continued to watch the far wall as she rocked Abby.

"I think you should reconsider the circumstances and know it will never happen again."

"But. . .Grissom. . .I–don't."

"What do you mean?"

"You've taken every opportunity you could possibly conceive of to "do it again" as you put it."

"We weren't married then," he said quickly.

She looked at him a moment, then stood up to put Abby back in her crib. "But. . .we're married now."

"Yes!"

"And still, you run to her defense. You couldn't let your damsel on her own, you had to send the lab in again to see to her safety."

"I had to see who was behind all of this."

Sara gave a cynical chuckle. "You" are behind all of this Gris. I can't even blame Heather anymore. "She" didn't seek you out. You went to her. Every step of the way, she was going to walk away–but you wouldn't let her. . ."

"Sara! Enough!"

Sara turned and looked at him, then started out of the bedroom but he got to his feet and grabbed her arm. She jerked it away and continued until she was standing in front of the kitchen sink, leaning her hands on its edge as she looked out the window.

"Enough, Grissom?" She asked in a dull voice. "Within the past 24 hours I have had the privilege of having had the opportunity to watch my husband begging a woman to have sex with him."

"Knock it off," he said quietly. "If you're going to keep rehashing this, then get the damned story straight! I didn't beg. I didn't do any of the little eccentricities that you're suggesting."

"I'm really getting tired of defending myself to you. "I" didn't do anything wrong," she told him.

"You left me!"

"You pushed me away!"

"You never came back!"

"To what?" She spun around to look at him. "Look at what I would've walked in on if I "had" come back to you!"

Grissom couldn't stop the expression of pure frustration and anger as he looked at her. There wasn't going to be a damned thing he could say to convince her that they needed to get past this–as quickly as possible. "So, what are we supposed to do? Am I supposed to just walk around here with the threat that you're going to leave me hanging over my head all the time? Am I supposed to cower in my own home with my own wife and daughter?"

"No," she said rather calmly and he knew she had come to some kind of a decision. "I won't be staying the night tonight. I'm going to a hotel. Will you be going to work tomorrow?"

"I can't exactly go to work if you're not here with Abby."

"I'll be back for Abby if you're going to work. If not, then I'll be back tomorrow afternoon and expect you to leave for the evening."

"And go where?"

"Take in a movie, or a museum, or a black-haired dominatrix if you can find one down on the boulevard."

He glared at her. She was tearing apart everything they had!

"There's no need for you to leave the apartment," he told her. "I'll sleep on the sofa again."

"Yes. There "is" a need for me to leave. I "need" space. I "need" time."

"Time for what?"

"To heal."

Those words sparked hope in him as he looked at her. "Then you're not giving up on us."

"I need to heal for Abby. I need to heal for myself–not for you."

"I don't understand why you have to leave to do that."

"Because I'm walking around here feeling like I've got open gashes all over my body and mind. And every time I look at you or hear your voice, it's like you're pouring salt into them. I need time to think." She picked up her bag and started out of the kitchen. "I just fed Abby. You don't have to give her a bath tonight–I can do it tomorrow when I get here." Sara went into the bedroom and leaned over the crib, placing a kiss on their child's soft cheek. "I'll see you in a few hours, slugger."

Grissom silently watched as Sara walked past him again and out of the apartment. He went to the window and looked outside, waiting until he saw what direction she was heading in, then watched until he couldn't see her anymore. He turned and looked at the refrigerator again but had lost his appetite. Instead of getting the dinner he had considered earlier, he grabbed his phone and dialed.

"Jim! Have you found anything out?"

"Uh–no not really," Brass said in an odd voice. "Look, Gris, I'm in the middle of something right now and really can't be on the phone."

"You're doing something more important than investigating Heather's home for signs of break-in."

"I don't think anyone who wanted to get into her house had to break in," Brass told him. "She's got a revolving door at her place."

"That all stopped long ago, Jim. You know that."

"No. "I" don't know anything. But if it will make you feel any better, I put Monroe on the case. Like I tried to tell you, I'm in the middle of something more important to me than Heather Kessler," he said, then added almost as an afterthought. "More important to about everybody except maybe you."

"Jim. . ."

"Look, Gris, I've got some personal problems I need to tend to. I'm on an airplane right now on my way to pick up the pieces of what's left of my girl."

"Jim, I'm sorry!" Grissom realized why Brass couldn't look into his and Heather's case. He knew how much Ellie meant to him, even if they weren't related by blood. "Your daughter. Is she alright?"

"No. Otherwise I wouldn't be on a flight to get to her, would I?"

"Of course," Grissom said as he ran his hand over his forehead in frustration then repeated, "Of course. Call me when you find her. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Yeah," Brass said, not knowing what else to say. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Grissom listened as the line went dead, then he dialed again. "Arch, what have you found?"

"Hey, Grissom," Archie said and Grissom heard the apprehension in his voice already. "I–uh–haven't had the chance to look into it. We've been swamped with a VIP case and day shift was overloaded with their share of fatalities."

"I think you have time to throw a few URL numbers into the computer and track them down," Grissom told him.

"That's just it," Arch told him. "I started to when I talked to you earlier–but I'm not getting anywhere with it other than a computer registered to Heather Kessler. I would've checked into it further but Ecklie's been on us like a tick on a dog. I just don't have the time right now."

"Arch," Grissom asked suspiciously. "Who else knows about this?"

"What do ya mean?"

"Does anyone else at the lab know what you're looking for?"

"No, Griss. You said it was confidential. No one at the lab knows. No one's had the time to know. Catherine's been so busy, she hasn't even gone home in two days. Ray's barely been "in" the lab because he's overloaded with work in the field. Greg's been bopping back and forth like a chicken with its head cut off, and Nick's on vacation and hasn't been here in nearly three days."

"Do you think you can try to slip it into your schedule before you leave today? I know you're swamped, but I really need to know."

"I'll give it my best shot but I can't promise anything–at least not for a few days."

Grissom listened as Arch hung up, then he went to the sofa and sat down. This was getting him nowhere and he needed to find out who was behind all of this. Someone was determined to not only stir up a catastrophe between himself and Sara, but to incriminate Heather at the same time. He never felt more helpless or missed the lab more. He knew if he were back there, this would be a priority and to hell with the VIP and other cases. But he wasn't back there. He chose to give it all up–for Sara. He went to the bedroom and lay on the bed, not knowing if he would be able to sleep or not, but at this point, not knowing what else to do.

It was nearly two hours later that his phone rang and he reached for it as he tried to work his way back from sleep.

"Grissom," he said, reverting back to his days at the lab.

"Griss, I ran those numbers you wanted and, well, you aren't going to like it."

"Who is it, Arch?"

"They're Heather's. There's no doubt about it."

"That can't be right," Grissom told him, then glanced at his phone as it beeped its alert that someone was trying to get through to him. "Alright, Arch. I've got another call coming in. If I need anything else, I'll call." He switched Arch off and answered the incoming call. "Hello."

"Grisssom," Heather's voice came over the line to him. "I know who sent those emails. Jerome has been stopping in when he brings Allison for visitation. I've found the emails in my out files and he has access to my computer during the visits."

"How does he have access to your personal computer, Heather? You're not in the habit of keeping it in the open for just anyone to get at it, are you?"

"No, of course not. But I don't keep Jerome a prisoner in my home when he's here, either. He probably just entered my office while waiting for Allison and I to finish with our visit. He. . .he also had access to the house before the videos were taken. It could have been him the night you were here. He's. . .been getting a little obsessive with my guests lately. I'm afraid he's under the impression that he might be able to start a relationship with me."

Grissom nodded his head in understanding. "So to get back at me for my night with you, he tried to destroy my marriage."

"You're . . . marriage?" She asked. "You married her? I knew you took her to Paris, but I didn't know. . ."

"How did you know we were in Paris?"

"I–have my sources," she told him. "Grissom, you don't think I have anything to fear from him, do you?"

"I don't know, Heather. If he's as obsessive as you indicate, I can't say. Have you given this information to Detective Monroe?"

"No, I wanted to talk to you first. I don't want to cause any trouble in Jerome's life, after all, he is Allison's guardian. But I don't want to be living in fear that he could become dangerous, either."

"Contact Detective Monroe, Heather. Right now, it's all we can do."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara had put off her arrival at her and Grissom's apartment for as long as she possibly could without making him late for work. She noted his irritation as she entered the living room where he stood in his suit as he held Abby who was going into her usual morning fuss. Sara promptly took her and went about the morning ritual of starting a bath which always calmed her. She tried not to pay much attention to him as he moved around behind her, grabbing his case and keys. She kept her back to him as she lowered Abby into the small plastic tub and listened as he stopped moving behind her. She knew he was watching her, wanting to say something or have her talk to him, but she had nothing more to say to him at this point. After a moment he walked out.

Usually she would put Abby into a little sleeper, give her another bottle, then cuddle with her until she went back to sleep for the late morning, but today she had plans. She put her in her prettiest yellow dress and little Mary-Janes then added the matching bonnet. She packed another bottle just in case, then put Abby into the stroller and started out of the apartment. Forty minutes later Sara stood at the airport, waiting for the flight that she was expecting. When it arrived, she watched the people departing and walking past her, then saw the brightest ray of hope she had seen in days. He saw her at the same time and rushed toward the front of the line and before she realized it, her arms were around his neck and she hugged him to her. She felt the tears falling past her closed lids.

"You came," she whispered.

"Eh," he said in a self-conscious tone as he patted her back. "What else was I going to do on a Wednesday afternoon."

She pulled back and looked at him with a sad smile and started walking with him until they came upon the stroller and the dark-haired little girl within.

"Well," Sara wiped her cheeks then smiled at him. "I guess you'd better meet Abigail Grissom."

He leaned over and smiled at the child as he put his finger into her hand and she gazed up at him. "I'm glad to see you look like your mom and not that old man of yours. That would've been a catastrophe! Well, how do you do, little Miss Grissom? I'm very glad to meet you, but I think I'll just call you Cookie."


	171. Chapter 171

A/N: I want to thank everyone for their reviews. It means so much to me to have your support. I hope you don't feel this is "too" OOC for Grissom. I feel both he and Sara are so raw from their experience that anything is possible. They are not themselves right now, but I hope you enjoy it. I know you all have been wanting a little GSR and hopefully this will give you a reprieve–even if it is only physical for Sara. I also want to thank you all for your patience with me as I finished summer semester at school this week.

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-One

"I didn't know what else to do," Sara told Jim as they sat in the café drinking a coffee with Abby sleeping in the stroller next to their table. "I've been functioning on auto-pilot for the past few days. I can't seem to think straight. All I know is that I don't want to stay in the same apartment as him."

"I can understand why," Jim said, taking a drink of his caffeine. "Knowing Gil, he's wandering around in a perpetual state of ignorance, not understanding what's going on with you and why you can't just sit there and take his "interactions" with another woman in stride."

Sara looked at him and felt her eyes tear. Her throat constricted as she tried to speak. "I can't do that, Jim."

"Who can?" Jim asked quickly then seemed to catch himself as he glanced around to see if he had caused anyone to overhear their conversation, even if it was in a different language. "Look. No one understands what it's like to be cheated on, unless they've already been there. I–was there. I know what it does. I know how it rips your trust, something that everyone takes completely for granted, to shreds, and leaves you grasping at straws. I know how it can destroy a relationship. But I also know it not only destroys the couple. It's devastating to the kids."

"Are you saying I should just walk back into his arms so I don't upset Abby?"

"No," he gave a short laugh. "I'm not. I wouldn't tell you that. Right now, "I" don't want to actually talk to him either. I'm not sure I can trust myself."

"Why wouldn't "you" be able to trust yourself?"

"I told him, right from that first night he spent at your place, that he better never let his misguided feelings for that woman hurt you. I knew you could handle everything else. I knew you could get him to open up to you–but I also knew that his "friendship" with her would be your downfall. I told him that first day not to hurt you."

Sara swallowed her tears as she lifted her mug to her lips in an attempt to hide her emotions behind it but was failing miserably. "And. . .what. . .was his response to you that first day, Jim?"

Jim looked out the window, avoiding her reddened eyes. "He. . .told me it was none of my business."

"I see," she whispered as she sat her coffee back down and moved to pick up her bag as she turned toward the waiter and handed him some money to pay for their bill, then turned back to Jim as he got to his feet and joined her. "So, he knew, right from the start, that he was going to continue a relationship with her."

"I didn't say that, Sara," Jim said sadly as he followed the stroller back out onto the street. "He just. . ."

"Wasn't ready to give her up," Sara finished for him. "And quite clearly, he's proven that every time he's gone running back to her."

"Sara, it isn't as if he's ever had a "real" relationship with her."

"Don't you find that particularly sad, Jim? That I can't keep him away from someone he's never actually been with for more than two consecutive nights?" She looked over at him and when he still refused to look at her, she went on. "Or has he been with her longer than two nights? Was this video only a taste of what went on? How long did he actually stay with her?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't want to know, so I didn't look too far into it."

She turned and looked at him as they walked down the street together. "Would you like to go my hotel room? Or to my humble abode, which isn't very humble at the moment. I might as well take Abby back for her dad since I'm this close."

"Is he going to be there?"

"You can't avoid him the whole time you're in Paris, Jim," she smiled at him.

"Maybe not, but I'd rather not face him until I get a little more information on just what was going on back in Vegas." He reached over and squeezed one of her hands that was pushing the stroller. "Here, let me push this for you. I haven't pushed one of these in almost twenty years."

They walked in silence the next few blocks, then went up the elevator and down the hallway toward her front door.

"Are you sure he's not here? I don't want him walking in and finding me here. I didn't tell him I was coming. . .I guess I sort of lied to him by omission."

"I don't think you have to worry about that." Sara's voice sounded lighter than it had in days. "He won't be home from teaching for another hour and a half. We have plenty of time."

"An hour and a half?" Brass sighed. "That's an hour and a half that I could be relaxing and getting the kink out of these old muscles that were sitting on a plane way too long. I think I'll head back to your place and just wait there."

"Alright. That'll give you time to get freshened up. After our day together, we both could use a good hot shower."

"Actually," Brass said sheepishly as he looked at her. "I was thinking about jumping in your tub and soaking until I can walk again without wincing from sore muscles."

"Alright–a bath then. Would you like me to bring the oils and candles?" Sara smiled at him.

"Oh, yeah," Brass teased back. "I'm really into lilacs and honeysuckle. It puts me into my meditative mode."

"Okay, lilacs and honeysuckle it is. You are such a romantic."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

Sara chuckled lightly. " I'll be there as soon as he gets home and Abby's settled in."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom sat in the chair facing the front door, still wearing his suit he had worn to work that day. His collar was opened and his tie was askew, but he still wore the jacket as he slouched, waiting for any signs of his wife and daughter to return. He knew that wherever she had gone, she hadn't gone far. Abby's things were still here and that told him she hadn't intended on being away for more than a few hours. But still, he didn't like sitting here, waiting for her to decide when she was ready to grace him with her presence–and his daughter's.

The sound of his phone ringing turned his attention toward the nearby land line and he reluctantly picked it up. Although the number seemed slightly familiar, he could only identify that it was from the Las Vegas area. Other than that he couldn't place it.

"Grissom."

"Where's Sara!" The angry voice was almost unrecognizable. The only thing that gave it away was the still slight trace of a southern twang.

"Nick?"

"I want to talk to Sara."

"She. . .isn't here. . .is there something I can do for you, Nick?"

"I think you've done enough. How could you do it, Gris? How could you stand there and look me in the eye the day you left."

"I. . .don't know what you're talking about. Calm down."

"I'm talking about your escapade with Heather Kessler. What is wrong with you, man? Any goddamned one of us would've killed to have had a woman like Sara! Greg still carries a torch for her. Even Warrick used to say how lucky you were to have someone love you so much that they'd wait around, hanging on your every word like she did. And yet you don't care! You just don't give a shit!"

Grissom swallowed hard. "What are you talking about, Nick?"

"Don't play stupid, Grissom! I walked in on Arch as he was looking up stuff for Brass."

"Looking up stuff for Brass?" Grissom glanced up toward the door as he heard voices approaching it from the other side. Although it was muffled, he recognized Sara's voice, but the other voice was too low to identify. "Since when was Brass working on this case? I thought he flew out of Vegas."

"That's not the point! The point is–what the hell have you done to Sara–again!"

"Nick. I don't think this is any of your business."

"No, it never is, is it? But I had to pick up the pieces and put them back together the last time you messed with that . . . thing." Nick's disgust was clear in his voice. "Where is she, Grissom? I want to talk to her."

"I'll tell her you called." Grissom no longer was listening to Nick's objections as he put the phone down and listened to what he could hear of the conversation on the other side of the door.

"I don't think you have to worry about that." Sara's voice sounded lighter than it had in days. "He won't be home from teaching for another hour and a half. We have plenty of time."

The man's voice was low and with the obstruction of the heavy door, Grissom couldn't pick up on the words or the tone.

"Alright. That'll give you time to get freshened up. After our day together, we both could use a good hot shower."

Another mumble and Grissom could hear Sara's smile in her voice.

"Alright–a bath then. Would you like me to bring the oils and candles?"

Another mumble.

"Okay, lilacs and honeysuckle it is. You are such a romantic."

Another mumble and then Sara's light chuckle.

"I'll be there as soon as he gets home and Abby's settled in."

Grissom continued to look at the door, watching as the handle finally turned and Sara backed inside with the stroller. As she turned and started pushing Abby across the room she stopped abruptly upon sight of Grissom.

"Don't look so surprised," Grissom told her. "You can't really believe I'd stay at work all day when we've got unfinished business."

"Lets just say. . .I was "hoping," she said quietly as she looked away from him and went about putting Abby's things away.

"I heard," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his sarcasm. "Will you be taking some of your own bath oils? Or does he warrant a special trip to Bath and Body Works?"

She put the diaper bag on the dressing table, unused bottles in the refrigerator, and then removed the tot's bonnet. Grissom looked down at the little stuffed puppy that was sitting next to Abby in the seat. Sara picked it up as she lifted her into her arms and started for the crib in their bedroom. He moved to stand in the doorway and watched as she removed the small black shoes from their daughter's dainty feet but kept her socks on. She immediately changed the diaper then settled the little girl in for the remainder of her nap.

He watched as she silently ignored him and knew that had it been years before, it would never have bothered him. He would have simply walked away and been glad for the space it provided. But now, his fear was turning to irritation and the irritation was turning to anger as he recalled her side of the conversation from the hallway. He was standing behind her before he even realized it and when she straightened from tucking Abby in beneath the sheet, she bumped into him. She remained completely motionless as she gripped onto the rail to the crib. He could feel her tension coming off of her in waves and the fact that in their close proximity there was only a breath separating their upper bodies while her firm bottom was grazing against his front sent a coil of desire spiraling through him so fiercely that he nearly doubled over with it. He could feel her breathing increase as she continued to hold her back to him and although he considered himself a rather well controlled man, he couldn't control the immediate pressure that was hardening him in his trousers. He would have thought that the combination of the last few days would have had him so stressed that he would have been unfunctional–but suddenly the opposite was true. Fear that they were on the last legs of their relationship, uncertainty over her fierce reactions, longing for the woman that he hadn't had in days, and now a sense of possessiveness when confronted with the evidence that she wasn't spending her nights away from him alone, were sending his senses reeling. His own breathing became shallow and he could smell her shampoo, smell the soap she had used in her shower that morning. He closed his eyes against the swift tightening in his groin and he knew there was no disguising it as it pressed against her.

"Is this. . ." she began in a monotone whisper as her grip tightened on the rail before her. ". . .what it's like with her? Is this what keeps you going back? The knowledge that she's been with someone else excites you? And now, the thought that I have someone else waiting for me is making me seem almost as forbidden as she? Almost as enticing, as irresistible?"

"Don't," he said through a set jaw.

"Don't what? Don't tell you about the man waiting for me at my hotel room right now? Don't tell you how he's in my tub, easing muscles that are tense and sore because of me? Don't tell you about how much of a man he is. . .more than you can be?"

His arms went around her and she was yanked back against his chest. "I said don't!"

Suddenly the thought of her returning to her hotel room with another man waiting was sending him beyond any control he had ever shown with women. He was filling with a rage he hadn't felt since the day he faced Natalie Davis as she hid behind her mental illness with the location of Sara hidden securely with her.

His hands tightened as his arms were around her and when she tried to pull free of them, he only held her more tightly.

"Let me go, Grissom. I have to go."

His lips moved against the silkiness of her hair as he spoke. "You're not leaving."

She stopped her struggling, and instead pressed her hips back against him as if needing to confirm that he was definitely hard and throbbing with need. When she reached between them and placed her fingers on his hips, he wasn't sure if she were going to push him away or draw him against her even closer. He closed his eyes again and her words from the hallway replayed in his mind. Was that what she was after? Unemotional sex with no strings attached? He wasn't about to let her leave the apartment in search of her latest act of self-destruction.

"Let go, Grissom," she breathed.

Instead, his left hand moved to her stomach and roughly shoved her blouse above her jeans before sliding inside with his right and cupping her, bringing an unwilling gasp from her, and when his finger slid between her folds and came in contact with the pebble that was already throbbing beneath his touch, she nearly sobbed. The sounds she was producing were only intensifying the pounding in his loins and his mind was turning to mush with need. He moved his left hand higher and slid it beneath her bra, massaging and squeezing her nipple in the way that pleased them both. So lost in his own sensations was he that it took nearly a full minute before he realized that his stroking had her clutching to his arms as her head rolled back against his shoulder.

"On the bed," he whispered as he quickly moved with her but when he tried to turn her to face him, she objected.

"No! Not that way!"

He pulled his hand from her panties when he felt her quickly working at the button and zipper of her jeans. His suit jacket was tossed to the floor, along with his tie. Buttons were opened along his shirt and his pants were pushed down over his thighs. When he glanced at Sara he saw that she had removed her pants and pulled her shirt and bra off as she knelt on the mattress before him, facing the wall as she held onto the headboard of the bed.

The sight of her porcelain body waiting for him turned off any rational thought and he quickly maneuvered himself until he was kneeling between her legs. She was like a present from the gods and he couldn't resist her. He used his fingers to make sure she was ready for him, then continued to use them as she moaned her desire.

"Turn around," he whispered against her shoulder as he nibbled the soft skin. "I want you to kiss me."

"No," she whispered. "Just fuck me."

He removed his fingers and took hold of himself, guiding himself into her hot sheath. He was afraid he was going to lose it right there and grabbed onto her hips to hold her still. He needed a moment to calm himself so he could go on, but she started moving on him. He held onto her with both hands and answered her movements with his own, sliding nearly completely out before resuming his position. She was like electric velvet and he knew he would never survive if he couldn't have her this way for the rest of his life.

But this wasn't enough for Sara, and soon she was thrusting back against him.

"Harder!"

He obliged her wishes and soon he was being consumed by the flames as he felt her tightening around him, felt her pressing her body back against his as her cries of pleasure echoed throughout the room. He wanted to prolong this, he wanted to take her over that cliff again and again, but the sounds she made, the sensations she evoked, the scents she elicited; all sent him on his own collision course with ecstacy.

So explosive were their endings that they both fell onto the mattress, still joined and still front to back. He worked to catch his breath as he pulled from her then after a moment, he tried to turn her toward him.

"No," she weakly objected then moved to the edge of the bed.

It wasn't until she finally turned and closed her jeans that he saw the tear-stained face looking down at him. His heart broke as he realized she had been crying as they made love.

"Sara," he whispered.

"I'll be here in the morning to pick up Abby. Have her things ready for me. I'll bring her back after dinner so there will be no need for you to leave work early again."

She turned and left the room and he listened as she left the apartment.


	172. Chapter 172

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Two

Sara pushed the door open to the apartment as Brass walked down the hall, heading to the hotel where she was staying. She backed into the room, holding the door with her back, then once inside, turned and started pushing Abby across the room. The sight of her husband sitting in a chair, watching her, stopped her in her tracks. His appearance was unsettling. He always had the most unusual effect on her when he was in a suit, but put him in a suit and open the shirt and tie and she was always lost on him. She felt her body betraying her as the sight of him washed over her and nearly took her breath away. It didn't matter that he was breaking her heart–the fact remained that he was a physically beautiful man, especially now that he allowed the gray to enter his beard. It intensified the charm that he had always exuded in the first place.

"Don't look so surprised," Grissom's voice brought her back to earth and the status of their relationship. "You can't really believe I'd stay at work all day when we've got unfinished business."

"Lets just say. . .I was "hoping," she said quietly as she looked away from him and went about putting Abby's things away. Her hope was that if she didn't look at him anymore, his appearance wouldn't keep making her heart beat so rapidly.

"I heard," he said a bit sarcastically. "Will you be taking some of your own bath oils? Or does he warrant a special trip to Bath and Body Works?"

It took her a moment to figure that one out. Oh, he overheard her conversation with Jim. Well, if he knew it was Jim, then why didn't he go out and see what he was doing there. She put the diaper bag on the dressing table, unused bottles in the refrigerator, and then removed the tot's bonnet. Sara picked up the little stuffed puppy sitting next to the baby that Brass had bought while on their way to the café for coffee and lunch. She then lifted the baby into her arms and started for the crib in their bedroom where she removed the small black shoes from their daughter's dainty feet but kept her socks on. She immediately changed the diaper then settled the little girl in for the remainder of her nap.

She didn't know what to say to him. She realized that he wasn't aware that it was Jim who was with her in the hallway, but she couldn't let him know who it was. That would be betraying Jim's trust, so she remained silent as she tucked the sheet around Abby. She gave a sad little smile to her daughter. Everyone said she looked so much like her mother, but Sara knew differently. Abby was beautiful and although she must have gotten some of her traits from her maternal side, Sara knew it was her father's charisma that pulled it all together into such a magical way. She watched the little cherub sleep and knew that in the long run, she would do anything she could to keep her daughter happy, but the thought of remaining in a marriage where she always questioned her husband's faithfulness, wondering when he would go back to his old habits and run back to another woman, made Sara wince. She knew what a family could be like if the children were exposed to parents who were at odds with one another. She knew it well. Sara kissed her fingertip then placed it against Abby's pouting lips and the little girl relaxed immediately.

Sara straightened from where she had been bent over the crib and felt the body pressed behind her immediately. This wasn't like Grissom. He rarely pushed himself into her comfort zone, especially when he knew she didn't want him there. The realization tensed her as she gripped onto the rail of the crib to support herself as her knees had suddenly gone weak. She swayed slightly and in so doing her bottom brushed against his groin. It didn't take long to realize he was getting an erection. The thought occurred to her that he would never have approached her if he hadn't believed she was actually meeting a man back at her hotel room, and the thought sickened her. It was amazing how, when he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he always thought that "she" was into treats as much as he.

She swallowed a hard gulp and tried to control her voice as her throat tightened and her hands tightened on the rail before her. "Is this. . .what it's like with her? Is this what keeps you going back? The knowledge that she's been with someone else excites you? And now, the thought that I have someone else waiting for me is making me seem almost as forbidden as she? Almost as enticing, as irresistible?"

"Don't," he said stiffly.

He wasn't denying it. He wasn't telling her that it isn't that way, she thought with defeat. She was torn between her heart which was telling her to run away as quickly as she could so it wouldn't be torn to shreds any more, her brain which was insisting that she torture him as much as he tortured her, and her body which was betraying her completely as it moved on its own until it was pressing against his. The realization that her body was giving in, angered her even more. "Don't what? Don't tell you about the man waiting for me at my hotel room right now? Don't tell you how he's in my tub, easing muscles that are tense and sore because of me? Don't tell you about how much of a man he is. . .more than you can be?"

His arms went around her and she was yanked back against his chest. "I said don't!"

His quick movement brought her momentarily back to her senses as his hands tightened and his arms went around her. When she tried to pull free of them, he only held her more tightly.

"Let me go, Grissom. I have to go."

"You're not leaving."

"Oh, God," she thought as she felt the heat of his breath against her, and she melted against him again. The fact that he was completely hard didn't escape her notice and she reached behind herself to push him away, but her fingers couldn't find the strength when they touched his hips. But she had to try. She couldn't let him win.

"Let go, Grissom," she breathed.

When his left hand moved to her stomach and roughly shoved her blouse above her jeans before sliding inside with his right and cupping her, her body turned on her completely as she gasped. He went even farther and she couldn't find the strength to stop him. God! Why did he have this power over her? Why did he "always" have this effect on her? The realization that she was responding completely to his touch brought tears to her eyes–tears she didn't intend him to see. His magical touch forced her to give up any pretenses that she could leave. So, even if her body had no pride and responded to his touch so easily, her mind and heart was zoning out as their pride wouldn't allow her to respond completely.

"On the bed," he whispered as he quickly moved with her but when he tried to turn her to face him, she objected.

"No! Not that way!" She wouldn't allow him to look at her. Let him think he was with anyone his heart desired–and she could pretend the same. She could zone him out more easily if she didn't look at him, if their fulfillment came to them impersonally. This way she could let her body seek its way while protecting her heart and mind at the same time.

He pulled his hand from her panties and she quickly worked at the button and zipper of her jeans. She stripped off her shirt and bra, then crawled across the mattress and stayed on her knees as she grabbed onto the headboard for support.

She closed her eyes to ward off any chances of seeing him; of seeing the pure magnetism of him. She tried to remind herself that this could be anyone–anyone. Then she felt him moving up behind her. Upon the touch of his fingers at her entrance, she felt her first tear spill over her lids. She tried again and again to remain removed from this act. She would get what she wanted from him–get what she needed–and leave unscathed.

"Turn around," he whispered against her shoulder as he nibbled the soft skin. "I want you to kiss me."

Oh, God! The thought tore at her heart. How could he imagine that she would be able to do that without breaking her control completely. She had to take a step back. She had to remove herself.

"No," she whispered through grit teeth. "Just fuck me."

The next tear fell as he guided himself into her and filled her as no other man had ever been able to. He moved inside of her as no one else and he was finding all her right places, teasing her with his speed or lack of, as he would slide nearly completely out of her, then push back in. She quickly realized that there was no pretending that it was anyone but her husband behind her. There was no way she was going to protect her heart and mind at this point. They were consumed with him and she feared they always would be. She needed completion. Her body screamed for it and her mind begged for it so she could try to preserve any of her pride that she had left in her.

"Harder!"

He did as she ordered and her body responded completely as spasm after spasm washed over her like a tidal wave. She tried to remain upright as she clutched onto the headboard but her strength was gone and they both fell onto the mattress, still joined and much in the same position. Then after only a moment, he pulled from her and tried to turn her to face him.

"No," she weakly objected then moved to the edge of the bed.

She kept her back toward him as she pulled on her panties and jeans but she couldn't find her blouse so had to turn back. She quickly saw it and threw it over her head.

"Sara," he whispered.

"I'll be here in the morning to pick up Abby. Have her things ready for me. I'll bring her back after dinner so there will be no need for you to leave work early again."

She turned and left the apartment as quickly as she could manage. Once outside of the front door she leaned against the wall and fought to keep her emotions intact. She thought she could separate herself in three parts–remove herself from what was happening. Now, she lost what little pride she had left in herself as she realized what she had done. She was in jeopardy of becoming no better than Heather Kessler, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. She stood straighter and wiped the tears from her eyes, then started toward the elevator. She needed to get help. She wasn't strong enough to deal with this and if she gave up, she knew she would be lost in a way of life that would kill her as surely as her father's abuse killed the life that had remained in her mother. Never in her life had she thought that she was capable of letting a man destroy her, and now here she was, only two days after seeing her husband in bed with Lady Heather, and she jumped right back into his circle of fire. She had to get back to the hotel before she burned up.


	173. Chapter 173

A/N: Just a quick note to let you know I'm going to try to write another chapter to compliment this one. It somehow felt incomplete to me but I wanted to get it posted. I'll try really hard to get another chapter up either tonight or within the next few days. Thanks to everyone who are staying with me through this roller-coaster ride!

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Three

"Thanks Arch," Brass said as he hung up the phone and turned to see a weary Sara entering the hotel suite with him.

Sara looked at the man who had traveled across an ocean to aid her and she tried her best to hide the torment that was searing her. She put her keys on the end table and moved toward the window that looked out over the boulevard. She tried to smile, albeit a little one when she finally turned to look at her friend but when she saw the concern on his face, she knew she wasn't fooling him.

"So, what has Arch found that can be of any use to us?"

"The emails were sent from Heather's computer," he said as gently as he could then walked up to her and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay? I mean, I know you're "not" okay–but has something else happened?"

"Nothing," she lied then attempted another smile before going to the small bar and pulling out a little bottle of bourbon.

Brass moved with her and took the bottle from her then took her hand and moved until they were seated on the sofa. "Don't do this. I know what it's like to go that route. It won't help anything. It won't change anything. If anything, it will only make Heather stronger. Don't give her more ammunition, Sara."

"It doesn't matter, Jim. There doesn't seem to be a damn thing I can do to compete with her. Every time I think I'm secure in my relationship with Gil, she pops up and makes me realize that there is no security."

"Sara," Brass sighed. "I can't change what happened. I wish I could. I wish I could turn back the clock and never have sent Grissom to San Francisco for that lecture. I should've gone myself and let him take over the department while I was gone. That way you would've never met him in the first place."

"And missed out on all this fun?" She said sarcastically then placed her hand on Brass's arm and moved until she was sitting on the sofa where he sat down next to her. "It isn't your fault, Jim. Don't blame yourself for this. It's my fault for falling in love with him. . .for jumping at the chance to run to Las Vegas the moment he snapped his fingers. . .for hanging on every moment in hopes that he would some day grant me a minuscule of affection that he could see fit to bestow upon me. No, Jim. It definitely isn't your fault."

At that moment Jim's cell went off and he pulled it from his pocket and looked at the ID.

"It's Nick," Jim explained before opening the phone. "Yeah, Nick. Yeah. I'm here. Sure. Sure." Jim looked at Sara and handed the phone to her. "Nick wants to talk to you."

Sara took the phone and held it against her chest as she took a deep breath. She hadn't alerted Nick about what happened simply because she was too ashamed of how she had been made a fool of again. He had helped her through her problems with Grissom and Heather the last time and had reluctantly relinquished her back to his supervisor with the understanding that nothing like that would ever happen again. She felt her eyes burn with the need to release some more tears but she fought against it. She was so glad to hear from Nick, but her heart ached with the realization that he knew what was going on.

"Hey," she said with false enthusiasm. "How's my favorite Texan?"

"Hey, little girl," he answered with so much sympathy that she had to gulp back her sob. Instead she tried to laugh.

"Little? I'm the tallest "little girl" that I know of."

"You'll always be little to me–my kid sister." He hesitated and she knew he wasn't going to beat around the bush any longer. "Sweetie, I know what happened, and I am so–so sorry. I'm glad Jim's with you. You need your friends around you right now."

"I'm fine," she said in her old familiar tone that said she was anything but fine, although she agreed with all of her heart that she would love to be in the circle of her friends right now. She thought back to the evening so many years before when she and Nicky had gone dancing at the Blue Dixie, when her heart was breaking with the need to be with their boss. She could use a dance and a beer with Nick right now and it wouldn't hurt to have Greg along just to make her laugh.

"I know you are. . .I know you are. But, maybe "I'm" really the one who needs a friend right now. You don't happen to know where a fella might spend a few nights in a big old Parisian hotel, do you?"

Her brows knit together when she tried to figure out what he was saying to her. "Where are you, Nick?"

"Me? I'm at home. But I'm on vacation and am getting tired of sitting around here. I thought maybe a little trip to Europe might do me some good."

"And what are your plans when you get to this big old Parisian hotel?"

"I guess my first plan is to find an American bastard and lay him out on the floor. Then I plan to find one of my best friends and make sure she's alright."

Sara sighed sadly. "Nick, I can't allow you to do that. You realize that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I realize it," he said just as sadly. "It was just an idea. How about just the last part of the plan?"

"I would love to see you. . .I really would. But I don't know what good it would do to have you fly all the way over here."

"Well, I could finally get to meet that little southern belle that you and that son-of-a-bitch created together," he said, then paused half a second. "I'm sorry, Sara. I shouldn't say that. . .especially regarding Little Abigail. But I seriously would love to meet her."

"You're not going to meet her before I do," came another familiar voice from Nick's end and Sara immediately recognized Greg Sanders.

"Ah, be quiet. You just want to meet her so you can slip in your bid for her hand in marriage in 20 years. Well, you can just get over it because you're too old!" Nick told him, bringing a small smile to Sara as she listened to them.

"You're an idiot, ya pervert," Greg told him. "I know I'm too old for her. I'll be her "Uncle Greg," not her boyfriend."

"What do ya say, Sara? Do ya need two brothers over there to help ya stand on your feet again? We can take you sightseeing or just stay in and watch TV with ya. . .whatever ya want to do."

"Oh, guys," she said with a tiny sniff. "I'd tell you both to come over in a second if it were under different circumstances. You know that. But now, maybe it would be better if you stayed there and found out anything you could to help sort this mess out."

"What do you want to sort out, Sara?" Nick voiced a bit of irritation. "I don't think it could get any plainer than it already is."

"I want to know why Heather's doing this. . .beside the obvious reason. I want proof that she set Grissom up, that she knew full well and took advantage of the fact that that they were being videoed that night."

"Sara, do you really think it's going to make a difference to him? How many times does he have to be shown what she is, and he still believes every word she tells him?"

"I want him to be shown. . .for my own satisfaction. . . not his."

"Okay. We'll do what we can, but I can't imagine that woman letting us get anywhere near her place. But for you, kiddo, we'll try our best."

"Thanks, Nick."

"Can I talk to Brass before you hang up?"

"Jim–Nick wants to talk to you again."

Brass took the phone from her and walked over toward the large window that faced the streets below. "Yeah, Nick. She's holding in there. I've got Monroe working on it. He can be discreet when he has to be. No–no–go ahead. I'll give him a call and convince him that he could use a little freelance help from two CSIs. Let me know what you find out–and look under every rock, Nick. That catastrophe who likes to call herself a woman is good at what she does, especially where Grissom's concerned. I'll be waiting."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara entered the apartment the next morning in silence. She glanced around the living room to find the stroller waiting for her with Abby sleeping inside then she looked toward the kitchen to find Grissom standing there with a cup of coffee as he watched her. With the briskest of looks she took in the navy blue suit and shirt beneath his jacket that was the color of the ocean. His eyes, as usual, were brought out by the colors he wore and as he sipped at his brew and looked at her she felt herself weakening, but the weakness twisted in her like a knife. Flashes of what she would have done, had it been the week before, went through her mind. She, most likely, would still be in her pajamas as she sipped her own cup of coffee and upon his intent gaze she would have sauntered over and taken the coffee from him, placing both mugs on the counter before backing him up against the door jam and letting her hands slide inside his jacket as she'd meet his lips with her own. She would have known that he had to leave for his lecture so she wouldn't have kept him overly long, but she definitely would have gotten a taste of what she would have expected when he got home that night.

Instead, she looked back at the stroller and found the diaper bag packed and ready to go. She didn't know what to say to him anymore so she silently moved to the stroller and started pushing it toward the door. When she had trouble maneuvering it through the doorway she saw his hand reach past her to hold the door.

Once in the hallway, she finally found her tongue. "Where's her puppy?"

"Her puppy?" He asked blankly.

"The stuffed dog I brought home with her last night. I want to take it along."

"It's that necessary?" He raised his brow as he looked at her. "She doesn't even know what a stuffed puppy is. I doubt she'll miss it."

"I'll" miss it," she said, then sighed with resignation. "I just want to take it along, that's all."

"Someone important get it for her?"

"You could say that. Now, can you get it or stand out here with her until I go get it."

"Do I get to know "who" got it for her?" He stood to the side and allowed her to go back inside the apartment then waited until she returned with the small animal.

"I'll bring her back around seven tonight." Sara turned with the stroller and went down the hallway then onto the elevator and down to the ground floor where Jim was waiting for her. She wasn't aware of the man standing at his window above her as he watched the three of them travel down the street.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Information slowly started to leak back to Sara, information that she didn't want to hear but had to. Nick and Greg soon found that Heather had a frequent visitor at her house as Jerome and Allison would spend their days with her. It was unclear as to whether they were spending the nights at this point.

"Well, Cookie," Brass sighed as he walked out of the elevator with Sara and Abby. "Are you ready to do this?"

"No matter how I feel about him, he needs to know you're here."

"I'm not saying I wasn't going to let him know. I'm just saying he isn't going to like it."

"Like it or not. . .here we are. Let's go."

Sara handed the key to Brass and allowed him to unlock the door then hold it open as she pushed the stroller inside. He followed her into the living room as they heard Grissom's voice coming from the bedroom.

"I'll call you when I find anything out. Goodbye."

Brass stood in the middle of the living room as Sara moved to the bedroom's doorway and looked inside.

"Reporting in with your "friend," I see."

"I wasn't reporting to anyone," he said then stood up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed.

Sara looked at the jeans and football jersey he was wearing as well as his bare feet. "Whatever. I think you should come out here."

Grissom looked at her with question then moved to the doorway, stopping abruptly upon finding Brass in the other room. "Jim!"

"I–um–I thought you should know that I'm here," Brass told him.

"So I see. When did you get in?"

"Two days ago. I've been staying with Sara."

Grissom's eyes moved from Brass to Sara and back again. "You said you were going to help Ellie. Why are you here?"

"I said I was going to pick up the pieces of my girl. You're the one who assumed it was Ellie. And I think you know why I'm here."

"This is who's been at your hotel room with you?" He asked Sara.

"Hmm, amazing, huh, that someone would actually care that much to travel so far to come and help me."

"I traveled to come for you too, Sara. You're forgetting that."

"After you got permission from Heather. No, I'm not forgetting that," she retorted.

"I didn't. . ." Grissom started but Brass cut in.

"Look–guys–I didn't come here to referee a fight."

"Then why "did" you come, Jim?" Grissom asked him. "Clearly you didn't come to hear my side of the story. . ."

"Do you "have" a side of the story you want to tell me, champ? Because I don't think so. Otherwise I would've known about this escapade before you left Nevada. You knew what you were doing was wrong–that's why you hid it."

"I didn't hide anything. I just didn't broadcast it."

"Well, like I said, I'm not here to argue. I'm here to help Sara get to where she needs to be and in so doing, I'm hoping to come up with some answers."

"What kind of answers?"

"Well, like what Heather was hoping to gain by setting up a camera and videoing the two of you in bed."

"Heather isn't responsible for the video, Jim. We think it's Jerome Kessler."

"Ah, Jesus," Sara moved to take Abby out of the stroller as she gave up listening to the conversation. She was tired of it. He would never see Heather doing anything wrong. Abby needed to be put to bed, so she decided to put her energy into seeing to her baby's needs, not Grissom's. She went into the bedroom to put her in her crib as she heard the muffled conversation going on in the living room. She could hear both men's voices escalating; Brass's with anger and Grissom's with frustration. The sound of a fist hitting flesh hurried Sara's steps as she stood in the doorway and saw Grissom holding his jaw and scowling at Brass.

"When are you going to wake the fuck up?" Brass sneered at Grissom. "Ya know what? Don't wake up! Just stay in this perpetual state of blind adoration and leave the rest of us the hell alone! Sara's better off without ya! I'm through trying to talk any sense into you. You're a losing battle." Jim looked at Sara as she stood behind Grissom. "Sara, are you ready to leave? I'd really like to go now."

"Yes–of course." She hurried past Grissom, taking an intensive look at his face as she walked by and noting that there seemed to be little damage. She moved to the door and held it for Brass but he paused and looked back at Grissom.

"I don't know if you'll ever get past this, buddy. I hope so. But the way things are going right now, things don't look too good."


	174. Chapter 174

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Four

Grissom returned to his bathroom where he wet a washcloth with cold water and looked in the mirror. In the past three days he'd been slapped and punched and beneath his beard he had the bruises to prove it. He dabbed at the torn lip that Brass had just given him as he stared at himself. How did he ever get himself into this position? God, what he would give to be able to go back a year and start all over again. But he couldn't. What's done was done and he only had his future to consider; his and his daughter's. At this point he wasn't too sure if he was going to have a wife by the time his first anniversary rolled around. His cell phone began to ring and he hurried back to it, hoping that by some bizarre chance Sara would be calling to see if he was alright since she only hesitated a moment before leaving the apartment with Jim. She had only shown a mild curiosity regarding Jim's violent reaction to Grissom's comment that Heather was merely a victim in all of this, just as much of a victim as Sara. But as he looked at the caller ID he didn't see Sara's number, instead he saw a number that was very familiar to him as well.

"Hello, Heather."

"Grissom," she said in a breathy, frightened voice that alarmed him.

"Heather? Is everything alright?"

"Oh, Grissom," she went on. "I don't know if I can manage this all by myself. It frightens me to know that someone could be out there right now waiting to get in! I only feel safe when you're here! You're the only one who could keep me safe and now you can't even do that–I fear your circumstances have made it impossible for you to want to help anymore."

"If I were there I'd see to your safety, Heather. I wouldn't let anything harm you."

The creaking noise behind him turned his attention to the mirror over his dresser and he unconsciously dropped his hand with the phone still in it until it was at his side. First there was the recognition that it was actually Sara who was standing in the bedroom's doorway. Then it was emptiness of her eyes as she looked at him. He slowly turned until he was facing her, her expression making him completely forget about the phone in his hand.

"Sara?" He asked quietly.

"I know you wouldn't, darling," came Heather's voice from the line that was still open. "You've never allowed anyone to come close enough to me to cause me harm. You always saw to it that I was safe."

Sara's eyes went to the phone as they both listened in horror at Heather's words. Grissom, amazed that of all things Sara was there to hear, it had to be those innocent words that she certainly would misconstrue. And Sara, realizing that it was true–other than the time Heather was paid to be abused and strangled, Grissom had always seen to that woman's safety.

She slowly looked back up at her husband, seeing the same guilt written across his face as she had seen all those months ago, after that strangulation, when he walked into Heather's hospital room to find Sara already there. Any hopes that they could salvage this relationship faded as she numbly turned and started back toward the front door.

Grissom tossed the phone onto the mattress as he started after his wife

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara stared out of the airplane window as she subconsciously held a tissue to her nose. The bluish-white clouds went unseen as she had flown over the Atlantic Ocean. Vague images of walking out of her Paris apartment haunted her, images of her husband grabbing her arms and swinging her around until she was pressed against the door she was about to go out of. But when she looked at him through large, blank eyes, he had nothing to say. Try as he might, nothing escaped his lips and she smiled sadly at him as she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. Dear Gilbert, forever trying to explain himself out of another situation with the other woman in his life. It was all becoming clear to her now as she gently stroked his cheek. He couldn't help it. He really couldn't help it–just as she couldn't help loving him. Heather beckoned to him as strongly as he beckoned to Sara. But Sara's trials were coming to an end. It would just be so much easier for everyone now if she would release him and allow him to return to the woman who would never let go.

As she stroked his bearded cheek, he turned his face to her palm and kissed it, then pulled her more closely to him as his lips met hers, trying to seduce her gently at first but upon not receiving the response he was seeking, he became more hurried, almost frantic as his kisses moved over her face and on to her throat and neck. She put her hands in the softness of his hair as he kissed her, petting him and trying to show him that everything was going to be alright now, she would let him go–but he seemed so intent on his hold on her. He pulled her back with him until he was seated on the arm of the sofa and she was standing between his thighs. He lifted her tee-shirt above her slim waist and even higher until her blue bra that was covering her breasts was exposed to him. His lips immediately found the tops of her golden mounds and he continued to kiss them as she looked down at him in a strange numbness. She stroked his face a few more times, then stepped back from him, bringing his intense gaze up to her as she smiled gently at him. Without malice, she nodded toward the bedroom where he had left the phone.

"Your phone call is waiting," she said gently.

"I don't want it," he choked.

She smiled sadly at him then bent and placed her lips on his, kissing him briefly before standing erect again and looking at him. "Go. Tend to your call."

He looked at her with question, then got up and moved into the bedroom where he picked the phone from the bed. The last thing she heard as she closed the apartment door behind her was "Heather. . ."

The rest was a blur; the conversation she had with Brass as they went back to the hotel, the decision to return to the only family she could really call her own–the only support she had right now, the decision to leave behind her daughter, the one person she cherished more than any other in her life, with her father so she could maintain a sense of stability that Sara hadn't had as a child. It all went rather quickly, really. It was only a matter of hours before her final visit with her daughter, gathering her essential paperwork from her apartment when Grissom was lecturing the following day as she intermittently interviewed various highly recommended candidates for the job of nanny then decided upon the boy who lived across the hall; a young man who reminded her of a French version of Greg Sanders so much that her heart tore in two as she looked at how he was tending to the small child. She would allow Grissom to make the final decision when he was consulted about the future care of their child. She dealt with her goodbye with Abigail the only way she could, simply by convincing herself that she would be back the next day as usual, but in reality knowing she would not see her for weeks at a time. She simply wouldn't think about that right now.

She convinced herself that Abigail would be better off this way. Grissom would provide her a stability that she was unable to give to her at this time. When she was stronger, they would determine an appropriate living arrangement to satisfy all three of their needs. . . when she was stronger. . .

She barely noticed as Jim ushered her off the plane as it landed in Atlanta to change flights. He had mercifully remained quiet these past hours, only tending to her needs such as getting her to nibble on a sandwich here, drink some juice there, try to close her eyes and sleep a little or simply pat her hand when he heard the quiet tears she couldn't hide. She did, however, notice the two men who were waiting for her at the airport in Georgia; both standing there expectantly as she unboarded and both eagerly taking her into their arms until they stood huddled in a three-person-hug.

Finally, she wiped at her eyes as she pulled back from them and looked at the sheepish grin on Greg's face and the deep sympathy in Nick's eyes.

"What are you guys doing here?" She tried to scold them. "You didn't have to fly here to meet us!"

"I wanted to go on an airplane ride," Greg told her.

"Yeah," Nick agreed as he put his arm around Sara's shoulder. "And I couldn't see letting Greg get on an airplane all by himself. We might have never found him again. He could've ended up in Hong Kong or some place like that."

"Oh, yeah," Jim agreed with fake cynicism as he approached them with his carry-on bag. "We can't have Greg lost in China, can we?"

"Ah, Jim," Greg smiled at him. "I know you'd miss me–you don't have to try to hide it."

"Take her bag, Sanders," Brass nodded toward Sara. "Make yourself useful."

So intent on Sara's welfare were the three men that they didn't notice the young woman with the floppy hat who got off the plane several passengers behind them, and Sara was too involved with her friends to see how she was being watched by the young lady until she turned to leave and she caught a glimpse of the hat being removed, letting a mass of straight light-brown hair fall down around slim shoulders. Sara did an immediate double-take, feeling a sick tingling jolt through her spine, but a quick crowd of people separated them and by the time the mass had cleared, the girl was out of sight.

"You okay, Cookie?" Brass asked as he looked in the direction that Sara was looking.

She gave him a nervous smile then started walking with the others. "Yeah. . .yeah. . .just haunted by old ghosts, I guess."

"I think you're battling enough ghosts right now, kiddo," Nick told her as they started walking toward their next flight. "No sense in looking for "old" ones."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

To say he was surprised was quite the understatement. Opening the door to his apartment to find his neighbor holding his infant daughter was quite alarming. Finally, in a combination of English and French, the boy whom was known as "Robert," proudly explained that "he" was Abigail's new nanny and all would be more thoroughly explained in a note that was left on the kitchen table. Grissom hurried to the said table and picked up the paper with the familiar handwriting. If he was looking for anything that could explain this turn of events, he was sorely

disappointed. In as few words as possible Sara explained that she was returning to the states with Jim. Her plans included trying to get work and sending funds back to Grissom to help support their daughter. She would make attempts to return as often as financially possible so she could keep some kind of connection with Abigail. Other than that, she was in dire need of peace and she was finding none of that here with him. At this point, she doubted she could ever find it because she now realized that Grissom wasn't hers as she had thought. His inability to choose between the two women who meant anything to him made it abundantly clear to Sara whom the victor was and it wasn't she. So, she needed to protect herself with the people who loved her to help aid her back to some kind of emotional health. Once she was on her feet emotionally, she could be the mother that Abigail deserved. At this point, she could only offer her disappointment and pain.

Grissom put the note down and started back through the room, determined to stop her from leaving but the fact was that he didn't know where to go to stop her! He went to the phone and called airports in hopes of locating her but came up with no answers. Then he called the lab where he got through to Catherine.

Catherine listened to Grissom's story with a silence that was unusual for her and the longer she remained silent, the more concerned Grissom was becoming that he had made a huge mistake in contacting his dearest friend. The realization that she had lived her marriage to Eddy having to deal with infidelity never crossed his mind until it was too late.

"Catherine, I'm sorry to drop all of this in your lap like this," Grissom told her.

"No," Catherine said quietly. "No. Who else did you have to talk to? I would've appreciated it though, if you would've contacted me in the beginning and not went directly to Arch. Do you want me to look into this case more thoroughly? Are you calling for me to start a full-scale investigation at Heather's house, get as many people in there as possible?"

"I don't think Heather would like that, Catherine. You know how private she is."

"Heather? Private?" Catherine spurted then tried to cover her reaction. "If you think so, Gris. I'll do what I can, but you've got to understand that if we don't wrap up this case involving Senator Lyons and Congressman Jacobs, I'm not going to have any time to put into Heather's case."

"Catherine? Have you heard anything from Jim?"

"Actually, I was talking to him about an hour ago. He said he was on a plane heading home. I didn't know where he had gone, but now it's all making sense."

"He was already on the plane an hour ago?"

"Mm-hmm. I'm afraid there's no catching up to Sara now until she reaches our side of the ocean. And even then, there isn't much I can do. To tell ya the truth, I'm not sure exactly what you "want" me to do."

"I want you to convince her to come home."

"She "is" coming home, Griss," Catherine said gently. "You were her life, Gil. Now, we're the only people she knows who love her. We're going to be her only sense of security; her only sense of stability."

"I" love her! "I'm" still her life!" Grissom insisted.

"No, Gil," Catherine sighed deeply, clearly not wanting to hurt his feelings but not knowing how to avoid it now. "You gave up that right the moment you even contemplated going to Heather Kessler's house."

"Heather's my friend, Catherine!"

"So is Jim. So is Nicky, Greg and even David. "I" am your friend and have been your friend a hell of a lot longer than Heather. There is no way in hell that I would have ever taken you to my bed because I was your "friend," and you know it. So, being your friend, Gil, please don't try to convince me that it was any type of "friendship" that sent you to her house. I'm not that gullible and you damn well know it." Catherine sighed again. "Now, I want you to keep that in mind every time you think you're going to convince me that Sara should go running back to France. I want you to be happy, Gil. I want Sara to be happy. But right now, that's impossible."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Take care of that beautiful little girl of yours."

"Is that all?"

"I think that's more than enough right now. The fact that Sara left the most important person in her world in your care might be an indication that there's enough trust left and it may be the foundation you're looking for; something you might be able to build on again."

"I want her back, Catherine."

"I suppose you do. But your actions told her otherwise. Let her go, Gil. Let the cement of your foundation harden and become stronger. As of right now, there's nothing to build a future on. It's been destroyed."

"How am I supposed to know if she'll ever come back?"

"That's up to you. Keep in mind, that she didn't force you to run to Heather. You made your decision despite knowing what Sara wanted. Anything you do now, will definitely play a part in any future you may still have with Sara."

"I can't let anything happen to Heather. If she's in danger, she needs to be protected. Why can't Sara understand that?"

There was another pause, a longer pause that told Grissom that Catherine had great difficulty understanding that concept as well. "I'll watch over Sara. She couldn't be in a better place than here with those of us who love her."

"You're not going to investigate this case, are you?" He said with resignation.

"It hasn't been officially assigned to anyone in this department. But. . .I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Catherine." Grissom looked toward the living room when he heard his daughter's irritated cry.

"So, is this new "nanny" still there with you?" Catherine asked upon hearing the child's cry.

"No, he left about ten minutes ago."

"Then you better go and take care of the little princess. . ." Catherine smirked. "I bet Sara doesn't let you call her that. . .princess, I mean."

"Not usually," Grissom smiled slightly at the thought. "She usually prefers something along the lines of "slugger" or "champ."

"But she's your "princess?"

"No. "Sara" is my princess," Grissom said sadly. "Goodbye, Catherine."

"Bye, Grissom."

Grissom hung up the telephone and went to the room where he picked up his little girl, not hearing the extra click on his line after Catherine ended her side of the call.


	175. Chapter 175

A/N: Gosh! I truly apologize for taking so long–but–my computer crashed and is in terrible shape. I've managed to re-type (was afraid to copy onto a thumb drive and transfer) the beginning of this chapter over onto my daughters' computer and have finally been able to sit down and work on it some more. I'm hoping to keep up with it, but may run into time issues while I'm trying to get my original computer back to par. Oh–to everyone who congratulated me on my wins at GSR Forever, I thank you sincerely! I am very proud to have had this story selected as Best FanFiction in Progress and FanFiction of the Year, as well as Four-Hour Drive winning Best Humor! Thanks to all!

Also–just a warning–I'm taking this story out and around the bend as you'll see by the end of the chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Five

"Do you want your pickle?" Greg asked Sara as they sat in a booth at Frank's Diner.

Sara looked down at her plate that she had barely touched then shook her head negatively. "No. You can have my pickles."

"You eating your chips?" He asked.

"God!" Brass scolded the young man. "Leave her alone! Let her eat her damned lunch."

She smiled indulgently at Greg. "I'll give you what I don't eat, okay?"

"I don't know why he can't just spend some of his moldy money and get an extra bag of chips," Nick told them as he bit into an egg sandwich and allowed the yolk to burst over the slices of bread and drip down his fingers.

Sara looked at the bright gold substance oozing down before dripping onto his home-fried potatoes and felt a lump rise in her throat. She immediately put her napkin to her mouth as she watched him.

"Sara?" Brass asked. "You okay?"

"I think I have to go to the bathroom," she murmured as she got up from the table and escaped to the lady's room. She splashed some cool water on her face then looked into the mirror, noticing how pale she was. The shadows beneath her eyes were dark and her cheeks were beginning to look hollow. She decided that she needed to eat more. Since her episode with her laptop the week before, her diet had turned minimal.

"Sara!"

The whisper was loud and familiar as Sara spun around to look at the wall behind her. She had heard that voice before and had thought it was the last of it when the woman hung herself in her jail cell. But there it was, in the same room with her.

"Who's there?" Sara breathed as she stared at the empty room around her. The lack of response only made the hairs on the back of her neck stand even more erect. "I said, who's there?"

This time when no one answered, with her breathing coming hard to her, she turned and hurried back to her friends who were now arguing over who was eating the most calories; Nick with his triple egg sandwich, home fries and quarter pound of bacon or Greg with his Philly cheese-steak, large order of fries and chocolate milkshake.

"Jeez, Sara!" Greg said as he dipped one of his fries into his shake and ate it. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's up?"

"My lunch, if you eat another fry like that!"

"What? They're good this way. Try one."

"No, thank you." She took her seat next to Brass again. "I'm doing fine with my salad. Didn't you say Catherine was coming here after she finished in the lab?"

"That's what she said," Nick told her. "I'd give her a few more minutes. Sometimes she can be a little slow."

"I am "not" slow," Catherine said as she walked up behind Nick and slid onto the bench-seat next to Greg. "I'm busy. Sara, I'd ask how you're doing, but you look tired. Have you been sleeping since you got back?"

Sara thought about the past two nights and how she had lain in the bed that she and Grissom used to share. No, she hadn't been sleeping well. The opposite was true. And when she did finally doze off, she'd hear Abby crying for her which always woke her with a start. Then she'd lie awake and miss her daughter, wanting nothing more than to have the child lying there with her, cuddled in her arms so she could show her the love that she had for her. Instead, she was lying by herself, looking around the room that screamed Grissom's haunting presence. No, she definitely wasn't sleeping well.

"I'm fine," she smiled to her friend.

"Uh-huh," Catherine looked at the waitress who approached them. "I'd like some coffee and a cheese danish. Thanks." She looked back at Sara. "How are you keeping yourself busy? Are you keeping occupied?"

"Other than having one of the guys over every day and every evening, no, I haven't been keeping overly occupied."

"We could have a girls' night out. Get Wendy, Judy and Mandy together and hit the clubs."

"Mandy's going?" Nick asked as he looked at Catherine.

"I don't even know if "we're" going yet," Catherine told him as she reached over, grabbed his fork and stabbed into his home-fries before lifting a portion to her mouth. "So, hold onto your reins, lover-boy."

"What?" Nick asked nonchalantly. "I was only asking."

"What do ya say?" Catherine asked after chewing her food. "Would you like to go out?"

"I don't know, Catherine," Sara explained. "Maybe later. Right now I'm still recovering from some major jet lag."

Catherine nodded her head as she looked at her. "Ya know, sweetie, we're all here for ya. We know you've been dealt a shitty hand and there isn't much we can do about it–but we "can" be here for you."

"I know," Sara felt the lump in her throat rise again but swallowed it down with difficulty before looking up at Catherine and giving her a faux smile. "So. . .how's Lindsey?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and began her version of the trials and tribulations of being the mother of a college student and soon Sara's smile was turning more authentic as the five others continued to tease and comfort her. But, soon enough, Sara's dilemma was unavoidable as Brass's cell went off.

"Brass." He looked at Catherine as he listened to the other end of the conversation, then he unsuccessfully tried to steal a glance at Sara. "Are they sure she's injured? Yeah." Jim's exasperation was undeniable as he sighed and slid across the bench-seat until he was standing next to the table. "I'll meet you there."

"Something wrong, Jim?' Catherine asked as she eyed him warily.

Brass obviously didn't want to answer in front of Sara but after a moment answered the woman's inquiry. "I might as well fill you in now. You'll be getting a call soon enough." He glanced at Sara with a combination of irritation, sadness and inevitability. "It's Heather Kessler. She's been attacked and is in the hospital. Someone broke into her house yesterday."

"And they waited this long to report it?" Catherine asked with raised brows.

"Evidently she wouldn't press charges until she spoke to her "advisor." Wouldn't even go to the hospital until she got the say so. Then when she was "advised" this morning, she relented and called it in then went to the ER."

"Is she. . .alright?" Sara asked quietly, knowing that Jim was under no obligation to answer her since it was privileged information and she was now the "outsider."

"She's in satisfactory condition," he answered solemnly, then added with disgust. "Would you expect anything else?"

"Hmph," Nick said before he could stop himself. "Anything to get Grissom's attention, you mean. It won't be long before he's back in town, now!"

"Nick!" Catherine whispered harshly, as if to take away the bite of his comment.

He was filled with regret immediately and looked at Sara as he put his hand on top of hers in a comforting gesture. "Sara–I'm so sorry. I never should have said that."

She gave a nervous smile in an attempt to cover the anxiety that ripped through her, then she shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You're only saying what everyone else sitting here is thinking." She turned back toward Brass. "Did they get anything when they broke in? Or should we take it for granted that any evidence that would have been there to prove someone may have "set up her little romp with my husband" was destroyed. You know, Heaven forbid if we would want to see such proof."

"You know I can't answer that, Sara. Not unless you're wearing some sort of badge or identification verifying you're working with us again." Brass turned to look back at Catherine. "In the meantime, I can tell "you" and if anyone overhears. . .so be it. Someone went into her house and trashed her office and the rooms surrounding the areas she had been in with Grissom."

"What about "those" areas?" Catherine asked, glancing over at Sara as the other woman listened to their conversation. "Were "those rooms" destroyed as well?"

"No. They weren't touched."

"I think we better get in there as quickly as possible," Catherine said as the waitress placed her cup of coffee in front of her then deposited the danish. She took a quick sip of her drink then picked up the pastry as she got to her feet next to Brass. "Nick. Looks like you're going to cut breakfast short and join me. Greg–you too. Sara. I think it might be best if you go home right now. I'll call when I'm on my way back to the lab."

Sara silently nodded as she watched her surrogate family go into high alert, then prepare to leave as they left money on the table to cover their bills; each giving her as much of a reassuring smile as they could muster. Sara watched them leave, then slowly sipped at her own coffee until the waitress returned and collected the money. She gave Sara a friendly smile then returned to the counter just as a small boy entered the diner and looked around. After a moment he approached Sara.

"Are you Sara Sidle?" Asked the light brown-haired youth.

"I'm–Sara–Grissom," Sara said, then when she saw the doubt cover the boy's face, she went on. "Yes–I'm Sara Sidle. What can I do for you?"

"Some lady outside gave me five bucks to come in here and give you a message. She said to tell you that . . ." He thought a moment as if he had almost forgotten, then brightened when he recalled what he had been told. "Oh–yeah–she said, sometimes cribs can be just as dangerous as cars in the desert–they can get turned upside down and trap someone underneath even easier!"

Sara swallowed with difficulty as she looked at the boy who now seemed very pleased with himself and looked at her proudly. Before she could stop herself she was on her feet and grabbed him by the upper arms.

"Who told you this?" She demanded and when he only looked at her through huge eyes, she shook him. "I said–who told you this?"

"I don't know," he said with fright. "It was some lady!"

"Where is she?"

"I–I don't know. She got in a car and drove away!"

"What did she look like?" She waited half a second and when he didn't respond, she shook him again. "Color of hair! How tall was she? Was she thin? Was she fat? What did she look like?"

"Her hair was the same color as mine," he said nervously. "She was skinny."

Sara released the boy as she turned to look out the window but regretted it instantly when he took off in a dead run and escaped out the front door. By the time she reached the sidewalk he was gone. She quickly scanned the area, stopping when she saw the woman sitting in the driver's seat of a red sports car, smiling at her; a smile that was cold and never reached the dullness of her eyes. Sara watched as the woman slowly drove past her, then quickly accelerated away, recognition immediate as she felt her breathing turn rapid and shallow. "Natalie."

His words reverberated through her mind "cribs can be just as dangerous as cars in the desert–they can get turned upside down and trap someone underneath even easier!" Abby! She had to make sure Abby was alright! She pulled out her phone and dialed Paris immediately. She knew it was after six in the evening there, so Grissom should be home with their daughter. She let it ring until finally the answering machine picked up and she heard her own voice "Hey! This is Sara, Gil and Abby's! Leave a message!" Sara snapped her cell closed then called Grissom's cell but it was immediately transferred to voice mail, stating that he was unavailable at this time. She sprinted for her car and drove in the direction that Natalie's car had disappeared but after nearly half an hour of searching she had to admit to herself that it was useless. She slowly turned her car toward home, knowing it was useless trying to locate the automobile in question. Instead, she called the lab.

"Arch?"

"Yeah, Sara. What can I do for ya?"

"I need you to run a partial license plate." She looked down at the number she had jotted onto her notepad. "California HNL 32. I didn't get the rest, but it's a red Mustang, either a 98 or 99."

"I'll do my best–but, you know. . .I'm not allowed to run this without authorization."

"Arch, did you run numbers for Grissom this past week?" She asked sarcastically.

"I'll get right on it."

Sara trudged up the sidewalk toward Grissom's old apartment, anxiety ripping through her as she wanted nothing more than to have her daughter in her arms so she could verify her safety. She slid her key into the door and opened it but the light on the end table alerted her that something was out of sorts. She slowly closed the door behind herself and cautiously moved through the apartment, knowing that she hadn't left the light on that morning. There was a quiet scuffling coming from the bedroom and she searched for something to protect herself, coming up with a can of vegetable spray as she passed the kitchen counter. If nothing else, she could spray it in the intruder's eyes and try to get away. Hesitantly, she inched toward the sound that was now becoming more prominent and just as she stepped close to the door, it swung open to reveal the large man who was looking at her.

"Grissom!"


	176. Chapter 176

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Six

Sara threw her arms around Grissom's neck in absolute relief. Thoughts of his faithfulness to Heather was forgotten as her concern for Abigail overtook her thoughts. She noticed the stiffness of his stance immediately as his hands moved up to rest on her waist and she pulled back far enough to look at him.

"Is this going to be another attempt to pacify me with sex, Sara?" He asked numbly. "I'd like to know ahead of time so I can prepare for the emotional slap in the face that I'm about to receive."

Sara stepped back out of his grasp; one thing becoming very clear. He hadn't returned for her. The other option was too hideous to even contemplate! Instead, she turned her attention to the bed behind them, where Abby lay, sleeping with a teddy bear lying next to her. Sara rushed past her husband and grabbed the child, lifting her into her arms as she buried her face against the soft down of her hair.

"Sweet baby," Sara crooned against her daughter then heard Grissom sigh behind her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly as he approached her but the moment he put his hand on her shoulder, she took a closer look at the teddy bear still lying on the bed.

She reached for it and looked at the surgical scrubs it was wearing in an attempt to replicate a doctor's clothing, then she looked at the embroidery across the front of it. "Desert Palms." This time the emotional slap in the face was turned in her direction; a blatant, screaming insult that widened her eyes in horror. She turned so slowly to look at Grissom that she thought it had taken an hour, but finally her eyes met his. He took the bear from her, then tossed it onto the bed again.

"Desert Palms?"

"Yes. It was a gift."

"Desert Palms?" She repeated. "You came back for "her."

"She was in danger, Sara," he told her as if this was the most logical reason in the world. "She was attacked and she wasn't going to go to the hospital! She could have been attacked again! She could have died!"

"No! She couldn't have died! The gods aren't good enough to me to grant me that favor!" Sara yelled at him.

"Don't say that! Heather "never" wished you harm!"

"Never wished me. . .?" She asked with huge eyes and disbelief. "No! She just "caused" it!"

"Not intentionally," he said quietly.

Sara stared at him, shock spreading through her until Abby started to squirm in her arms. Then the realization of what had actually happened spread through her and she was aghast. "You. . .you took. . .oh, God, I'm going to be sick!" Her hand covered her mouth as she gulped in breath after breath then looked back at him as he reached for the baby, but she swivelled away and looked at him again. "You took our child to that bitch's room with her!"

"I had to," he almost whispered. "I had no one else to watch over her when I got off the plane."

Sara started to laugh at him, incredulousness filling the room. "You went straight to her from the plane–just what time did your plane come in, Grissom?" He didn't answer and she looked at the tag that was on his luggage and read the arrival time. "Four hours ago. You've been in Vegas for four hours and didn't feel it was prudent to let our child's mother know about it–and yet you took her to your mistress's house and then hospital room. Tell me something, did you let her "hold" her, too?" The look of pure guilt that shot from his eyes told all. "I see."

"Sara! She wanted to hold the baby. She was devastated at having just been attacked! She nearly lost her life, Sara! What could have been wrong with allowing her the privilege of holding a child?"

"A" child, Grissom?" Sara picked up the baby carrier and moved into the living room with it and Grissom followed. "The "baby?" She said as she placed Abby into the carrier then returned to the bedroom. "Her name is Abigail, Grissom. I guess you forgot that."

"Sara! What are you doing?" He asked as he watched her erratic movements.

She picked up the diaper bag then went back to where she had left Abigail. "I'm taking my child away from the contamination that you insist on exposing her to."

"You can't be serious!" He said as if he thought she were being extremely childish. She didn't reply as she grabbed the carrier and started for the door. "Where are you going? You're not taking Abby out of here!"

He grasped onto the other side of the carrier and looked at Sara, his obstruction causing her to look up at him through weary eyes. Slowly, almost as if she regretted doing so, she opened the door. "You've "got to" understand why I can't "leave her here."

She closed the door between them. She drove to the nearest department store where she went inside and bought the supplies she would need to get herself and Abby through the next few days, then went back to the car and went directly to the lab. She knew she had a good possibility of running into Grissom there, but she needed to find a spot where she could take care of Abby's baser needs. After feeding her and changing her diaper that she had a suspicion hadn't been changed since their departure from the plane, she wrapped her in a receiving blanket then went inside where she found her team in the evidence room, huddled around the table.

"He was at the hospital," Greg sneared to the rest of the group as Sara stood in the hallway, still unknown to them.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Nick said with a negative shake of his head. "We were right. He didn't waste any time getting over here, did he?"

"Maybe he came over to get Sara," Catherine tried.

"Right. And maybe he came over to come see me," Nick told her.

"There's no sense in believing the worst."

"He–was at her house," Brass told them. "He's the one she contacted and she wouldn't go to the hospital to get checked out until he came back and got her there."

"So, you're saying she stayed in her house for over 15 hours, just waiting for a ride from him?" Nick asked sarcastically. "And what did he do? Jump on the first plane that was available? Hell, did he pack anything?"

"She was attacked almost 20 hours before he got there," Brass said dimly. "If she could sit around pondering on whether or not her injuries warranted medical attention for over 20 hours, then I'd damn well say they weren't important enough to be treated. And even if they were, I'd be damned if I'd cross an ocean just to take her to the doctor."

"You wouldn't cross the street to take her to the doctor," Nick chuckled. "Who are you kidding?"

"Well, whether or not any of us would seek out medical attention for Ms. Kessler, we need to find out who it was that broke into her house yesterday morning," Catherine told them as she continued to look down at the evidence table.

"I'd say it was one of her little trolls she keeps hidden in her dungeon," Greg said.

"Greg," Catherine admonished.

"Okay, okay, so it wasn't a troll–maybe a zombie like her." Greg turned around to lean against the evidence table and caught sight of Sara and the tiny bundle she was carrying. "Hey!"

All conversation stopped and Catherine was on her so quickly that she nearly knocked her over. Greg was on her heals with Nick following closely behind. Brass, having already met the young Ms. Grissom, simply stood back with an appreciative smile and let the others have their chance to meet her.

"Oh my God!" Catherine squealed as she took the child out of Sara's arms and started to open the blanket so she could inspect her. "She's beautiful!"

"Yeah," Nick agreed. "Good thing she looks like her mom with no traces of her father in there."

Just then the baby opened her eyes and looked at the source of that sweet southern voice and Catherine and Greg gave out heartfelt "ahs."

"I don't know about that, Nick! Look at those blue eyes! That's Grissom out and out," Catherine told him.

"No, it aint," Nick crooned to the little one as he put his finger in her hand and she curled her fingers around it. "That's Abigail Grissom, all on her very own!"

"What's this?" Came a voice from behind the group but no one looked up. "Is that a kid?"

"Yes, David," Catherine said. "This is a "kid." You "have" seen them before, haven't you?"

"Not much," Hodges said as he walked behind the group to look over Catherine's shoulder, then noticed Sara. "Sara! Is this "your" baby!"

"As far as I know," Sara smiled at his renewed enthusiasm.

Hodges took a closer look at the child. "Wow! She looks like you."

"But she's got Grissom's eyes," Greg told him.

Hodges looked even closer to the little girl. "Really?"

"I'm surprised you didn't notice that right off!" Nick told him.

"Regardless of what you might think," Hodges said airily. "I didn't spend all my time gazing into Grissom's eyes! I wasn't even sure "what" color they were."

"Couldda fooled me," Greg mumbled. "You had your head so far up his ass I half expected you to know what color his "colon" was!"

"Just because I respected our supervisor does not mean I "had my head stuck up his ass!" Hodges told them, about to turn away but Sara put her hand on his forearm and stopped him.

"Oh, don't listen to him, Hodges. We all know where your interests lie and it isn't with Grissom anymore. I mean–it isn't with Grissom."

"I thought absence made the heart grow fonder," Nick taunted.

"Yeah, by now you should be in deep mourning," Greg agreed.

"I am "not" in mourning over a man!" Hodges told them indignantly.

"Well, you can stop your mourning," Brass told him. "Your idol got back into town this morning."

"He did! I mean, is he here?" Hodges eyes opened widely, almost hopefully.

"How do you think this little angel got here?" Catherine asked, her attention still focused on the child.

"See, you're not overly excited–much," Greg told him.

"Yeah, Hodges. Maybe you ought to run off and make yourself more presentable in case he shows up. Ya don't want him to see you looking like you've just worked a 16-hour shift, do you?"

"No!" David said with wide eyes, then turned and started out of the room. "I've–got to go. I've got some–tests to run."

"Did you want something, David?" Catherine called after him. "Is that why you came in here?"

"Oh–yeah," he said as he stopped and turned back to the group. "It looks like the fibers found on the broken glass were black leather, and there was some skin tissue left behind. It's in DNA right now. We should be finding out who broke through the window soon."

"Thanks, David," Catherine looked up at Nick as he responded.

"I'm laying odds it's our good Ms. Kessler, herself. I say she broke her window out of her front door, all by herself."

"Well, if that's true, how did she get bruises around her wrists, throat and neck?" Greg asked, but after receiving a look of astonishment from Nick, he added. "Oh. Right."

"A leisurely night of rough sex for the . . . woman . . . would produce those bruises," Brass told him.

"Did she have anything under her nails?" Sara asked. "Did she try to defend herself?"

"She was bound," came a voice that sent chills down Sara's spine, spinning her around to face her husband. "She didn't have any opportunity to defend herself."

"And if anyone would know about that, it would be you, wouldn't it?" Nick threw at him immediately but Grissom ignored him as he spoke to Catherine.

"You need to look farther into Jerome Kessler. He's been stalking her for weeks."

"Jerome Kessler was already questioned," Brass told him. "If there are any other suspects brought to our attention, we'll look into it but that information is confidential and as far as I'm aware–you aren't privy to it."

"I'm acting as Heather's power of attorney," Grissom told him, carefully avoiding Sara from his vision. "She appointed me this morning."

The tension in the room was explosive as all became silent. Postures became rigid as the men stood so erect that their spines could have snapped. Glances were thrown around the room, all resting on Sara for any signs of reaction but she merely stood as rigidly as the men.

"I think you should leave," Nick said through clenched teeth.

"I only came to get Abigail," Grissom looked at Nick but the stress didn't lessen.

"No way!" Greg said in a rush, clearly unaware of voicing his opinion. "You had that bitch holding her when I came to the hospital today!"

Catherine moaned audibly as she looked at Grissom. "Gil. You didn't."

"I don't think it's anyone's business who or who does not hold my child."

"Only Sara's!" Nick thrust at him. "Why don't you just get the hell outta here and go back to playing "official designated peon" at the hospital?"

Grissom finally looked at Sara who was staring at the photos spread out upon the evidence table with tears brimming her eyes. "Sara. We need to go back to the apartment and talk."

Sara jerked her head twice in an affirmative nod, then looked at Catherine. "Cath, do you mind holding Abby until we're through "talking" in your office?"

"No, of course not," Catherine assured her. "Take all the time you need."

Sara nodded again and started out of the room. After a moment Grissom followed her until they were both enclosed in Catherine's office with Sara's back to him as he stood behind her.

"Sara. I know you don't understand. . .but I truly am the only person she trusts."

Sara spun around so quickly that she nearly knocked Grissom off balance. Her face was so stiff it looked as if it were going to break.

"Are you insane?" She growled. "What did you hope to accomplish by coming here? Clearly it wasn't to get our daughter or you wouldn't have sprung your little tidbit of information on everyone about being Heather's little lacky dog. But then there's nothing unusual about that, now is there?"

"She is my friend."

"And that's why you came here–not to get Abby. You came to get any evidence you could manage so you could find out who attacked Heather. Alright. You've gotten what you came for–or as much as they'll give you right now."

"I "came" here–to get you." He stepped closer to her but she stepped back, hitting the back of her legs against Catherine's desk and he was only a breath away from her. "But you're too stubborn to listen to anything I have to say. Why can't you understand that I love you? But Heather is my friend!"

"You can recite that as often as you like. It doesn't change that while you were supposedly "grieving for me," you more than willingly went to "your friend" and had sex with her. It doesn't change that in the very decision to "go to your friend" you betrayed me. It doesn't change that you "discussed me" with a woman I despise, you went to her–knowing that if I had a choice in the matter, I'd rather you visit Satan, himself, rather than that prostitute–"your" prostitute. And it doesn't change that I was the "last" thing on your mind as you lay in her bed. And yet, here we are, and you're jumping into the ring of fire yet again."

"I want to know who sat me up! I want to know who wanted to destroy me so much that they'd destroy you in the process!"

"That's perfectly evident–isn't it?" Sara's voice raised and when he merely looked at her doubtfully, she pushed past him. "We're through."

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Don't say that! We're "not" through! I never gave up on us–even. . ."

"Even while you were screwing Heather," Sara finished for him.

"I wanted it to be you!" He agonized. "But you were on some goddamned boat, traveling farther and farther away from me!"

The slap landed so quickly that he was knocked back a step. She was so furious that she was nearly panting. "Don't turn this around on me again!"

She tried to hit him again but he grabbed her by the arms and pushed her against the wall. His intention was clear as he started to lower his head and his mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. He moved his hands up to hold her head still, all the while her hands were unsuccessfully pushing at him. Finally, her struggling lessened as her fingers clutched onto his jacket and her lips softened beneath his.

"I think it's time for Sara to leave," Nick's tense voice filled the air. "If you want it rough, Gris, I suggest you head back to the hospital for your very own dominatrix action."

Grissom moved his head back a fraction but refused to look at the other man. Instead, he let his forehead touch Sara's in complete exasperation. They remained motionless for a matter of two or so seconds before Sara again pushed at him. When he stepped back, she paused to look up at him.

"Leave. . .me alone."

She went out the door that Nick was holding open for her and went down the hall where she took Abby from Catherine again. She was emotionally drained and this time, when she left, she had one of her ex-coworker's keys with her with the instructions to go in and maker herself as well as Abby at home. Sara was more than ready to escape to the refuge offered her.


	177. Chapter 177

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Seven

"Is she alright?" Nick asked as he stood in his bedroom doorway and watched Sara pacing the floor with a very unhappy Abigail Lela Grissom. "Do you think she has colic or something?"

"I think," Sara answered slowly, the constant crying showing its wearing on her nerves, slight though it might be, "that a certain little girl is very used to having her father put her to sleep at night. She wants him and doesn't seem to be taking no for an answer."

"Hmm," Nick nodded his understanding. "Stubborn little thing, isn't she?"

"Runs in the family," Sara gave him a half a smile as she continued to pace with the little girl.

"Well, what does he do that's so special?" Greg asked as he stood in the entranceway from the kitchen, carrying the bottle he had just made for her. "Read her a few books about bugs? How hard can that be? Don't you have any insect books around here?"

"Not likely," Nick told him. "Maybe it's a beard thing. Does he hold her? Maybe his beard brushes against her and puts her to sleep."

"Here! Rub her against my head! Maybe my hair will lull her asleep!" Greg offered as he rushed toward the crying baby and its mother, earning him a small shove when he tried to rub his head against Abby.

"Greg!" Sara protested with a smile.

Nick rolled his eyes and came into the room with them then looked down at the bawling child as Sara rocked her in her arms. He thought a moment and then started singing Hank Williams' "Your Cheatin' Heart" but stopped after a few bars to look apologetically at Sara.

"Jeez, I'm sorry, kiddo."

"Try some Abba!" Greg suggested.

"Abba?" Sara and Nick almost said simultaneously.

"Yeah! You know–Dancing Queen! _You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life! See that girl, watch that scene, diggin' the dancing queen! It's Friday night and the lights are low. . ._" Greg began as he swayed in front of Sara and Abby, but Nick pulled him back to interrupt him.

"Not Dancing Queen! Something older–really older! And more melodic!"

"Abba isn't melodic?" Greg asked with raised brows.

"I know!" Nick began a soft rendition of "Under the Boardwalk." "_Oh when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof, and your shoes get so hot you wish your feet were fire-proof. Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, yeah, on a blanket with my baby–that's where I'll be." _

Greg nods in agreement and joins in for "Under the boardwalk," as Nick continues with their 1950's lullaby and soon, not only was Abby staring at them with curiosity, but Sara was as well and before long, after two renditions of the song, the baby was sound asleep. Nick turned to look at Greg.

"Rub her against your head?" He asked with blatant disbelief. "How many kids have you been around?"

"It might've worked," Greg moped. "You didn't even give it a try."

"Okay, fellas," Sara said quietly as she lay Abigail in the bassinet that Greg had brought with him as a welcoming present for his new "little sweetie," as he put it. "Next time Abby needs comforting, we'll. . .," she paused as she looked at Greg. "No. I'm sorry, Greg. Maybe you better stick to the "making her laugh" end of the spectrum. Evidently you're more suited to that than making girls stop crying at bedtime."

"Not Greg," Nick teased. "All the girls he tries to get to bed "start" crying–they don't "stop" until after he leaves."

"Very funny, macho man!" Greg told him. "Can I help it Abby prefers that cowboy twang of yours?"

"All" girls prefer this cowboy twang of mine, city boy!"

"Guys!" Sara reprimanded half-heartedly. "You both did wonder."

Nick went into the kitchen where he removed a large pan of stuffed shells from the oven and brought it in to the dining table that he had to one side of the large living room. Sara helped by bringing in the garlic bread and salad. It didn't take long before the three were sitting down to their lunch-time dinner. Sara was positive she couldn't eat a bite but when she tasted the shells, it was so good that she was soon devouring her meal.

"God, Nick! This is delicious!" She said with a bite of garlic bread and a quick sip of diet soda.

"I can tell," he said as he looked at the way she was eating. "Haven't you had a decent meal since you got back in the states?"

She thought a moment. "I haven't had a decent meal since. . .well, since. . ."before" I came back to the states."

"Bastard!" Greg huffed as he cut his shell with a fork and shoved the glob of cheese and pasta into his mouth. Both Sara and Nick knew he was referring to Grissom and the "reason" Sara hadn't been eating. "I bet "he" hasn't stopped stuffing his jaws!"

"Like "you're" doing now?" Nick asked, referring to his ungentlemanly manners as he spoke with a full mouth. He looked back at Sara. "Haven't you felt like eating at all?"

She shrugged her shoulders as she dipped her bread in the marina sauce. "Don't know. I guess I just haven't been feeling well. Nerves, I guess."

"Nerves?" Nick sat at the head of the table, glancing from Sara then to Greg who had now put his fork down and was listening to the conversation with concern on his face.

"Sara? You sure it's nerves?" Greg asked gently.

"Of course, it's nerves," Sara answered as she continued to eat, not seeing the glances the men were sending to one another. "I think I've got good reason for a nervous stomach–don't you?"

"Well–yeah–but. . ." Greg started, clearly not knowing how to continue.

Finally Sara looked up at him with curiosity. "But what, Greg?"

"But, honey," Nick said just as gently as his friend. "Could it be something else? Other than nerves?"

"A stomach virus?" She asked. "Are you afraid of catching the flu?"

Nick sighed in exasperation. "No, Sara. Not the flu–not a virus–not a nervous stomach. Could you be pregnant again?"

Sara stopped chewing the mouthful of food she had just taken and looked blankly at him a moment, then dropped her slice of garlic bread a bit forcefully before covering her mouth and getting up from the table and rushing into the bathroom. Nick and Greg looked at one another with huge eyes.

"Oh, yeah," Nick said quietly.

Greg nodded his head in agreement, then shook it negatively as he went back to his dinner. "The bastard!"

"Jeez," Nick said with worry as he slowly got to his feet and hesitantly walked toward the closed bathroom door.

Greg, who was more interested in the food he was trying to get to stay on his fork, added, "Who wouldda thought he was such a sperm machine."

"Greg," Nick admonished quietly as he stood at the door, hearing Sara's heaving from the other side. "Not now."

"She should've said that to him a few weeks ago."

"Dammit, Greg." He gently knocked on the door. "Sara, honey? Everything's gonna be alright, okay? We'll stand behind you 100% and do whatever you want."

The ringing of the doorbell turned Nick's attention back to its source. He glanced at Greg, seeing that he had no intentions of stopping his eating, so he went to the door and opened it.

"Hey," Brass said as he looked past Nick at the dining table and the food spread across it. "Something smells good."

"Yeah–yeah. Come in. Let me get you a plate. Go ahead and sit down." Nick went back to the kitchen for the proper utensils so Brass could eat with them.

"What's wrong with everyone?" Brass asked as he took a seat, then noticed Sara's empty dish across the table from him. "Where's Sara?"

"In the bathroom throwing up," Greg told him.

"Oh. Lovely." Brass took the plate from Nick and started filling his plate. "Nervous stomach? If anyone has reason to have a nervous stomach, I'd say she's entitled to it."

"Not unless you call that nervous stomach "Grissom Sperm Number Two." Greg took another bite of garlic bread.

"Greg!" Nick said harshly.

"She's pregnant!" Brass blurt out.

"We don't know that," Nick said quickly. "She's just been getting sick a lot lately and when I suggested she might be. . .pregnant. . .well, she got sick again and ran into the bathroom."

"Yeah, and you should've seen her eating before she went in. She was shoveling it in so fast I thought she was going to start chewing on the table," Greg said as he took another bite of shell.

Brass looked at Greg with knit brows, then back to Nick. "But. . .did she suspect anything before that?"

"No." Sara opened the bathroom door and stood weakly against the doorframe as she looked out at them. "And I don't think it's happening again already. He used. . .well, we used protection most of the time."

"Aren't you on the pill or anything?" Greg asked.

"Shots," Sara said as she slowly moved back to the table. "And if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to discuss my bodily functions at the dinner table–especially with three men I consider to be family."

"Well, who would you rather discuss it with?" Asked Greg with raised brows. "Hodges?"

"I'd rather not discuss it with anyone. Just believe me, it isn't possible." She sat down and started eating again then looked up at them, trying to avoid thinking about the possibility that she may, indeed, be pregnant again. "It isn't!"

The three men simply looked at one another as they all went back to eating. Finally after nearly five minutes of silence, Brass opened the conversation again.

"We're running into a bit of a problem with some of the evidence."

Both men looked at Sara then back to Brass again.

"Can we be talking about this in front of Sara?" Nick asked.

"I'm not going to tell anyone if you don't," Brass said with a knowing look. "It seems the DNA from the broken window is Allison Kessler's."

"Allison. . .Heather's granddaughter?" Sara asked.

"It would seem so."

"So, what are you saying?" Asked Greg. "That her own granddaughter broke into her house and attacked her? What is she? All of about four or five?"

"About that," Brass conceded.

"Well, I say the little toad broke the door anyway," Greg said as he sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, evidently having had his fill of dinner.

"Greg," Sara said quietly. "The little girl didn't do anything. Don't bring her into this. She's just an innocent child."

"You've got a better idea?" Nick asked as he, too, sat back.

"Maybe," Sara began slowly, hesitantly, almost as if she were afraid to tell them. "There's been something going on the past few days. Someone's been following me. At first I thought it was coincidence, then I thought I was heading down the road to insanity. Now, I'm getting frightened."

"Someone's been following you and you haven't told us?" Brass asked irritably. "Sara! If anyone should know better, it should be you."

"I–know. I know." She looked down at her plate. "It started after the plane landed in Vegas. I thought I saw Natalie Davis getting off the plane behind us."

"That's impossible," Nick said. "Natalie Davis hung herself in her jail cell months ago."

"I know," Sara told him. "But today, after everyone left the diner, a little boy came in and said he was told to give me a message. He said "_sometimes cribs can be just as dangerous as cars in the desert–they can get turned upside down and trap someone underneath even easier_." I asked who told him to tell me and he described Natalie but before I could stop him, he got away. I went outside and saw a woman driving off and if it wasn't Natalie, then it was her doppleganger."

"You saw her driving away? Did you get a plate number? Make of car?" Brass asked quickly.

"It was a red Mustang. I gave the partial number to Arch but he never got back to me."

"Well, he damn well better get back to me," Brass said as he got to his feet and started dialing his cell phone then looked back at Sara as he waited for the other end to pick up. "Why in the hell didn't you tell someone about this?"

"I did. I told Arch–but then I found Gil back at the apartment and he came to the lab. It sort of got pushed to the background."

"Well, it isn't in the background anymore. Arch! I'm with Sara Sidle–I mean, Sara Grissom. I want to know what you found on that license number you ran for her."

"Jeez, Sara," Nick said as he reached along the table and covered her hand with his. "No wonder you can't keep food down. You must be a wreck."

"That's it. I'm staying here with you," Greg said. "I don't care if Nick's here anyway–with two of us here, they'll have to kill one of us before they get to you."

"Don't say that," Sara looked at her two friends. She listened as Brass went on to other phone calls and soon the police were involved and tracking down the car.

"It's a rental. Rented to a Rosa Brennan. There are two officers on their way to pick her up right now. Are you up to coming back to the station and identifying this woman?"

"Yes, of course." Sara told him. "I have to get Abby ready."

"I'm going along," Nick told her and before anyone could voice an argument, Greg was preparing to accompany them as well.

Within the hour, Sara was carrying Abby down the hall to where Brass was just coming from the interrogation room where he had been questioning the suspect.

She stood between Greg and Nick as she looked through the window at the portly, dark-complected woman. "That isn't her."

"I know," Brass said as he stopped next to them. "She claims someone stole her purse three days ago and it had her identification in it. She states someone else had to use her ID to rent the car."

"Still–they had to resemble her," said Sara.

"Yeah–but whoever the other woman is, will know who took the car today to harass you."

"Do you think this is the best place to have Abigail?" Grissom's voice broke through to the four of them and they all turned to see him standing a few feet away.

"What are you doing here?" Nick asked. "Heather in lock-up again?"

Grissom ignored Nick's remark as he continued to look at Sara and watch how Abby had started to fuss upon hearing his voice. Greg quickly reached into the diaper bag he was holding and pulled out a pacifier that he put in the infant's mouth, allowing her to settle down again.

"We're running into trouble," Brass told him. "Do you think you can tear yourself away from the Kessler case long enough to. . ."

"Jim, I'd really like to talk to you about that rental car issue," Sara broke in. "I'm sure Grissom's too busy to be concerned over a small fender-bender. He's got more important issues to deal with."

"A fender-bender?" Grissom looked at her. "Were you in an accident? Was Abby in the car?"

"No," Sara told him. "Abby wasn't in the car at the time. It was before you got here."

"You didn't say anything to me about it this morning."

"You didn't give me the opportunity." She turned away from him. "Anyway, everything is taken care of, so I'd just prefer it if we'd drop the issue for now."

Brass, Nick and Greg sent knowing glances at one another, understanding that she preferred to keep the whole Natalie Davis situation under wraps for the moment.

Grissom looked at her in indecision then did as she instructed regarding the traffic accident, but instead of moving on, he walked closer to her.

"I'd like to talk to you about Abigail. May we have some privacy?" He looked at the other men.

All three looked hesitant but granted him the isolation with Sara that he wished. He put his hand on her elbow and ushered her down to the evidence room that was unoccupied. Once inside, he released her and she turned to look at him. Although he didn't request to hold Abigail, Sara watched how his eyes often strayed to their child in a silent longing to do just that.

"What did you want to discuss?"

"I take it you're staying with Nick again," he said and she nodded once. "I–want Abigail back. I want you back. You should be staying at my apartment with me." He dropped his gaze from her and when he looked back she could see the pain in his eyes at having been separated from his daughter. "I–um–think we could–both stay there, Sara."

"I can't."

"Why? For Christ's sake, Sara–I'm your husband!"

"Which you seem to forget when it's convenient for you," she snapped at him then took a deep breath and tried again. "Look. I know you must be missing Abby. I know I longed for her so much the past few days that I thought I could die from it. In these past few months, I guess she's taken a bit of a hold on the both of us and I can't hardly remember what life was like before she came into it. But I can't go back to the apartment with you. We'd be at each other's throats so much that it would be detrimental to Abby."

"We won't be at each other's throats," he said quickly–hopefully. "I won't be there that much."

"Oh?" She asked as she looked at him rigidly. "And where will you be that you won't be home? Or needn't I ask?"

"You "know" where I'll be," he told her. "I'm not giving up on this case, Sara. I'm going to find out who has done this to us."

"Oh, Grissom," she said sadly as she looked at him. "That's just the problem. "You" are the one who did this to us. If you only had gone to visit Catherine or Jim or even Hodges that night instead of where you ended up. If only. . ."

"Sara, I can't change the past."

"And you're so unwilling to change the future."

"I will! I am!"

"If that were true, you'd walk away from all this and leave it be. But you won't. Your "integrity" won't let you. Your "attachment" to Heather won't let you. And that's something that "I" can't change." She looked at the anguish in his eyes as he watched her. "Okay. If you want Abby, you can have her for visitation–but only at your apartment–not at the hospital!"

He slowly nodded his head. She knew it wasn't what he wanted, but he'd settled for what she was willing to give at this time.


	178. Chapter 178

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Eight

Grissom sat on the side of the bed as he leaned on his elbow next to his daughter. He couldn't hide the smile that lit up his face as she cooed up at him, flailing her arms and legs in her happy attempt to keep his attention. She had just finished her bottle and had her diaper changed and was now quite actively trying to turn toward her father.

"What are we going to do, princess?" He lay down next to her and looked at the blue eyes that so matched his own. "I can't seem to survive without having you in my home with me every night. Me! Can you imagine that? The old scientist who never associated much with "anyone" can't seem to survive without a little larvae of a girl." He smiled at her again when she tried to reach for his face and merely hit his cheek with her soft hand. "Story of my life. Beautiful women wanting to strike out and hit me. Well, I guess you're the safest. So, what do you say, termite? Is it time for a nap? Come on, we'll read up on the life span of a blatta germanica."

Grissom got up from the bed and picked up the journal on his night stand, then he propped the pillows against the headboard of the bed. He lifted Abigail into his arms then sat down, spreading his legs across the bottom of the bed as he leaned against the pillows and let her lay against his chest as she faced the magazine he was reading to her. As was the usual case, after a few quick swipes at the pictures of insects, Abigail settled down and listened to his voice as he read aloud. And, within fifteen minutes, she was fast asleep. His own eyes were stinging from need of sleep and he removed his reading glasses and rubbed the tiredness from his blue orbs. He took a deep breath and decided that a nap was just what he needed and he leaned more fully into a reclining position and turned Abigail so she was lying on her stomach against his chest as he held his hand on her back. The rhythm of her breathing lulled him into sleep as well but soon the dimness of the room exploded with light as Sara rushed in to stand over him.

"You let her take her!" She yelled at him and he squinted his eyes as he looked at her.

"Let "whom" take "whom?" He asked groggily.

"You know who!" Sara stood with her fists on her hips as she glared down at him. "Just like you let her take the last one!"

"Sara," he said as he sat up, feeling an odd coolness, an emptiness against his chest but not giving it much thought as he was more concerned with calming his irate wife. "I don't know what or who you are talking about."

"Well, if she can take mine–then I'm taking hers!" Sara turned and stormed to the bedroom's doorway and reached outside, yanking a little child inside with her.

Grissom knit his brows as he looked at the child. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her immediately. Then he heard the dim voice coming from the living room.

"Allison?" Called Heather.

"Allison?" Grissom asked in bewilderment. "You took Allison Kessler?"

Sara held the girl by her arm and pulled her along as she moved to stand directly above Grissom. Then Heather moved to the doorway and rushed inside, grabbing the child by the other arm.

"Give her back! She's my grandchild! She's my only link to Zoey!" Heather said through huge eyes.

"No! You took mine!" Sara seethed and the child started to whimper between the two women.

"Sara!" Grissom got up from the bed and moved toward his wife, trying to remove her hand from the child. "Let the little girl go! She isn't yours! She's Heather's."

"She took. . ." Sara started to say but Grissom interrupted her.

"I don't care what she took! Give her back to Heather! Now!"

Sara released the girl and Heather pulled her out of the room. Grissom watched her go, then turned back to Sara who was watching him closely.

"You made sure Heather's granddaughter was safe with her," Sara said through eyes that were studying him.

"Yes," he answered.

"And yet. . .you haven't even noticed your own daughter."

Her remark made him grab his chest instantly, the memory of his child lying on top of him coming back so swiftly that it made him lose his breath. She wasn't there! She wasn't on the bed. She was gone. He looked back at Sara who was standing by the window, looking down at the sight below.

"What did you do with her?" He asked Sara as fright filled him.

"I. . .was trying to get her. You. . .let her take her away."

Grissom looked out of the window and saw Heather and Allison about to get into a Mercedes but Heather stopped and placed a pink bundle in the dumpster near the parking lot. Then he heard the crying coming from the bundle as the Mercedes drove away. The crying of his own daughter that he had forgotten about completely. He tried to run from the room and grab the bundle before it was too late but his legs seemed paralyzed. He turned and looked for Sara but she was gone as well.

The crying persisted and snapped Grissom out of his deep sleep. He felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he grasped onto the child that was still lying on top of him. He moved with her until he was sitting up and looking down at her but the more he tried to sooth her, the harder she cried. He went through all the fundamentals, checking the diaper, trying another bottle, trying to burp her, but still the crying persisted. He paced with her for over an hour, then grabbed his cell phone and dialed it.

"Yes?" Came Sara's voice, then after a moment of hearing her daughter's cry, she added. "What's wrong with Abby?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to find anything wrong with her but she's been crying for over an hour."

"Is she hungry?"

"No. She won't eat–and I fed her before she took a nap."

"Does she have gas?"

"She won't burp. I've been trying that for over an hour, too."

"Is her. . ."

"And her diaper isn't wet. Can't you just come over and help?"

There was a momentary pause. "Yes. I'll be right over."

Grissom was pacing the floor with his still squalling daughter when he heard the door open. He was about to go to the living room to meet Sara but stopped as she swooped in upon him, lifting Abby from his arms as she tried to comfort her. Grissom watched as she cuddled her against her shoulder and whispered to her and when it didn't work, she moved her onto the bed and started changing her diaper.

"I told you, it wasn't her diaper," he said as he watched over her shoulder.

"Maybe it wasn't then, but it's wet now. Isn't it, sweetie?" She sang to the baby. After removing the diaper, she started taking off the rest of the child's clothing, inspecting each body part as she went, then stopping as she felt her stomach. "Gil, her stomach's hard as a rock. Didn't she burp for you after you fed her?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "I'm sure she did. But she hasn't burped lately."

"Shh, it's okay," Sara whispered as she turned her against her shoulder and started patting her back, and when that didn't produce the results she was after, she turned her around and started to gently rub her tummy. It took a minute or two but Abigail released a small belch. Although the crying subsided some, it took over an hour of alternately pacing around the room and lying down on the bed to rub her back and stomach to get her to sleep. "There you go. Much better, isn't it?"

Grissom watched from the bedroom doorway as Sara and Abby lay on his bed, both showing signs of being very tired but when Sara tried to get up, Abby let out with a fresh bout of crying that wouldn't stop until her mother was lying on her back with the baby lying on her chest. Her little legs were pulled up beneath her, indicating that there was still a little pain but with her mom's body heat pressed against her stomach, she seemed much more comfortable. Grissom moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Sara's hips and he put his hand on Abigail's back and gently stroked it.

"You look tired," he said quietly. "Did you get any sleep today?"

"Not much. I was just heading in to catch a nap when you called."

"You can always. . ."

"I'm not staying here," she said quickly.

"But if you leave now, Abigail will wake up and start fussing again."

"Can't you handle it?" She asked with a raised brow.

He wasn't in the mood for more arguing, so he slid his fingertip over her lips. "Shhh. I could if I had to–but I needed your help. "Abigail" needed your help today."

"And she needed "you" yesterday, it isn't just a "mom" thing."

"No, it's a "mom and dad" thing. Doesn't that tell you something?" His hand moved lower as he stroked his thumb over her jaw line.

"What is it supposed to tell me?"

"Abigail wants us both with her–at the same time."

"Abby was quite happy yesterday when she had Nick, Greg and Jim playing "itsy-bitsy-spider" with her, too, but you won't see the three of them sleeping together to make her happy."

Regardless of her resistance to his suggestions, he smiled at the thought of the three men playing finger-games with the baby. He wondered who was more entertained, Abigail or Greg. Just then Abby started to fuss again and Grissom put his hand on her back again and started to gently stroke it. The crying started to pick up again and Sara got to her feet and started pacing with her, gently singing as they went from room to room. The crying would slow down from time to time but after another half hour, Grissom relieved Sara of pacing duty. He paced and rocked and swayed with her, trying to ease her discomfort. When Sara came back to release him of his duties, she looked at his weary face.

"Did you eat anything today?" She asked, the motherly instinct not being denied.

"Yeah," he answered as he kept his eyes on the baby. "This morning." Then he looked at Sara. "What about you? Have you eaten?"

"I haven't been hungry lately. Except yesterday–Nick made the best stuffed shells. . ." She looked back at him then started walking with Abby. "Never mind. I'm fine."

"I'll throw something in the oven. We can pick at it." He went to the kitchen and went about warming up the eggplant parm that was left over from the day before. Then as he looked back toward his wife and daughter, Abby's irritability seemed to dwindle. Sara looked up at him with concern.

"I think that ought to relieve some of her belly pain," she said hesitantly as she walked toward the diaper bag got out the necessities for a fresh diaper change.

Grissom took the soiled diaper and noted quickly that it had an inordinate amount of feces. When he came back from disposing it, he saw that Sara had diapered Abby again. After redressing her in only a diaper and tee-shirt, Sara fed her another bottle, then soothed her to sleep. She lay her on the little bassinet she had bought when she first returned to Vegas then moved back to the kitchen where he was putting some of the food on plates.

"Sit." He nodded toward the table and brought the plates over to it. "Eat."

"I should be heading back to Nick's," she said as she nervously shoved her hands in her back pockets. "Abby seems to be doing fine now."

"You can stay long enough to eat something. Go on. Sit down and eat and I promise not to try to talk you into staying here where you belong." He sighed when he saw the irritation on her face. "Just sit down and eat something. I'll keep my mouth shut."

He saw her hesitation but the sight and smell of dinner was overriding her anger with him at the moment. He saw that as a good sign. If he could control her that easily by feeding her, he just might have a chance at convincing her to stay with him after all. He brought back two glasses of ice tea and sat down, then silently gestured toward the meal again. This time she sat and took a bite, allowing a groan of appreciation to escape before looking at him guiltily.

"I'm sorry," she said as she took another bite of the food.

He shrugged as he started to eat but kept glancing back at her. Jesus, but she was beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to simply reach across the table and take her hand in his, then gently pull her toward him until she was sitting on his lap. He'd take the food and feed it to her, bite by bite, just to watch how her lips and tongue would respond to his gesture. He'd take the greatest of pleasures in holding his arm around her waist and letting his palm lie on her thigh. He'd feed her until she had her fill and then he'd turn her in his arms and slowly open her flannel shirt she was wearing, button by button, until he came to the white lace of her bra. Then he'd lose himself as he would press his lips to the mounds that were hidden beneath.

The sudden cry turned both of their attentions toward the bassinet and they got to their feet and went to check on Abigail. They didn't get far before they could smell the problem and the realization that she had again soiled her diaper–so soon, caused distress to them both.

"I'll get it this time," Grissom offered as he grabbed the diaper bag and brought it closer to them.

Sara leaned close to the baby and whispered to her as Grissom went about his chore, the texture and amount of the excrement turned worried eyes to one another. When she was re-diapered, Sara picked her up again.

"Did she do this before I came?" Sara asked as she looked at the little girl, noting that now the crying wasn't as intense as before, lacking in energy now.

"No. She didn't have a bowel movement at all. That was the first time."

Sara nodded her understanding but upon the feel of warmth spreading through the new diaper, she looked back at him. "We better check her temperature. I don't think this is simply a loose bowel movement."

Grissom retrieved the thermometer and gave it to Sara as she went about cleaning the child for a third time, then took her temperature. The fever was enough to cause worry, but not quite high enough to panic. Sara took Abby to the rocking chair and rocked her back to sleep, but within the half hour, she needed another diaper change.

"We better stop the formula," Grissom told her. "It will only aggravate the diarrhea."

"You need to go to the store and get some electrolyte replacements so she doesn't dehydrate. I'll wait here," she instructed and he grabbed his keys and started for the door. "And more diapers!"

Sara went back to rocking the baby and had fallen asleep herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away and looked up to see Grissom looking down at her with a flash of pain at her rejection to his touch, but it turned quickly to concern as he lifted Abigail from her arms and discovered that she again needed changing.

"Sara, get one of those bottles ready for her. She can't keep losing fluids like this."

Sara was on her feet in an instant and placing a sterile nipple on one of the small bottles of PediaLyte. By the time she came back to the room, Abby was in a new diaper and new tee-shirt.

"Was it on her shirt?" She asked and he nodded affirmatively as he took the bottle from her and attempted to give it to the baby.

Abby looked up at him through eyes that seemed a bit dimmer than usual. Her lethargy was apparent as she would begin to suckle at the bottle but quickly lose interest.

"She doesn't want it. She wants her formula," he told Sara.

"I know, but that will only aggravate her stomach. Here, let me try."

Sara took her and tried to get some of the liquid into her but with little success and after another half hour when the child needed changing again and they could feel her temperature rising without even using a thermometer, they knew it was time to get her to the hospital. Together they grabbed a few extra items and the carrier and headed for Desert Palms, neither hearing the telephone ringing after they closed the door.


	179. Chapter 179

Chapter One-Hundred-Seventy-Nine

Grissom grabbed hold of Sara as she started to sway. She could handle some of the worst-case scenarios on the job, from picking up body parts to searching through sewage for lost evidence, but the sight of her daughter getting IVs stuck into her tiny arms (and when they couldn't get the second needle into her right arm, they put it into her leg) made her start to swoon.

"Honey, are you alright?" He asked gently as he quickly moved her to a chair that was close to the bed.

She shook her head as if to clear it but it didn't help and she felt a flush start at her chest and rise up through her face. She closed her eyes to try to overcome the intense feeling of pressure that was building and when she opened them she found Grissom kneeling between her legs, looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine. Stay with Abby until I get my bearings again," she breathed.

He nodded and got up to stand next to the bed, looking down at the tiny baby who was so weak that she hardly reacted to the needles being inserted through her skin.

"These fluids ought to help hydrate her and she should start feeling good enough to eat on her own," the doctor told him as she taped a small board to the back of Abby's arm to immobilize it, then went about doing the same to her leg. "But I don't foresee that happening yet today. We'll be putting her in the Pediatric Special Care Unit to keep her monitored."

"How long?" Sara asked from where she was seated, then slowly attempted to get to her feet and grabbed onto the railing surrounding the bed.

"I'm not sure, Mrs. Grissom," she told her with a sympathetic smile then rechecked the drip. "As long as it takes for her to beat this virus. It's been playing havoc on infants all through the city the past few weeks. Most are old enough to be sent home to be taken care of, it's just that Abby is so very small. Don't worry, Mrs. Grissom, we'll take good care of her and you can certainly stay in the room with her."

"She's going to be okay, then–right?" She asked with anxiety-filled eyes.

"We're going to do our best," the doctor smiled again. "Right now the best thing for her would be if you and your husband would meet her upstairs and then when she's hooked up to her monitors, you sit and hold her–let her know you're there with her." The doctor placed her hand on Sara's arm and squeezed it. "Your love for her is going to be just as beneficial as anything we can do here."

Sara nodded in understanding as she watched the doctor leave the room, then the nurse unlocked the wheels on Abby's bed and started to push her down the hall. Within half an hour Sara was seated in a rocking chair next to a hospital crib, rocking her daughter as she pressed kisses to her soft cheek. Grissom had pulled a chair close as he ran his thumb over Abby's fingers with his one hand and rubbed her tiny foot with his other.

"Can you call Nick and let him know we're here?" Sara asked absently as she soothed Abby.

"He "has" to know where you are?" Grissom asked with a raised brow.

"Considering that Abby and I are staying with him right now, I think it would only be considerate to let him know we won't be there today or tonight."

"You call. I'll hold Abigail."

"My phone is still in my car. I left it on the front seat."

He sighed with resignation as he took his phone from his pocket and turned it on but it no sooner beeped to inform him it was on, than a call came through. With another sigh of frustration he answered it.

"Grissom. I'm sorry, but I can't do that right now." He looked at Sara then got to his feet and walked to the edge of the room, facing out the doorway. "I realize that I signed the papers and I am her power of attorney, but I'm facing a family emergency of my own right now. Fine! I'll be right there."

Grissom turned and looked at Sara and she didn't even need to have heard the conversation to know that he was leaving to tend to Heather. She continued to silently watch him, daring him to say a word and when he opened his mouth to try, she clenched her jaws together and looked away. She heard, more than saw, him walk out the door. She closed her eyes again and allowed two large tears to drop, then told herself those were going to be the last she was going to shed for him. She continued to rock with Abby, trying not to let her mind wander to the couple on the floor above them as she whispered little comments of love to her daughter. But sight of the man entering the room only ten minutes later brought her gaze up to meet his. Blue eyes meeting brown. Grissom paused a moment, knowing she was angry, but then moved until he was sitting next to her again.

"I–had to sign some papers. Heather's diabetes worsened due to all the stress. She–became weak–and they needed me to. . .," he tried to explain but she swallowed with difficulty and looked away again. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged her shoulders and continued to rock the chair. They remained relatively quiet over the next few hours, only answering various nurse's conversations as they would come and check Abigail's monitors, then after another hour or so she could feel Abby's body heat coming through the diaper and thin tee-shirt. Her eyes automatically flew up to where Grissom was now seated across the room. He had been silently watching them but when he saw how she was looking at him, he got to his feet.

"What's wrong?" He asked quickly as he reached down to stroke his hand over his daughter's dark hair. He realized her temperature was up immediately and he grabbed the nurse's call-button.

"Yes, Mrs. Grissom?" Came the voice over the intercom.

"Abigail's temperature is up again," Grissom told her.

"We'll be right in," she answered and within a few seconds she was taking Abby's temperature with a temporal thermometer. She didn't seem overly concerned although Sara now stood rigidly next to the bed where Abigail was being examined and Grissom stood on the other side of the bed, watching just as intently. The young nurse looked up at them and explained what she was doing as she opened the sleeping child's mouth and put some drops into it, allowing her to slowly absorb the liquid a little bit at a time. "This will help with the fever. It was time for it anyway–probably why her fever went back up again–that and the fact that it's evening. Fever's always go up in the evening."

She gave them a quick smile when she finished and left the room. This time they both reached for Abby at the same time. Both pulled their hands back as they looked up at one another.

"May I?" Grissom asked. "You could probably stretch your legs. You've been sitting there for over three hours."

"No. I'm fine. I don't need a break. She "is" my child."

"I didn't mean anything like that, Sara. I just meant you look tired," he sighed.

She looked at him a moment longer then gave a slow nod and walked toward the doorway just in time to see Nick and Greg coming down the hall toward them. Nick came up and took Sara's hand and kissed her cheek as he looked into her eyes.

"Hey, honey. How are ya doin'? You look awful tired. Greg and I can sit with Abby awhile if you wanted to grab a few minutes sleep."

"That won't be necessary," Grissom said as he held Abby near the bed.

Nick's eyes went past Sara to the man sitting in the rocking chair and irritation flared through them, but he seemed to pull himself together quickly as he took a step inside the room. His steps were stopped though as Greg pushed past him and went immediately to Grissom's side, kneeling down as he began stroking the child.

"Ahhhh," Greg said and no one was sure if he was going to burst into tears or not. "Look at her! She's so tiny and with all these hoses hanging off her and . . .and. . .what the hell are these boards on her arm and leg for?"

"They're so she doesn't accidently pull her IVs out," Sara said gently as she moved to stand next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Nick stood close by as well and although he tried, "his" tears did fall. Sara turned and saw them and gave a nervous laugh as she hugged him. "She's going to be okay! She's a fighter! She's fought right from the very beginning–a little virus isn't going to keep her down for long."

Nick sniffed and nodded his head in agreement as he looked at her. Greg bent and kissed Abby's forehead then stood erect. "What about food? Have you eaten?"

"Yeah," she answered. "We ate earlier today, at the apartment."

"You called to let us know you were here about three hours ago," Nick said. "So you haven't had anything to eat in a long time. What can we get ya to eat? And don't say your not hungry–you've got to keep your strength up for Abby."

Sara shrugged, clearly not thinking about food at the time, but knowing he was right. "It doesn't matter."

"Okay, cheeseburger and fries, it is," Greg said as he kept his gaze on the baby, then looked back at Sara with a grin. "Or a Philly cheesesteak–which is it?"

"You know better! Really guys, I'm not that hungry," she said then a rumble came from her stomach, informing them all that she was lying. "Okay–so maybe I'm a "little" hungry."

"We'll get anything vegetarian on the menu down at the coffee shop," Nick said as he started for the door again then paused to wait for Greg to join him. He looked back at Grissom and added stiffly. "Griss?"

"No–nothing," he replied.

"You got it," Nick mumbled as he turned and started out the door with Greg but paused again when Sara spoke.

"Nick. Get the cheeseburger and fries for him. He hasn't eaten either."

Both men went back down the hall and got on the elevator then Sara turned and looked at Grissom who was still watching her. She moved back to run her hand down over Abby's free arm, feeling the warmth still there but not as hot as it had been half an hour before. She released the child and went into the adjoining bathroom where she splashed some cold water on her face to try to bring some life back into herself. She looked into the mirror and saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. The truth was. . .she "did" look tired. She looked worn out and the way she'd been feeling the last few days she "felt" it as well. She knew what the guys had been talking about that first night at Nick's and she pushed it as far from her mind as she was able to. But there was no denying it now. She was beginning to feel all the signs that she had dismissed when she became pregnant with Christopher and when she became pregnant with Abigail. She was going to have another of Grissom's children. She didn't know what she was going to do about it at this point. She hadn't had time to think about it, really. Everything was going so quickly that she didn't have time to breathe, let alone figure out plans of a future with "two" children. She gave a dry chuckle as she looked at herself. There she was, Sara Sidle, never expecting to have any children and already into her third pregnancy in two years. She started to wonder if the only form of birth control that was safe for her was the state of actually being pregnant, itself. Well, she'd just have to figure out a way of letting Grissom know, but she wasn't going to put more stress on their situation right now.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and opened the bathroom door, noting that Grissom was still sitting in the chair with Abby but now he had his eyes closed. The movement from the hallway caught her attention and she looked out to see the wheelchair coming into view. She felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach upon sight of the slippered feet and then the legs that became visible first, then the thighs and hands. She knew whose hands they were without even needing to see the woman, but when Heather Kessler's beautiful face and immaculately combed hair was seen, she couldn't seem to find her breath as she froze in place. She knew Heather couldn't see her as she stood in the darkness on the other side of the bed. . .at least she appeared to not see her. Sara couldn't seem to find her voice either as she watched Heather put the brake on the wheelchair and get to her feet as she moved to the doorway. Sara watched as she grasped onto the door jam and stood, silently watching Grissom and Abigail, a sadness in her eyes with something else that Sara was afraid to identify.

"Gil?" Heather said quietly and when he didn't respond, she tried again, a little louder. "Gil?"

Grissom's eyes flew open and he looked at the door where Heather was now leaning helplessly against the wooden frame. Sara couldn't swear to it but she seemed to have weakened before her very eyes.

"Heather! What are you doing here?" Grissom got to his feet so quickly that the IV lines swung from the pole.

"I–I heard about Abigail," Heather breathed. "I had to see that you both were alright. I tried to call you earlier today but you didn't answer. Then when you didn't stay after you signed papers for me, I knew something terrible must have happened. It was only a matter of a few phone calls to find out that Abigail was admitted to the hospital, and a few more to find out she was in the Special Care Unit. Gil, I'm so sorry."

"Heather," he said as he started to step toward Heather but stopped when he realized Abigail was still connected to the pole. "You shouldn't be here."

"How could I not be? You've been there every time I've needed you. I felt I needed to be here for you."

Sara closed her eyes in disbelief. Would she never be rid of this person? She took a deep breath and moved from where she was standing, her approach turning Grissom toward her. She didn't look at his face–she couldn't. She knew what she would see there. . .she had seen that expression so many times whenever it came to Heather.

"Sara!" Grissom breathed.

Sara simply went to Grissom and took her daughter from his arms, then added quietly, tiredly. "You better go. She feels the need to be there for you."

"Sara," Heather said in a weak voice. "I'm so sorry that Abigail's ill. I know what it is to feel a mother's love for a child."

Sara moved the rocking chair back, farther from the others, then sat quietly and slowly rocked Abby. She couldn't deal with this right now. It really was mounting, too much, too fast. She cuddled Abby closer as she kissed the top of her downy head and began singing softly to her, her ambition drained as she listened to her child breathing.

"Excuse me," Jim Brass spoke from the hallway, "this woman shouldn't be here."

"Detective Brass," Heather acknowledged in a breathy voice. "I was only paying my. . ."

"Yeah, I know what you were paying. What I'd like to know is how in the hell you managed to get past the guard I had stationed outside your room," he said then Sara watched as Grissom rushed to the door where Heather was sliding to the floor, but Brass added with disgust. "Ah, Jesus Christ!"

"Get the wheelchair, Jim," Grissom said. "She's collapsed."

"Yeah, right," Brass added as he pushed the chair closer to them and Grissom lifted the woman into it. "I think you better take your "special friend" back to her room and away from Sara and the babyl."

"I–I. . ." Grissom began as he turned to look at Sara but she refused to look at him as she continued to gently sing to Abigail.

"I'm sorry, Gil," Heather whispered as she put her hand on his. "I never meant to turn my visit into a fiasco. I was just so concerned."

"Get her outta here!" Brass nearly growled then when Grissom went to the back of the chair and pushed her toward the elevator, Brass entered the room with Sara where he pulled the chair close and took her hand. He didn't say anything. There was nothing positive he could think to say to her at that time and he knew she needed to put her energy in getting her daughter healthy again, not in battling against someone's wits when they are as conniving as Heather Kessler–then she had to work on getting herself healthy again.


	180. Chapter 180

A/N: Hi everyone. This is just a transition chapter. Things are going to start moving much more rapidly after Abby starts feeling better. But, seeing as she's only been in the hospital, so far, around six to eight hours, she's still a sick little girl. Let's give her overnight and maybe some of the next day for the medicine to kick in. Enjoy!

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty

"Heather, I don't want you coming down to Abigail's room again," Grissom spoke as he pushed the dark-haired woman off the elevator and down the hall toward her hospital room.

"You don't want. . ." Heather began in disbelief. "Of course."

"You have to understand that this is all very difficult for Sara and me."

"And just how easy do you think it is or me, Gil? I'm stuck up here, all alone! I have no one but the guards that your "friend" Detective Brass insists upon using to trap me inside my own room!" She turned sorrowful eyes on him. "You're the only person who understands what it's like to be alone. I helped you through that once. I thought we meant more to one another than this."

"Heather, my daughter is very ill and I need to be with her."

"I understand that, Gil! And I need to be with "you!" So, instead of taking you away from your daughter, I thought it would be better for me to come to you! I didn't realize "she" was going to be there."

Grissom held his hand out to Heather and assisted her onto her bed. "Sara is Abigail's mother–and my wife. Where "should" she be, if not there?"

"I thought you said you were having Abigail tonight. I thought Sara was still staying with someone else."

"I notified Sara as soon as Abigail became ill. She came immediately–just as she should have."

"You're reprimanding me. I deserve it." She sighs as she pulls her legs up onto the mattress and leans back into a semi-reclining position. "But I just couldn't face another minute knowing Abigail was ill and not being filled in on what's happening. I was so worried about you, Gil. You haven't been well these past few days. I was afraid this was going to be more than you could handle."

"I appreciate your concern." He pulls the sheets up over her legs. "But I really need to get back to Abigail and Sara right now. Please, Heather–don't try to come down again. It will do you no good either. You need your rest."

"I "need" my friend with me. But I agree, I won't interfere anymore.," she pouted then looked up at him with her stoic expression. "I'll call Jerome. I'll–have my power of attorney changed into his name."

"Are you sure you want to do that, Heather? You don't even know who attacked you–what if it was him, and if not him, what if it was someone under his instruction?"

She looked at him. "What choice do I have, Grissom? I can see that you're too busy to take on the responsibilities of an old friend. I just thought our days and nights expressing our love for one another meant more to you, but I can see quite clearly, it meant nothing."

"Heather. . ." He looked down at her, not knowing how to answer without hurting her further. "I. . .I. . ."

She startled him slightly when she grasped onto his hand and brought it up to her chest as she hugged it to her. "Please, Gil," she whispered. "Don't tell me that it all meant nothing. You are so special to me. . .tell me that I mean something to you, as well."

"Heather. . ." He pulled away from her and when he saw her look of rejection, he reached down and cupped her cheek with his palm. "You are a "very" special friend to me, Heather. I think I've proven that to you over and over. Please, let's just leave it at that."

She looked away from her and her face went expressionless. "Of course."

"Heather, I've got to go. My family needs me."

"I understand." She refused to look at him and when he continued to stand there, she went on. "Please, Grissom, just leave. I'd rather not prolong this anymore."

He sighed as he turned and left her room but as he was about to go out the door he noticed her bathroom door start to open. He glanced over and saw a young girl with bobbed black hair wearing a halter top and tight shorts. She looked a little shocked when she noticed Grissom, then stepped into the room.

"Hey," she said to Heather. "Uncle Jerome sent me to see if you still had Allison's jacket from last Tuesday. She's going on a school trip and wanted it."

"Do you mind!" Heather snapped in a low voice. "I was talking to someone."

"It's alright," Grissom apologized to the young girl, then continued on his way. "I was leaving anyway."

When Grissom returned to Abigail's room he found Jim sitting in the rocking chair with the infant. Grissom looked puzzled as he looked around the room.

"She's taking a shower. She said she needed to be revived a bit." Brass continued to look down at the child as he swayed back and forth with her. "I don't imagine she slept lately and I don't think she plans on sleeping any time soon."

"She could take a nap while I'm with Abigail." Grissom leaned against the heating vent next to the window, noticing how Brass slowly raised his gaze to his face.

"Having your husband's mistress show up when your three-month-old child is in critical condition doesn't exactly scream trust."

"She is "not" my mistress," Grissom said tersely.

"Have it your way." He looked back to Abigail, then up to Sara as she came from the bathroom, still damp from her shower.

"Thanks, Jim," she said quietly as she approached the chair, completely ignoring Grissom. "I can take her now."

"They're bringing in a recliner. I don't know why they didn't have one in here already. When it gets here, I want you to lie in it and get some sleep," Brass said without relinquishing the baby to her. "But that's "after" you eat the food the guys are bringing back. Which, by the way, is taking a hell of a long time. Ya don't think they got lost, do ya?"

Sara smiled at Brass as she stood next to him and ran her fingers through her daughter's hair. "I think they'll find their way back without too much trouble."

"I heard that," Nick said as he came into the room carrying two large bag which he brought straight to Sara.

He handed her a coffee which she took very gratefully then after a moment, closed her eyes as if in indecision, then took a sip of the hot liquid before putting it down on the side table. Greg entered carrying a card table then returned to the hallway and came back with some folding chairs. After a quick set-up, Nick and Greg finished emptying the bags Nick had brought up with him and pulled out eight quarter-pound cheeseburgers, four large servings of fries (one covered in chedder cheese, one covered in chili, one covered in marina sauce and mozzarella cheese, and the last one plain), then four super-sized coffees. The bag they handed to Sara contained garlic bread and spaghetti with mushroom sauce and a side of grilled zucchini. As Greg placed the coffees on the table, he gave a glance in Grissom's direction.

"I hope you're in the mood for coffee–Nick says you're more of a "tea lover" now."

Grissom looked at Nick who was now sitting down and preparing to eat his burgers. "A "tea lover?"

"Yeah," Nick bit into his burger. "Jim says that's what you drink when you're in the market for a little . . ."

"Nick, that's enough," Sara said quietly as she moved to one of the chairs and opened her food containers.

"When I'm in the market for what, Nick?" Grissom asked tersely as he continued to lean against the heating vent with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"I think he means that's what you drink when you're at Heather's," Greg said as he took the chair opposite Sara and started opening his meal, then grabbed for the other bag that was sitting to the side. "I don't want the pizza fries–I wanted the cheese fries."

Sara reached for the fries he was looking for and put them in front of him, then put the pizza fries to the side of the table. "Jim? Are you eating the pizza fries?"

"No. I don't want them."

"Well," Sara sighed quietly as she went back to arranging her meal. "He's" not going to want them either."

"I'll eat the pizza fries," Nick said.

"He's not going to want your chili fries," she told him.

"I'll take the chili fries," Brass grumped from the rocking chair. "He can have the plain ones."

Grissom watched this interaction taking place and didn't know if he preferred it when they were acting as if he wasn't there or when they were actually including him in their conversation. Either way, they were making their feelings clear and he suspected that if he took the fourth chair at the little card table, he'd be in jeopardy of, if nothing else, making someone at the table choke from the discomfort that would be encircling them. He moved to where Brass was rocking Abigail and picked her up from the older man.

"Go eat, Jim. I'll eat when everyone else is finished."

Jim reluctantly handed over the child then moved to the table where he sat with the rest of them. "I thought there were only two people allowed back here at a time."

"Greg here promised to get the blonde nurse tickets to the Aerosmith concert coming to town in a few months," Nick told him.

"I heard that's been sold out for weeks," Brass told him.

"It probably has, but as far as that nurse knows, Greg's got tickets."

"I "do" have tickets," Greg said between mouthfuls. "She'll get them as long as we can keep coming in to visit."

"And here I thought it was just your natural charm that got you in," Sara smiled tiredly at him.

"It was," he gave her a megawatt smile right back. "That–and two Aerosmith tickets."

Grissom watched as the men ate their meal with Sara and teased her whenever she seemed to be looking a little down. He also noticed that they weren't overly interested in what he was doing, other than to check to make sure that Abigail was alright. By the time they had finished their meals, the nurse had come in and replaced Abigail's saline drip. She took her temperature then with a smile of reassurance, informed him that she was doing fine. They stayed for about an hour after they finished eating then Jim got a call that he had to go out on a case and Nick and Greg decided to head out as well, after informing Sara that if she needed anything, they were only a phone call away. Just as the guys were walking out of the room, a familiar red-head's heels could be heard clicking down the hall toward them.

"Hey guys, you don't have to leave just because I'm here," she teased them and received a quick kiss on the cheek from Nick.

"We're about to spend the whole night with you–why would we want to wear out our welcome?" Greg asked.

"What are you guys taking with you?" Catherine asked as she tapped the bags they were about to take out.

"Our leftovers–have you eaten yet?" Nick asked and when he received a look of extreme interest, he handed the bag to her. "Here–there's a cheeseburger and some fries left. Eat them."

"Thanks, boys! You know the way to a lady's heart!"

"We're only doing it so we don't get stuck with dumpster detail," Greg teased over his shoulder as he and Nick walked toward the elevator.

Catherine turned and looked at Sara who was about to put the card table aside, then thought better of it. "You running a bed and breakfast in here?"

"It would seem so," Sara gave her a tiny smile. "Go ahead. Sit down and eat."

"Not until I look at our little angel," Catherine said as she sat the food on the table again then walked over to Grissom and Abigail. "Oh, Sara, she is absolutely beautiful. And strong–you know she's strong. She's just a little tired right now, but she's going to be up and around in no time."

Sara turned and looked at Grissom, Catherine and the child, but an expression covered her face that Grissom couldn't decipher. She turned away a moment, then after taking a deep breath, returned and picked Abby up from his arms as if he wasn't even there–almost as if she were picking her daughter up from her crib.

"She "is" a beauty," Sara agreed as she stood next to the chair, clearly waiting for Grissom to vacate the seat so she could sit down with the baby. "Now if she would just beat this damned virus, I know "I'll" feel a lot better."

"Well, so will her daddy," Catherine said as she looked very closely at Sara, then looked at the food that was waiting on the side table, untouched as of yet, then back to Grissom. "You haven't eaten?"

"No," Grissom answered as he got to his feet and allowed Sara to sit. "Not yet."

"Then sit down. I'll eat with you."

She moved back to the table and waited until Grissom joined her. Grissom wasn't really very hungry, but ate more out of habit than anything else. He barely tasted the food as Catherine tried to maintain idle chit-chat but when, after having finished as much of their meal as they were going to eat, she realized she was getting nowhere, she took a deep breath and sat back in her chair.

"Something wrong?" Grissom asked as he did the same.

"Okay, I understand you two aren't on the greatest of terms right now, but couldn't you at least patch it up until she's better? For all you know, all this stress around her is making her even more susceptible to this illness than she already is."

Grissom looked over at Sara for any signs that she would perhaps be considering the possibility but she had turned the chair to face out the window. He looked back at Catherine. "How does the shift look tonight? Have you had a chance to get a look at what's coming up?"

"Yes," Catherine sighed again, then turned to look at Sara. "Sara, can't you even come over here and join us for a few minutes?"

"She–is probably more comfortable where she is," Grissom tried to explain.

"She's probably more comfortable. . ." Catherine said with shocked confusion. "Alright! This has gone on long enough. I understand Grissom's return has been under the worst possible circumstances, but couldn't the two of you work your way past it while you're in here? Just leave Heather Kessler outside of this room, where she belongs?"

Sara turned and looked at Catherine then glanced at Grissom before looking back at Catherine again. "I "couldn't" keep Heather out of the room, Catherine. She and Grissom thought it was an excellent idea for her to come down here to visit with Abby this afternoon. I–on the other hand–didn't find it amusing."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked with knit brows, and when Sara didn't respond she turned quickly to look at Grissom. "Oh, my God! You didn't have Heather down here–did you?"

"She came down on her own. She wanted to see if I was okay."

"See if "you" were okay? Your daughter's critically ill and she wanted to see if "you" were okay–not Abby!"

"Of course she wanted to see if Abigail was alright. I just meant. . ."

"Oh, Gil," Catherine said quietly. "This has got to stop–you can't keep letting this happen to Sara."

"It was a simple misunderstanding. . ."

Sara turned and looked at Grissom with a coldness that nearly knocked him off of his chair. Her voice was emotionless as she spoke to him. "I want you out of here. If you have to spend time with Abby between your visits upstairs to your . . . Heather. . . then I want to be made aware of it and we will take turns with her again. I truly thought that we could get past this catastrophe you've gotten us into, if only temporarily, while Abby was sick–but Heather wouldn't let it happen, and the fact that you sit there defending her again proves to me that "you" wont let it happen either. So, I'll say it again–I want you out."

"Sara. . ." Catherine said sadly, but with an expression and tone that said she could understand Sara's reaction completely. "No, Sara. Don't push him away."

"I never did, Catherine," Sara said quietly. "And I never "walked" away. "I" was the one who was pushed away, but no one wants to see that. But I don't have the energy to keep fighting this battle. I want a reprieve. I want a chance to rest."

"You can rest with me here," Grissom said with irritation although he kept his voice low. "Jim had that recliner brought in–use it while I watch over Abigail."

"That isn't what I mean!"

"I know what you mean, Sara. But I'm not going to discuss it. I won't fight or argue about it anymore. I'm not leaving–not while my child is this ill."

"It didn't stop you earlier today, did it? You left twice to go in aid of Heather."

"I was only gone a few moments, and you know it. I came back immediately."

"Okay, okay, guys," Catherine breathed. "It isn't going to do Abigail any good if she feels the tension that's going on around you. Sara, I think you need to accept the fact that Grissom isn't going to leave while Abigail's so sick. And, Gil–dammit, Gil! Keep Heather away from here!"

"She won't be returning," he said icily as he kept his eyes on Sara.

"Well thank God for small miracles," Catherine said, then started gathering the trash left over from their meal. "Now, go hold Abby so I can talk to Sara alone. We need some "girl-time" together for a few minutes. Sara? Can we take a little walk down the hall?"


	181. Chapter 181

A/N: A quick apology for not posting this entire week. I had planned on working very diligently on both my stories, but the moment my last class ended Thursday evening, I began what I later found out to be a "gall bladder attack!" I was sent to the hospital Friday morning and had surgery Saturday morning to remove the offending organ. So, although I've been with you all in spirit, my mind has been more than a bit fuzzy as I've been taking pain meds to cover the incisional pain. So bear with me and as I can, I'll try to sit down and get my mind clear enough for both stories. Thanks again for your patience!

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-One

Sara walked next to Catherine in silence, giving occasional glances in her direction before looking back toward the floor. She was waiting for a good scolding. She was waiting for Catherine to sermon her about being an obedient wife and taking her husband back while he held on tightly to his mistress with his free hand. Sara waited until they were at the end of the hallway and Catherine motioned for her to follow her into the empty waiting room.

"I wanted to let you know that I'm pulling Hodges off the case," Catherine said quietly so only Sara could hear.

"You're what?" Sara asked, not expecting this course of conversation. "But, why?"

"Because we all know how he feels about Grissom. I fear he may be leaking information to him out of loyalty. And," Catherine hesitated as she looked at Sara with sympathy. "I hate to say it, but if Grissom knows, then Heather knows."

Sara swallowed with difficulty as she nodded her head in understanding. "I see. So, are you getting anywhere with the Davis investigation?"

"We're getting closer. It seems you aren't the only one who's had sightings of a woman fitting Natalie Davis' description. And we went after the security tapes at the airport. Arch is going over them right now. If someone was there–we're going to find her."

"Catherine–is it certain that Natalie is actually dead?"

"Yeah. The body was identified by family members and witnessed by Jim."

"Family members? I didn't think she had any relatives left."

"Foster siblings. Those who actually wanted to associate themselves with her, that is. Most refused to come forward and admit that they had lived with her at some point in their lives. I don't know if it was out of fear of their reputation being tarnished or if it was the actual fear of Natalie Davis, herself. But there were two brothers who came to claim her body."

"Do you think "they" could have anything to do with sending this copy of Natalie to terrorize me?"

"We're trying to locate the brothers. We've only found their names, but they used their foster names. We have a feeling they're using aliases and probably have been for years. Don't worry, we're getting closer."

"Alright," Sara sighed. "I'll hold onto that thought?"

Catherine paused a moment then went on with her next question. "So–are you going to tell him that you're pregnant?"

Sara stared at Catherine, then shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "I guess if anyone would figure it out first, it would be you."

"So–how far?"

"I–don't know. I haven't had a lot of time to think about it. Six to eight weeks, I guess. Really too early to be certain. I might not be pregnant at all."

"You're pregnant alright. Just look at those dark circles under your eyes."

"That couldn't be from lack of sleep due to everything that's been happening the last few weeks, could it?"

"Okay, how about the vomiting in the mornings–and from what Nicky and Greg have been telling me, during the afternoon and evenings too."

"Again–it could be stress–or it could be the same virus that Abby has."

"Oh? Really? So, tell me–does Abby's virus make your breasts bigger?"

"They're bigger?" Sara immediately covered her tee-shirt clad breasts and moaned at the contact as she did so. "Ouch!"

"Any more doubts?" Sara didn't answer as she continued to look at Catherine. "Oh, come on, honey. You wouldn't be the first one to accidently get pregnant immediately after having a baby. It happens all the time."

"I never planned on this, Catherine."

"We never do; especially while we're in the middle of a crisis with the father of the baby."

"You?" Sara asked with a bit of surprise. "You had more than one pregnancy?"

Catherine looked at the floor. "Uh–yeah. Yeah, I did. Right after Lindsey was born, I got pregnant again. And that was a bad time for Eddie and me. I was certain he was cheating. He swore he wasn't. Things were bad between us."

"So. . .you? Did you miscarry?"

Catherine looked back up at Sara. "No, I didn't miscarry. I – had an abortion. And there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about what could've been."

"I'm–I'm sorry, Catherine. I didn't know."

"No one did. Not even Eddie." Catherine glanced around the room, then back at Sara again. "So, have you made plans? Are you going to tell Grissom?"

"Telling Grissom is not on the top of my list, Catherine. I think we ought to take a step back and just concentrate on Abby getting well again. Then – maybe I can think about my relationship with her father and the baby that I may or may not be carrying."

"I suggest you find out if you're pregnant as soon as possible. I'll go buy a test kit. I'll have it back to you within the hour and you'll know for sure. It will be one thing off your mind if it comes back negative–and if it doesn't then at least you'll know what you're dealing with." Catherine put her arm through the crook of Sara's and started walking her back down toward Abby's room. "Come on. No matter what happens or what's decided upon, we're here for you."

"I would've thought you'd be here for Grissom instead of me," Sara said as she walked next to her.

"I am here for Grissom–but in a different way." Catherine looked over at her with a snide smile. "I must say, you handled that situation with Heather coming rather well. I wouldn't have been so calm when she came into the room. I would've slapped her so hard that her old spiked heels would've went flying right up over her head as she tipped over in the wheelchair."

Sara smiled sadly as they stopped at the doorway to Abby's room. They both watched as Grissom paced the floor with Abby, holding her tightly as he held his cheek against her hair.

"I can't take this," Sara said in half a sob that she tried to hide.

"You better be able to take it," Catherine said as she put her hand on the small of her back and ushered her inside. "Abby's depending on it."

Grissom turned and looked at the two women, pausing as if in indecision about whether he was going to hand Abigail to Sara or not.

"She seems to be getting some of her color back," Grissom said as Sara approached him and she looked at the child then stroked her cheeks with her thumb.

"Now if we can just get her temperature to stabilize and she can wake up enough to start eating on her own."

"She's just so tired, Sara," Grissom told her. "A little more rest and I'm sure she's going to shake this damned thing."

"I can take her now," Sara told Grissom but he held onto Abigail.

"No, you should get some rest. Sit in the recliner and I'll stay with her for a few hours, then we'll switch places."

"And I'll go to the store and pick up those things you need." Catherine started toward the doorway again.

"What does she need?" Grissom asked.

"Woman things, Gris," she said as she smiled over her shoulder at him. "Do I need to be specific?"

Sara didn't bother looking at him as she moved to the chair in the corner of the room. It was close enough to the bed and Abby that she would be within reaching distance, and yet it was out of the direct light coming in from the hall. When she did sit down, she allowed herself the glance she had forfeited earlier only to find Grissom watching her closely. She tried to ignore it as she lay back but couldn't help but feel his gaze upon her.

"If you keep watching me, I'll never get any rest," she said dryly.

He didn't answer. She turned more onto her side, away from him, and soon exhaustion overtook her and she was fast asleep. It was a deep, heavy sleep, with only small sounds coming through to her. Sounds of nurses or doctors outside in the hall, occasional sounds of monitors beeping and whirring, and from time-to-time, voices that were hushed and whispered.

The sensation was so familiar to her that she didn't even register it as anything unusual. Everything seemed right with the world as she lay on her side, and the warm body spooned up behind her. She could feel the hand that had slipped up beneath her tee-shirt and bra, not necessarily caressing at the moment, simply holding her breast. In her sleep, she knew the routine and she gave a tiny smile. It would usually begin like this and if she was feeling a little amorous, all it would take would be a little wiggle as she pressed her bottom against the front of him. Sometimes, if he had fallen asleep as well, she would reach behind herself and let her fingers slide inside his boxers and bring that part of him to life that she hungered for. Today, she pressed back against him and wiggled a bit and could already feel the erection that was straining against the front of his pants but there was something obstructing it. She moved her hand back and came in contact with the denim of his jeans. That was when he released his grasp on her breast and grabbed onto her hand to move it back to the front of her.

Her eyes snapped open and it seemed to take a lifetime for them to adjust to the room surrounding her. She was stiff from lying in one position for so long so it took a moment before she could completely turn to look at the body pressed behind her. She managed to make it to her back as Grissom remained on his side, facing her.

"What are you doing?" She asked with a sleep-filled voice.

"Shh," he said as his hand went back to her stomach, almost as if he were holding her down. "Abigail's temperature is down and she's sleeping soundly. I just wanted to lie down for a while."

"You should have gotten me up," Sara said but when she tried to get up again, he held her firmly.

"We both need sleep." He pulled her closer to himself, even draping one of his thighs over hers.

She pushed his hand from her abdomen and maneuvered herself until she was climbing off the chair. When she got to the floor she turned and looked down at him where he had now turned onto his back and was watching her again.

"I'll stay awake with Abby now. If she's doing so much better, you're free to go home and I'll call if there's any change."

"I'm not going," he said quietly then pointed to a brown paper bag that was sitting on the dresser. "Catherine dropped that off for you. She said she's only a phone call away."

Sara eyed him suspiciously then grabbed the bag and disappeared into the bathroom. Within another ten minutes she was looking at the stripes that informed her that she was pregnant. Well, she thought with a long, shaky sigh, one thing at a time. Abby's health was first. The fact was that she was avoiding the decision of what she was going to do. She had too many directions to go with this–too many.

She threw the test kit in the garbage then returned to the room with Abby and Grissom. She took the rocking chair and moved it next to the crib where she held onto her daughter's hand as she rocked.

"Sara," Grissom's voice came softly from his side of the room but she refused to look at him. "Sara–please."

When she finally turned toward him she saw that he was still lying supine with his fingers entwined over his abdomen. "What?"

"I want to get past this," he said very tiredly.

"I'm sure you do," Sara answered with just as little energy.

"Are you saying that you "don't?"

"I think we may be looking at "getting through this" differently." She looked back in at Abby. "Don't you?"

"We've wanted one another too long to give up now."

"But, Grissom, that was the problem. All I ever wanted was you. You wanted something more."

She could hear the chair being put back into an upright position and when she turned to look at him again she found him sitting upright on the chair. "I "didn't" though. How can I make you understand that I didn't "want" more than you?"

"Alright. Then you "needed" something–or someone–more." She watched as he got up and slowly walked to the window where he stood, looking out on the night sky. "Tell me something, Gris. Why are you still here?"

"I love Abigail. I love you."

"I don't believe you."

He turned upon her comment and moved back to her chair where he knelt before it. "Yes you do. You know with every fiber of your being that I love you."

She looked into the blue eyes that were watching her so closely and all she could feel was fear; fear of being tossed aside every time Heather Kessler called; fear of a emotional faithfulness that she couldn't trust any longer; fear of never trusting him again.

"I–don't–love. . ."

"Don't! Don't say it!" He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his own as he grasped onto each side of her head to hold her still. When she didn't respond he pulled back and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Just don't say it."

He got up and walked back to the recliner and took his seat again. Sara had more questions that were running rampantly through her head but she didn't know if she would be able to voice them without turning everything she said into a rant. At this point she wanted calmness. She needed calmness. She allowed quiet to fill the room for nearly an hour.

"Is this what you told "her?"

"Is that what I told "who?" Grissom asked.

"Your mistress," Sara said quietly. "Is that what you told her when you showed up on her door step. Is that why she always takes you back, no matter how much you tell everyone that you're not involved with her? Do you tell her that you love her when you're behind closed doors–and then that makes everything else okay?"

"I never told Heather that I loved her. At least–not in that way."

Sara got to her feet and took her turn at the window, preferring the view over what she was seeing inside. "No? Then what way would it be? And before you say–as a friend–let me warn you that if I hear that phrase one more time I won't be responsible for what I do."

The movement of his body behind hers startled her and when he put his arms around her to turn her to face him she nearly jumped through the plate glass she had been facing.

"And just what would that be, Sara? Is there anything more you can do to me than what you're already doing? Would you try to verbally castrate me–sorry, but you've already done that. Would you take away everything I care about? You've done that too. Or are you talking about getting physical? You don't know–at this point–I might welcome any kind of physical contact I can get from you."

"Let go of me," she hissed. "That kind of physical contact is what you got from the bitch upstairs–not me!"

He released her and stepped away. "Ah, I see–the verbal castration." He went back to the recliner and stretched his long frame on it, evidently preparing to go to sleep. "I think I've had enough of that for one day. I'll take my escape now."

Sara kept her back to him as she stroked Abby's tiny hands with her fingers. She watched her sleep and soon joined her as she leaned against the crib for support. The ferocious cry that erupted nearly three hours later woke both Sara and Grissom and had them on their feet as they looked down at their daughter. Her anger was evident as she moved her limbs as best she could.

"Hey, Cricket," Grissom soothed as he lifted her from the crib and she turned her face toward his bearded cheek immediately. "You look hungry."

He turned and looked at Sara with such an overwhelming sense of relief that she became weak in her knees just witnessing it. Her hand flew to her mouth as she grasped onto the crib then a moment later she moved up to her squalling daughter and started rubbing her back. Both Sara and Grissom's voices soothed the little girl at the same time. She took Abby and swayed with her as Grissom went to the nurse's station then came back a moment later with a small bottle of Pedialyte. Abby immediately stopped crying and went after the nipple but with only a small taste she started her crying again. It took several more attempts for her to drink the substance and quiet again. By the time she finished four ounces she looked up at her parents through satisfied eyes and gave a hearty burp.

Grissom chuckled as he stood next to them and stroked the child's hair then looked at Sara as he smiled at her. Sara couldn't help but return the smile. Their little girl was drinking for them again–she was actually looking at them and communicating with them with her expressions. Sara hadn't expect the kiss that came next and although it started as a quick peck of pure joy for both of them, it soon turned into something a bit more than that. Grissom's hands went to Sara's waist and pulled her tightly against him as he kissed her lips over and over again. Sara's hand went to his beard of its own volition as her fingers stroked through the graying whiskers. She couldn't even seem to stop the smile and short laugh of relief that escaped her and when she momentarily opened her mouth Grissom responded with a chuckle of his own before parting and looking down at the child now wedged between them.

"She's gonna be alright," he said as he placed his finger in the baby's hand and let her curl her fingers around it.

Sara could respond no other way than to simply nod and swipe at tears of relief that had welled in her eyes. One problem down. She could begin to relax a little now before moving onto the next one.


	182. Chapter 182

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Two

"What are you doing?" Sara scolded her husband as he entered Abby's hospital room with at least a dozen Mylar balloons and another dozen of varying colors of latex.

"It will give her something to look at," he told her as he tied the majority of them to the rails of the hospital crib, then came back to where Sara was sitting with Abby on the rocking chair. "See? She likes the colors."

Sara watched with a tolerant half-smile as he slipped a loop of ribbon over Sara's wrist so the balloon was floating a mere foot above Abigail's head. The little girl lay in her mother's arms and watched as it bounced with every rock they took in their chair.

"I'm not even sure she can "see" colors yet," Sara told him.

"Of course she can see colors. She's brilliant. I thought we had that fact established weeks ago."

"I think "you" had that fact established."

"No. I remember distinctly. We were lying in bed and we had just. . ." Grissom slowed as he pondered on how to best verbalize his thoughts, then gave up and made a movement of his hands to represent making love. ". . .and she woke up so we brought her over with us and every time she reached up and hit my nose, you said she was amazingly bright."

Sara had to smile at the memory in spite of herself. "So, I did."

"Mr. and Mrs. Grissom," greeted Abigail's attending physician as she entered the room with them and smiled brightly as she took in the balloons. "My–it's beginning to look like a circus in here. I'm half expecting a clown to pop out of the closet."

"Not quite yet," Sara told her. "Give him another hour or so and he'll call one for hire."

The doctor chuckled as she approached them and placed her stethoscope to Abigail's chest and listened. She moved it lower to her belly and then listened from the back of the child.

"I went over her latest labs and she's coming along quite nicely. She's still a little low on her electrolytes, but if we continue with her treatment for another day or so she should be as good as new." She reached for Abby's hand and gave it a playful shake. "What do you say we get rid of some of these tubes and boards, little lady?"

"Really?" Sara asked through a very tired sigh. "When will they be removed?"

"How about right now?" The doctor moved to the chart and wrote something inside of it, then looked back at Sara and Grissom before leaving the room. "I'll send the nurse in and she can remove these little extra nuisances for you."

Sara's eyes went to Grissom's as he reached down and grabbed her hand and squeezed it, but before either could say anything, the nurse was walking in with supplies for bandaging Abigail where the IVs were removed.

Sara looked at the young girl who approached them. She was a large girl. She stood nearly six feet tall and was of broad build and the fact that her breasts were comparable to any showgirl's on the strip didn't go by Sara. The whole package would have been extremely intimidating if Sara hadn't let her gaze move up to the girl's face. The face showed an instant smile with almost perfect teeth except for two incisors that seemed to have been crowded to the front, but instead of taking away from the girl's appearance, it seemed to add to her beauty. Sara smiled back at her–a girl after her own heart–an attractive flaw in her teeth.

"Hey!" The girl said as she looked down at Sara and Abigail. "I remember you!"

Sara looked up at her in confusion. She really had never seen her before as far as she could remember. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh–sorry, I always get ahead of myself. My name's Caitlin. I'm going to be Abigail's nurse this shift. I remember you from about two and a half years ago," the girl began as she knelt on her knees in front of the rocking chair and put on latex gloves then went about preparing the bandages. "My twin brother. He was a big band geek at the high school. Well, actually, he was in the orchestra "and" the band. And he was valedictorian during our senior year. And he was on the distinguished honor roll. Anyway, that last year someone at school found an old rusty revolver and Ward–that's my brother–thought that some of the bullets would be really great souvenirs so he put three of them in his back-pack. I told him he better put them back but by the time we went back to where he got them, you were there with some police and we didn't know what to do. So Ward, being the genius he is, took them out of his back pack and threw them at you when your back was turned. He's such an idiot."

"I remember," Sara smiled at the girl. If there was anything this girl held in common with her twin brother, it was their infectious smiles and their sense of good nature–even if the "genius" brother was a bit of a screw-up. "Captain Brass ended up putting him in the patrol car and giving him a good talking too. But I don't remember seeing you there."

"Hey–I love my brother and all that–but when I saw how stupid he was when he threw those bullets–I ran for the hills!"

"It turned out that your brother picked up wood pellets for a wood-burner stove. They weren't bullets at all." Sara chuckled as she removed the balloon from her wrist and tied it to the crib.

"That's Ward for ya! Distinguished honor roll and can't tell the difference between a piece of wood you throw in a furnace and a piece of metal you stick in a gun. I told ya–he's a real dunce at times." The girl looked up at Sara and chuckled then got to her feet, having finished removing all the accessories from Abigail. "There–all done. Sometimes it's harder on the moms when I take this stuff off their babies than it is on the actual baby."

"You distracted me on purpose," Sara said with appreciation.

"A little–but I really wanted to thank you for not taking my brother in for being a nit-wit. But, like I said, sometimes it's hard on moms and I can take their minds off of what I'm doing if I talk enough–but dads, . ." The girl glanced at Grissom who was watching every move she made. "That's a different story."

The girl gave a friendly wink to Grissom as she put the equipment in the appropriate bins and this earned her a small nod of acknowledgment as she exited the room. He turned and looked at Sara again.

"I find it hard to believe that Jim would let a kid off the hook that easily for tampering with evidence."

Sara chuckled again. "Well, the boy was nearly crying and swearing that he'd never get involved with a crime scene again, and the"rusty old revolver" ended up being as authentic as a Red Ryder BB gun. That's not to say that Jim didn't put the fear of God into him."

"And you didn't have anything to do with letting a teenage boy off the hook for his mischievousness, either–did you?" Grissom's knowing half-smile made Sara laugh lightly.

"Well, you've met his sister. And they're twins. Would "you" have been able to see them get into trouble for teenage shenanigans?"

"If I had to."

"You're such a liar," Sara commented as she got to her feet with Abby and turned to watch the people walking across the parking lot six floors below. "One look at that smile of hers and you would've been mush in her hands. I know you. I know how smiles affect you."

"Like this one?" Grissom asked as he stepped up behind her and turned her attention to Abigail as she was propped against Sara's shoulder. Her father's face had caught her eye and she held the smile of champions as she watched him coming closer. "We all know I'm mush in this one's hands."

Sara chuckled at the brightness of Abigail's eyes as she watched her father. "I'm afraid to think about what kind of trouble "this one" is going to get away with in a few years simply for that reason."

"This one" is going to be kept safe and secure within my eyesight at all times. She'll have no opportunity to get into trouble."

"Let's not forget she's "part" my daughter–she'll "find" the opportunity to get into trouble. The first little boy who gives her any trouble in kindergarten is going to walk away with a black eye."

"Now are we talking about him getting a black eye from Abigail? Or you?" Grissom asked, making a short laugh escape Sara again.

"I "meant" Abby, but now that you mention it. . .," Sara turned Abby so she could look at her. "What do ya say, Abby? The first little boy who tries to break your heart–you just up and pop him in the eye!"

This comment was followed by a large yawn from the baby as she unsuccessfully reached for Sara's necklace but only succeeded in batting it with her hands. Soon her entire concentration was on the black piece of jewelry hanging from her mother's neck. Sara pulled her up and kissed her forehead which took the necklace out of her view and stirred up the child's frustration which she voiced with a loud grunt before reaching for it again and again.

"I–um–was going to bring us something to eat," Grissom said in an odd tone that made Sara look at him. It was easy to see what had his mind so occupied as he watched his daughter batting at the necklace as it lay across Sara's semi-exposed breasts, "but I couldn't carry everything up at once. How about if I go back down and get us lunch?"

Sara found his inspection of her body more than a bit unnerving so she wasn't going to say anything that would keep him there longer. Instead, she simply nodded her head and went back to the rocking chair with the baby. She looked up in time to see him take one final glimpse at the flesh beneath the necklace then turn and walk out the door.

When Grissom returned about half an hour later Sara was more than a bit hungry but very reluctant to put Abby down in the crib. She watched as Grissom sat on the recliner and began eating his burger and she looked at her own veggie burger with longing, but every time she attempted to put Abby down, the baby would begin fussing and Sara just didn't have the heart to let her cry. So, as a last resort, she paced the floor and held Abby with one hand while working on her meal with the other.

"Mrs. Grissom," came the voice of the young nurse who had assisted them earlier and Sara looked up to see her standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips as she watched Sara. The girl laughed softly as she walked across the room toward her. "I'm starting my break–and I didn't have anything special planned–so why don't you let me hold her and you go ahead and eat your lunch."

"No," Sara looked at her a bit blankly. "I don't want you to use your break time on us."

"Really, it's no bother. I'd love playing with her while you eat." Sara's brows rose in surprise at the offer, then after a second, she handed the baby to the young girl, who cuddled her against herself and walked toward the bunches of balloons. "Take your time eating, Mrs. Grissom. We'll be fine here."

Sara took sat in the rocking chair and watched as Caitlin and Abby started playing with balloons that suddenly took on characteristics of anything the girl could think of. The purple latex balloon soon became the king of fat grapes who was looking for his friends, the yellow lemon princess and the orange tangerine knight, in the jungles of the Special Care Unit at Desert Palms Hospital. The girl wasn't shy about singing to the baby as she would bounce the balloon to coincide with the story she was telling and by the time Sara took her final bite of her lunch, Caitlin was just finishing a journey that had taken Abby around the room three times. It was Grissom who finally got to his feet, wiped his mouth, then started collecting the garbage from their meal. Sara finished her meal then went to Caitlin's assistance and smiled as she looked at how Abby was watching the girl and listening to her soothing voice.

"I don't suppose you're an Aerosmith fan?" Sara asked with amusement, recalling how Greg had bargained his way into visitation rights from a few of the nurses.

"I like them. I hear they're going to be playing here soon. As a matter of fact, some of the nighttime nurses actually got tickets last night. If you're interested, I can ask where they got them and they might be able to get more for you."

"No," Sara smiled. "No, that's alright. I'm not quite up to going to an Aerosmith concert."

"I'm not sure I am either," Caitlin told her as she handed Abby back to Sara and Grissom continued to gather remnants from their meal and take them to the large garbage bin the janitor was pushing down the hall. "I'm scheduled to work pretty much straight through the following two months. I don't see any chances for me to go to a rock concert."

Sara glanced at Grissom who was now standing halfway down the hall when his cell went off. She chose to ignore it as she continued conversing with Caitlin. "Isn't there some way you can switch with someone else? We used to do that at the lab."

"I could, but still. . .," Caitlin smiled sheepishly. "I'd rather not go by myself."

"Oh?" Sara asked as she placed Abby in the crib but the phone stopped ringing. "You wouldn't have a date?"

"I–um–sort of broke up with my boyfriend two weeks ago." Caitlin shrugged as if it didn't matter but Sara could see otherwise. "So, no, not really."

"Oh?" Sara said as Grissom walked across the room and headed for the bathroom. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Sara could see the embarrassment spread across Caitlin's face as she dropped her eyes from Sara's. "It's okay–really."

At that moment Caitlin's pager went off and she looked apologetically at Sara, but Sara merely smiled and watched her leave the room. Within the next second, Grissom's cell phone went off again and Sara absently reached for it as she continued to watch Caitlin go to the nurse's desk.

"Sara?" Grissom's voice was strange as it came from the bathroom behind her.

Sara opened the cell phone without thinking just as she turned to see what was wrong with Grissom. The sight of him holding the waste basket with the box from the pregnancy kit inside, in one hand as he held the revealing stick in the other, made her mind go momentarily blank. But the sound of the woman on the other end of the cell brought her crashing back to reality though.

"Gil? Are you there?"

Sara swallowed with difficulty as she approached Grissom and took the evidence of her pregnancy from him, intending to put it in the larger trash collection container that was in the hallway. She shoved his phone at him as she started to turn away.

"Your lady awaits you, ," Sara sad stiffly but Grissom grabbed onto her arm and stopped her from leaving. His interest was pointed specifically on Sara as he held the phone as if he wasn't even aware of doing so.

"Sara!" He pulled her back until she was looking up at him. "You want to explain to me what a positive pregnancy test was doing in the trash can?"

"Gil?" came the voice from the cell that he held loosely in his hand. "Gil, what's going on?"

"You're keeping your "friend" waiting," Sara told him through clenched teeth as she tried to pull away.

"I don't care who in the hell's waiting, Sara. Answer me." With that, Grissom snapped the cell closed and tossed it onto the dresser. "Is this what Catherine brought last night? Who else knows about this?"

"Well, evidently "Heather knows" now!" Sara hissed.

Grissom glanced at the phone as if realizing what he had done then looked back at Sara. "The hell with Heather! What's going on?"

"You're a scientist, Grissom. Can't you figure it out?" She pulled her arm from his grasp which had loosened upon mentioning that it was Heather on the telephone. She stepped outside the room and tossed the used kit into the trash then returned where she went to stand at the window which she stared out of.

"How far?" He asked weakly from where he still stood.

"I don't know."

"You've got to know "approximately" how far. Are you a week late? Are you four months late?"

"Well, considering that Abby's over three months old, I'd say it's a good chance that I'm not "four months late."

"Don't patronize me, Sara. How far?"

"I don't know. I haven't had time to stop and figure it out. I've been a little busy the past few weeks."

"Were you going to tell me?" He asked strangely.

She turned and looked at him, noticing the definite lack of excitement over the news. His face was covered more with a mixture of anger and pain.

"I–don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? If you weren't going to tell me then that says you were considering two options–either you were going to leave and never let me know, or you were going to have an abortion!" He moved to stand directly behind her and turned her to face him again. "Which was it?"

"I said, I don't know! The only thing I "do know" for sure is that I'm not going to incubate another one of your children just so you can take it off to visit with "Auntie Heather" whenever the mood strikes you!"

"Are you telling me," he said so stiffly she could barely hear him. "That you'd kill our child just so Heather wouldn't see it?"

Sara dropped her eyes from his face to his chest, refusing to look at him before finally answering. "No. I wouldn't have an abortion." She finally looked back up at him. "Are you telling me, that no matter what I say, you're going to allow Heather into its life?"

"Where is this shit coming from, Sara? I didn't say anything of the kind! All I'm trying to do is wrap my brain around the fact that you're pregnant again and refused to tell me about it!"

He no sooner had the words out than his cell phone started ringing again. Sara looked at where it sat on the dresser and reached for it. Without glancing at the caller ID she handed it to Grissom.

"Do you really wonder why? Here, Heather's getting impatient."

Grissom grabbed the cell and flipped it open as he kept his eyes on Sara and barked into the phone.. "I don't have time for this right now!"

Sara's eyes opened in surprise at the tone he was using with the other woman, but then when she heard the voice coming over the other end, she turned away.

"Fine!" Greg's voice came over the line. "I didn't want to talk to you anyway. Is Sara there?"

"She's busy, Greg," Grissom said in a milder tone. "Can she call you back in a few minutes?"

"I just wanted to know if she wanted anything picked up for dinner tonight. Tell her I'm going oriental tonight–I can pick up anything she wants. They have great egg rolls, fried rice, lo mein. . ."

"I'll tell her to call you back." Grissom interrupted then closed the cell. "I need to know if you were planning on having this baby without me."

Sara remained still as he put his hands on her upper arms again. When she didn't answer immediately he slid them up to her shoulders and then onto her neck where he tilted her face toward him with his thumbs.

"I told you–I wasn't "planning" anything, but. . ."

"But?" He asked and when she didn't answer, he answered for her. "You were considering it."

"Don't you understand? I don't have time to consider a damned thing! You won't give me half a second to myself to think! I told you that the moment I found out what you did! I told you I needed time to think–time to heal! But you just don't get it! How can I have time to think about an unexpected pregnancy when I'm worrying whether Abby's going to make it or not? How can I even contemplate being pregnant again when I find the thought of spending the rest of my life with someone I don't trust, to be, in the very least, a complete travesty?" She shoved at his hands. "You don't give me a fuckin' moment to think–all I can do is feel!"

His grip tightened on her face and she closed her mouth against the assault she knew was coming. But his persistence proved him to be the victor and in her highly emotional state, she was reacting in all the ways she wanted to avoid. Her hands grasped onto his to pull them away but the moment she tried to argue back and he slipped his tongue across her lips, her body reacted so strongly that she nearly collapsed against him. Instead of pushing him away, she was clawing at him and without realizing it, her hands found their way up beneath his tee-shirt as she hungrily answered his kiss. He pushed her back until she was half sitting on the heating/cooling vent and he stepped between her legs, pressing the hardness of his arousal against her and making her whimper in response.

"Do you "feel" this? Can you "understand this?" He breathed between kisses.

The coughing from behind them stopped them as Grissom reluctantly stepped back from her.

"Excuse me, ," the man said and Grissom turned to see whom it was as Sara covered her mouth in embarrassment at not only having been found in such a predicament, but that she had allowed herself to be placed there in the first place. "Um–I don't know if you remember me. My name is Jerome Kessler."

Sara couldn't see Grissom's face as he spun around more fully to see the man but she could see the tenseness in his body. "Yes, Mr. Kessler. I remember you. How did you find me here? I didn't realize my daughter's hospital room was open to the public."

"It isn't. Heather asked me to come down to get you. She's waiting for you to come to her room and sign the papers assigning me as her medical power of attorney."

Grissom turned back to look at Sara and wiped the moisture that was left over from their kiss. When she wouldn't respond to him, he turned again and joined the man and they walked out of the room and stepped onto the elevator.


	183. Chapter 183

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Three

Grissom's frustration was nearly disabling. He couldn't seem to think of anything other than the brunette who was driving him crazy with need and as he entered Heather's hospital room he went immediately to her side and picked up the pen that lay nearby.

"I know you don't want me to do this, Gil. . .," Heather stated as she fixed the front of her nightgown, not bothering to look at him, "but Jerome feels it would be best considering that Sara is having such a hard time accepting our relationship."

"This couldn't wait?" He asked and her attention swivelled to him then to Jerome who seemed to be hiding his amusement as he watched them. Then without another moment's hesitation Heather smiled weakly and leaned back against the raised bed.

"Yes–yes it could. I just thought since you and Sara were facing such dire circumstances, you'd want to be rid of me as fast as you can."

Normally Grissom would have assured her that he was not trying to "be rid of her" and then add his sympathy to her own circumstances–but the fact was right now he wasn't exactly thinking straight. The only thing on his mind was that he very nearly had sex with his wife in a hospital room–his daughter's hospital room. And even now, after going up two flights of stairs, he could just as easily rush back down to her room and take her into the bathroom where he'd prove to her that she's the only woman he desires.

"Where do I sign?" Grissom asked gruffly.

"You need to get the paperwork from the nurse's station." Heather's gentle smile vanished to be replaced with pain that he had caused. Dammit–why did he always end up hurting everyone?

Grissom took a deep breath then started out of the room to the nurse's station only a few feet away. He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation that seemed to be started in an almost painful tone, but ended up heated.

"You're lying!" Heather scowled to Jerome.

"Not a bit. When I walked in they were. . ." Jerome's tone lowered to the point that Grissom couldn't hear him.

"That's a lie!" Heather accused then after an inaudible reply from Jerome, she went on. "I know I heard him say that! She simply can't be–that's all there is to it."

Again Jerome answered but it wasn't within Grissom's hearing range. "I'm telling you it isn't true, Jerome! And if you can't help me with this, then you can just as easily walk out that door right now!"

"I'm sorry, Heather." Jerome's tone was somewhat pathetic. "I shouldn't have said that."

When Grissom returned to her room with the appropriate paperwork he noticed the anger on her face as she looked at Jerome but when she looked at Grissom it faded to absolute misery as she stoically held her head high. "I must apologize for my interruption, Grissom."

"I would've rather not been contacted while I was in Abigail's room with her," he said as he waited for Heather to sign her name to the appropriate lines. "But I shouldn't have been so sharp with you. It certainly isn't your fault that you're in the hospital at the same time my baby is ill."

"If there is any fairness in this universe, Grissom, your daughter will not be a concern to you much longer. But we both know that the universe isn't fair, otherwise Zoey wouldn't have been. . .," Heather turned her face away from Grissom then looked back at him with a new attempt at strength as she gave him another weak smile. "I'm sure Abigail is going to be fine, Grissom. But, I wasn't speaking entirely about interrupting your visit with her. Jerome informs me that we interrupted your reconciliation with Sara as well. I guess my timing is just horrendous. I can't seem to do anything right these days."

"My reconciliation with Sara doesn't depend upon whether you're involved or not, Heather." He signed the papers. "Stop blaming yourself for my mistakes."

"I heard you, Gil. When I called before I sent Jerome down. I heard what you said. I should guess that congratulations are in order."

Grissom dropped his gaze a moment then looked back at her. "Thank you."

"I'm sure this baby will be just as lovely as Abigail."

"I'm sure it will be." Again he dropped his gaze but looked at her when she put her hand on top of his.

"I just wish. . ." Heather dropped her eyes and released his hand. "It's been wonderful seeing you again, Grissom. Please, do you mind leaving me to discuss my care with Jerome?"

Grissom gave a quick nod, then left her room and started for the elevator. He made it to the sixth floor then went on to Abby's room where he found the young nurse changing the baby's diaper as she spoke gently to her.

"Where's Mrs. Grissom?" Grissom asked as he moved to the crib and picked up the child.

Caitlin picked up the dirtied diaper and disposed of it. "Bathroom. She said she needed a long shower and asked if I'd mind sitting with Abigail while she was taking one."

"Thank you, Caitlin. I can take over now."

"No problem, Dr. Grissom. It's always a pleasure. You've got such a little sweetie there!"

Caitlin turned and left the room and Grissom went to the rocking chair where he began feeding her again then rocked her back to sleep. He waited in silence until Sara finally returned to the room. He watched as she rubbed a small towel over her brown curls then looked at him from her side of the room. She looked away and went to her bag where she retrieved a brush and turned back to the mirror.

"I wasn't finished speaking to you," Grissom told her.

"Yes, you were. Remember? You finished "speaking" to me because Heather snapped her fingers. "

"I "said" I wasn't finished speaking to you," he repeated.

"Okay. But "I" was finished speaking to "you." She started running the brush through her curls with angry jerks as she looked into the mirror at her reflection.

Grissom looked down at Abigail and saw that she was again fast asleep, then he got up and placed her in the crib. He looked at Sara as she stood, still damp, in her clean clothing. He moved to stand behind her and when she still refused to look at him, he stepped forward and put his hands around her waist, flattening his palms against her abdomen. This stopped her brushing immediately although she still wouldn't look at him. He could see what was close to pain in her expression as she stared at her own face in the mirror then slowly her gaze lowered to his hands. He knew what he needed and he knew what he had to have. Ever so slowly his fingers trailed over the slight roundness of her tummy until they came upon the top of her jeans and he slid his fingers up inside the shirt, keeping a light contact against her sensitive skin that was making her tremble. He couldn't remove his eyes from hers but still, she wouldn't look at him. When he leaned down and pressed his lips against the exposed side of her neck he could feel her breath catch in her throat and he watched as her eyes closed in torment. With a gentle tug, he pulled her back and aligned his whole body up against her. She felt amazing from the tip of her damp head to the bottom of her jean-clad calves, so he had very little choice but to let his tongue slip out as he began nuzzling her soft skin.

"God, Sara, how can you ever imagine that I could survive without your touch?"

His fingers moved higher under her shirt, coming in contact with the roundness of her breasts and soon she was leaning back against him as her hands covered his forearms. Her head was now resting against his shoulder and he continued his assault on her neck. All he wanted was a little comfort. All he was offering was a little comforting back. But when he couldn't stop the desire inside of him that turned his touch into a stimulating caress, he felt her stiffen and she stepped away from him.

"My touch–and Heather's," she said dully, then looked up at the person who walked inside the room with them. "Hey, Greggo. You come bearing gifts?"

"Egg rolls, vegetable lo mein, broccoli and cashew fried rice. I wouldda asked which one you wanted but evidently "someone" forgot to tell you I called."

"You must have only been a few blocks away, Greg," Grissom said dryly. "It's only been a few minutes since you called."

"You went upstairs half an hour ago," Sara said without looking at him. "Long enough to socialize with acquaintances."

"I've been back here for over twenty minutes, Sara. You were in the shower and didn't notice."

Sara looked back at him, then went to the food and looked inside before walking back to the crib. "I'm sorry, Greg. If I had known you were going to buy dinner, I would've warned you that I'm not very hungry tonight."

"I think you should eat," Grissom said from where he was now leaning against the dresser in front of the mirror with his hands in his pockets.

"I think "I" should eat," Greg said to anyone who was listening as he took out a container and started opening it, then nodded toward the bag and looked at Grissom. "There's plenty for everyone."

Grissom nodded his acknowledgment but watched as Sara still refused to get her food. "Sara. You haven't eaten much today. You know you need to eat."

Sara glimpsed at him and he knew she wanted to argue the point, but relented and went to the bag. Before too long, the food was nearly gone and Greg was holding a newly awakened Abigail. Grissom remained quiet as he watched Sara eat her food, but when he saw her putting it down and turning away from it he became concerned. She quickly excused herself and went into the bathroom and when he heard the first retch, he went inside the small room with her.

"Get out of here," she said breathlessly as she kneeled at the toilet.

"How long has this been going on?" He stood next to her.

"I said. . ." She tried to look up at him with venomous eyes but another wave of nausea hit her and she heaved again before finishing her order in a weaker tone, " . .get out."

Another and another retch and Grissom was kneeling next to her and pulling her hair back from her face and holding it whenever she spilled her stomach. Finally the heaving stopped and she sat with her head leaning against the wall, clearly wiped out. He flushed the toilet, got to his feet and wet a wash cloth with cool water, then came back and began wiping her face, neck and throat with it. When he started wiping at the top of her chest, she immediately took the cloth from him.

"You're as weak as a kitten," he said quietly then stood up again and looked down at her. "Can you try to make it back out to the recliner? Or do you want to stay here longer?"

"I'm fine," she breathed as she attempted to stand up but swayed and he grabbed her around the waist, then walked with her into the room where Caitlin was now waiting with Greg and Abigail.

Caitlin was listening to Abby with her stethoscope as Greg held the baby and glanced up, looking very concerned when she saw the state that Sara was in. Greg, on the other hand, took a moment or two longer as his attention was firmly set on Caitlin's attributes as she bent over him and Abby.

"Mrs. Grissom," Caitlin said soothingly so as not to disturb the baby. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sara said as she sat on the recliner and leaned back into it. Grissom lifted her legs and put her feet on the end of it, then handed her a small container in case she felt the urge to vomit again. "I'm not going to get Abby sick again–this isn't contagious."

"Oh?" Caitlin asked, although it was clear that she understood the innuendo. "Mrs. Grissom, you might want to get looked at if this keeps up? Abby is going to need you to have all your strength. It could get worse and you might become dehydrated."

"I'm fine–really."

"Alright," Caitlin said doubtfully, then stood up to leave the room again but Greg stood up and started to walk next to her, causing her to stop mid-stride. "Um, excuse me, sir–but you're not allowed to leave the patient's room "with" the patient."

"Huh?" Greg looked at her then down at Abby as she lay in his arms. "Oh! Sorry." He turned toward Grissom and handed Abby to him then went back out to the nurse's station in search of Caitlin. "Hey–uh–do you like Aerosmith?"

"It looks like your matchmaking just might work," Grissom said as he looked at Sara.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I never said I was "matchmaking."

"It was obvious."

Sara closed her eyes again and settled back against the recliner, leaving Grissom with nothing to do but watch her sleep as he rocked Abigail. He helped Greg gather the trash from their meal and cleaned up the room just a bit after Abigail fell asleep too. Greg, seeing no point in staying with Sara sleeping, soon left, but not before stopping at the nurse's station one last time.

As the evening wore on, Grissom watched as Caitlin left, and another nurse took her place. Although the new nurse was efficient, she wasn't as attentive as Caitlin had been. Sara remained quiet, only talking to Abby and playing little games with her such as peek-a-boo and patty-cake. Abby's first authentic giggle came when Sara would pull Abby up to her and nuzzle her neck in a tickling manner.

"I guess we should go shopping and pick up some more supplies for Abigail," Grissom told Sara as she rocked the baby asleep late that evening.

"I can get the supplies she needs," Sara told him.

"And so can I–but I'm suggesting we do it together. If we're going to be staying here for a while, then she needs a sturdy crib to sleep in. She can use one of our dressers for now but I'd like to change the spare bedroom into a nursery for her and the new baby."

"I never said I was staying here for an extended period of time."

"I'm not going to let you leave with my children, Sara."

"What about Paris? What about your lectures there? What god forsaken excuse did you come up with to get out of your lectures in Paris?"

"I told them I was faced with a family emergency."

"And what family emergency was that, Gris? Heather's attack?"

"I came back to get "you," Sara."

"I am not that gullible! If that were true, you would've been here sooner–not waited a few days. Tell me something, Gil–would you have come over at all if it weren't for Heather?"

"It took a few days to take care of loose ends. I started making preparations the day you left." He stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, not able to completely deny her accusation. The fact was that he "was" making preparations to come for Sara, but it was Heather's attack that made him rush over sooner than he expected.

"While making these preparations–did you happen to bring her clothes with you?"

"I got some. Not all of them."

"Some? What does that mean? How many changes of clothes does she have?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you have some clean clothes for her at Nick's, we'll have to buy her something to take her home in."

"What does that mean? You only brought over a few outfits?"

"I brought at least a dozen sets of clothes. I just didn't get around to doing laundry yet." He watched her irritation as she started to rock a little faster in the chair. "Don't forget, I gave you some of the clothing to take with you to Nick's. Are there any clean clothes that Nick could bring with him when she's discharged?"

"Yes, I'm sure there is. But I can just as easily go down to the gift shop for a pair of pajamas for her and wear them back to Nick's. They'll be good enough until we settle in. After that, I'll just have to start shopping for clothes. I won't need a crib at Nick's–she's sleeping in the bassinet that Greg bought for her."

"I don't want you taking her back to Nick's." He moved to stand more closely in front of her. "I want you both to go home to the apartment with me."

"I can't do that."

"You cant? Or you won't?"

"Alright. I won't."

"So what are you going to do if you get sick while you're at Nick's and he's at work? It won't be safe for Abigail. If you're at the apartment with me, at least you know if you get sick, I'll be there."

"You're saying that you wont be leaving to look into Heather's case?" She watched him as he didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't be called away to try to figure out who tried to ruin his life with Sara. "No. I didn't think you were saying that. Grissom, why don't you just go home and do the laundry?"

"No." He watched as she opened her mouth to argue but he held up his hand and went to the recliner. "No! I'm not listening to anymore arguments tonight. Wake me if you need anything."


	184. Chapter 184

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Four

When Sara woke that morning she felt the nausea hit before she even opened her eyes. Although it wasn't debilitating, it was a nagging nuisance. She moaned slightly as she opened her eyes then let them adjust to the morning sun coming in through the windows. She felt as if an army of turtles had tromped through her mouth which didn't help the nausea a bit. She looked around as she put the recliner in an upright position and saw Grissom sitting in the rocking chair with his feet propped up and the chair tilted back. Abigail was sleeping soundly on his chest. Sara got to her feet and moved to stand next to him then reached for Abby but upon lifting her, Grissom's hands came up and grabbed onto the baby more securely. He opened his eyes and looked at Sara.

"What are you doing?" He asked sleepily.

"I'm putting her in the crib before you drop her. You let me sleep all night. Did she eat at all?"

Sara released her hold on Abby and allowed him to continue holding her for a while longer.

"She finished three four-ounce bottles of Pedialyte."

Sara nodded her head in acknowledgment then turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired. She looked old. God–had she aged twenty years just since returning to the states? She felt like crap and her mood wasn't much better. Truth be told she could have ripped anyone's head off who would happen to look at her the wrong way. She wondered about that momentarily, wondering if this was some hormonal side effect to her newest pregnancy. She rubbed her hands over her face then looked for the brush. After a few quick strokes to maintain some semblance of order in her hair, she put the brush back on the counter and turned to catch her husband watching her.

"Not quite the exotic flame you're used to, huh?" She said as she went to the crib and started tidying it up a bit.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked as he blinked at her.

"I said–not quite the exotic flame you're used to. I have a feeling your friend upstairs wakes up as if she walked out of a Cover Girl ad–or perhaps an Elvira poster."

"Sara. . ." He looked at her with a raised brow but she put her hand up to quiet him.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't say those things. You don't have to worry, I won't insult your "special friend" any longer."

"You certainly woke up in a foul mood."

"Really? You mean I don't wake up like. . .? Sorry, almost got me again. Maybe a cup of coffee will help. Do you mind holding Abby while I run to the cafeteria and grab a large coffee?" She didn't really wait for an answer as she started out of the door.

"Hello, Mrs. Grissom," came Caitlin's friendly greeting as Sara approached the nurse's station. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Mmm," she nodded her head affirmatively. "As soon as I get a cup of coffee I should be back to full power. So, I overheard you being asked to the Aerosmith concert yesterday. Are you going?"

"No," Caitlin smiled shyly. "I really appreciate the invitation–but I can't make him take me to the concert just because I allowed him to come in and hold Abigail. That's not right."

Sara chuckled as she looked at her. "Believe me–Greg wasn't asking you to go just as pay back. You should go–really. Greg is a very nice guy."

"He's not hard to look at, I'll admit that," Caitlin smiled at her. "But it's too late. I already said no."

"Okay," Sara smiled at her, "but if I know Greg–and I've known him for a long time–this won't be the last you've heard from him."

Sara turned and walked back to the elevator. She was going to have to have a little talk with Greg. In the meantime she was in search of coffee and a toothbrush. As she came around the corner of the cafeteria, she stopped suddenly. The line was amazingly long. It looked like every person in the hospital decided to come and get their breakfast at this time. She took a deep breath and moved until she was standing at the end of the line. Oh well, she'd get through eventually–and she certainly could use that cup of coffee. She looked at how the people were ordering full breakfasts and she hoped she wouldn't be too long in returning. The smell of bacon and sausage suddenly turned Sara's stomach and she covered her mouth with a napkin. By the time she was paying for two cups of coffee, she had witnessed people walking out of the cafeteria with plates piled so high with the above-mentioned breakfast meats that she thought surely they must have an investment in cholesterol medication.

Her next stop was the gift shop where she looked at the little pajama sets that were hanging there. She chose two that she liked and then went for the toothbrushes and got one of those as well. As she rode the elevator back up to the sixth floor she looked at her watch and noticed that she had been gone for nearly an hour.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom spent the first twenty minutes following Sara's announcement that she was going for coffee, pondering on just what pissed her off first thing in the morning. So he was watching her brush her hair. So what? She was absolutely beautiful and he liked watching her do such things. He always did. There was nothing new in that. But right away she pounced on him and accused him of comparing her to Heather. He doubted very much that he could ever make her understand that it was like comparing apples to oranges. He sighed heavily as Abigail squirmed slightly on his chest and turned her head to face the other direction. He rubbed her back and soothed her back to sleep just as his cell went off.

"Grissom," he answered automatically and heard the static before he heard Sara's voice.

"Grissom. . .help at car. . .gifts. . ."

"Sara? Hold on–I can't hear you. Say it again."

". . . help carrying . . . from your car. . ."

"Are you in the garage?"

"Yes."

"And you need help with something?"

"Yes. Come right down."

"I'll be right there." Grissom kissed the top of Abigail's soft hair and placed her in the crib. Just as he was about to leave the room, Caitlin entered with a bottle of formula.

"Good morning, Dr. Grissom,"

"Good morning." He looked at the bottle she was holding. "Is that for Abigail?"

"Mm-hmm," she smiled at him. "Dr. Zartman said we're to start her on it this morning and see how it goes. If all goes well, Abby will be ready for discharge by early this afternoon, after Dr. Zartman makes her rounds." She looked down at Abby who was sleeping soundly and smiled at her. "Gosh, she looks so peaceful. I don't want to wake her just to feed her, but the doctor wants enough time for her to react to the formula."

"I'm not sure she'll be hungry. She finished a small bottle of Pedialyte about two hours ago." He started for the door. "I have to meet Sara at the car. If you can't get her to drink, we'll try when we get back."

"Alright, Dr. Grissom. Take your time," she called after him then picked the baby up from the crib and went to the rocking chair with her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara was sipping at her hot brew as she got off the elevator on the sixth floor. She could hear some muffled voices as she approached the nurse's station, seeing that the two nurses standing there were unaware of her oncoming presence.

"Where is that girl!" Gruffed an older woman, looking to be in her sixties.

"I haven't seen her in about half an hour," replied a younger one who could have easily graduated out of the same class as Caitlin. "Dr. Zartman said she wanted one of her babies started on formula and she was going to take some in to her. I haven't seen her since she was gathering the bottle and preparing it."

"Then you haven't seen her since before we went on break?"

"Well, I saw her as we were leaving."

"I hope she has some explanation as to why it's taking her half an hour to feed one baby."

Sara gave them only the mildest of curiosity as she passed by the station and moved on to Abby's room, expecting to find a still-sleepy Grissom holding their daughter. Her first indication that something wasn't quite as it should be was the dimness of the room. All the window blinds were closed so she put the two cups of coffee on the dresser and moved to turn on a light. The fact that Grissom was nowhere to be found wasn't exactly what she expected, but it didn't really send up any red flags. The fact that the crib was empty–did. She gave a quick glance toward the bathroom but saw that the door was open with the light turned off. She immediately turned around and walked back into the hallway, looking in both directions, thinking that perhaps Grissom had gotten tired of being closed in the room and chose to walk a little farther with Abigail. She picked up her cell and dialed his number, letting it ring until it went to voice mail, then dialing it again and then again for a third time–finally with him answering.

"Sara–where are you?" Grissom's puzzled voice came over the line.

"I'm in Abby's room. Where are you?"

"In the garage," he said unenthusiastically. "I went to the car. Was there something you needed out of it?"

"No. Why would you take Abby down to the car? Really, Grissom, I know she's getting better, but until the doctor says she can leave, I don't think it's a good idea to be taking her off the floor like this. Just forget whatever you needed at the car–and bring Abby back here–then you can go back down for what you wanted."

"What I. . .? I didn't want anything," he sounded confused. "And I didn't bring Abigail to the car. She's with Caitlin. She's trying to feed her a bottle of formula to see if she can be discharged this afternoon."

"Gris–Abby isn't here. Evidently Caitlin took her elsewhere to feed her. And why would you go down to the car when I wasn't here to sit with Abby? Whatever it was, I'm sure, could've waited until I got back."

"You told me to get down here. . . you needed help!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sara–you called and said you needed help with something at the car."

Sara could hear the echo of the garage change to a more solid sound and then the closing of a door, indicating that Grissom was on his way back to her.

"I didn't call you."

"Stay there!" Grissom sounded alarmed although he tried to maintain his "Grissom" coolness. "See if Caitlin has her at the nurse's station!"

"No–she isn't there. I just passed it." Sara looked around the room again, beginning to feel the fear spreading through her bones then went back to the nurse's station as she flipped her phone closed. "Excuse me–could you tell me where Caitlin would be?"

Both nurses looked at her before looking back at one another. "I believe she must be on her break, Mrs. Grissom. Is there something we can do for you?"

"Is it hospital policy for your nurses to take the patients on their breaks with them?" Sara asked with irritation.

"No, ma'am," said the older nurse. "We never take the patients out of their room unless instructed to do so–and there have been no instructions such as that left for Abigail. Abigail is back in her room. Caitlin knows better than to take her out of it."

"Abby is "not" in her room!" Sara said just as Grissom approached from the elevator. "She's not in her room, Gil! And they won't tell me where Caitlin is!"

Grissom rushed past Sara to go into Abigail's room, followed closely by both nurses and Sara. Upon finding the empty bed, the older nurse picked up the telephone immediately and punched in some numbers. Soon there was an announcement going over the intercom alerting security of a possible Adam Alert. Her next call set off a beeping noise that came from inside the bathroom of Abigail's room. The older nurse hurried through the doorway and stopped in shock before rushing inside again.

"Caitlin!" Sara and Grissom followed her where they found Caitlin lying on the floor with her beeper going off. She was clearly unconscious as she was sprawled on the floor with her upper body leaning at an awkward angle against the wall. The nurse rushed to her side and immediately felt for a pulse, then looked up at the younger nurse. "Call this in–we need help immediately!"

Before Sara could even pass a coherent thought through her mind that was very quickly turning numb, she heard Grissom's voice immediately behind her. She turned in time to see him on his cell.

"Jim–get over to the hospital immediately. Abigail's gone!" He looked over at Sara while he was still on his cell and he spoke to her. "Call the lab. We need a crew here as fast as possible!"

Sara opened her phone and dialed the familiar number that went straight through to Catherine's work cell. She walked to the window and looked down at the parking lot six floors below as she waited for Catherine to pick up. The sight of a woman rushing across the lot froze her heart. Grissom walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Jim's on his way," he reassured her but she could feel his body stiffen when he looked at where she was staring and watched the woman carrying the bundle as she quickly got into a black Lexus and it drove off. "Natalie."


	185. Chapter 185

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Five

Once Caitlin was removed from the area, Grissom evacuated the room completely and gave orders that only a skeleton crew was to be working on the floor. Jim's team arrived first with a harried Brass who rushed to find Sara sitting in the waiting room holding that cup of coffee she had brought back with her, although she hadn't touched it, and Grissom who was staring at her in disbelief.

"What do you mean she's been following you?" He asked.

"I saw her at the airport, and then later," Sara said quietly as she tried to suppress a sob. "The day you came back–she sent a little boy to give me a message–something about cribs being just as dangerous as cars in the desert–they can turn upside down and trap someone, too."

"And you didn't think this was important enough to tell me?"

"I tried! I was going to tell you as soon as I saw you that day! But you threw it in my face right away that you came back for Heather!" She looked at him through huge, angry eyes, then looked back to the floor. "I thought you were my beacon in the night–but you pushed me away again."

"I didn't push you away," he said sourly. "You ran willingly! So–what? You felt I didn't have the right to know that my own daughter was being threatened?"

"Whoa!" Jim stepped into the room with them. "Back off, big guy. If you're going to start tossing blame around–you can stop right now. Sara's done everything she could. She informed us of what was happening and we've been investigating it as far as we could go."

"So? Everyone knew about this except me?" Grissom turned on Brass.

"Calm down," Brass said as he put his hand on Grissom's arm and turned him to the other side of the room. "You were busy with your own case. Do you remember that? You were "consumed" with finding out who attacked Heather Kessler. If no one thought to tell you about Sara's problems, you can blame yourself, not any one of us. Right now, we're going to need you both to go down to the station. . ."

"I'm going back to the lab," Grissom said as he grabbed his jacket.

"And do what?' Brass asked. "You don't work there anymore–remember? You'll only get in their way."

"I can't sit here and do nothing."

"The best I can offer is to meet you both down to the station, like I said." He turned to look at Sara. "Sara, do you have anything else you want to get to bring along? A jacket? A purse?"

"No. I'm ready." Sara got up and started to follow Brass out of the room with Grissom behind her.

"Hey, Jim," Catherine approached him with her kit in hand as Nick and Greg brought up the rear. "Is there any word? Any signs of ransom or anything?'

"No. So far, it's just as Grissom said. Either a close relative or a Natalie-look-a-like took Abby and left the building. You can take over here and I'm meeting these two down to the station to see what we can come up with down there. I've already got an alert out on a black Lexus."

Catherine nodded then looked at Nick and Greg. "Greg–you start in the bathroom where they found the nurse–Nick, we'll work our way back through the hallway and Abby's room."

"I'd check on the stairwell, too," Jim told her. "Both Sara and Grissom came up in the elevator at around the same time of Abby's disappearance. I have a feeling the abductor made her escape down the stairs."

"We'll get right on it–and Jim. . ." Catherine looked at Grissom then back to Jim. "I need to talk to you a moment before you leave."

"You two can drive down awhile," Brass told Sara and Grissom. "I'll be right there."

Sara started down the hall toward the elevator with Grissom closely behind. She pressed the button but had to wait for it to arrive to the sixth floor.

"I–I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Sara said quietly without looking at him. "I had no right to keep it from you."

Grissom only looked at her when the doors opened then they both stepped inside without looking at the direction the elevator was traveling in.

As the doors closed and they felt the mobile room lifting they sighed with frustration, but when it stopped on the eighth floor and opened to a wheelchair with a certain dark-haired beauty sitting regally in it, Sara's sigh turned into a gasp. The sight of Heather sitting before them, looking at them as she held at least two dozen long stem blood red roses on her lap sent a shiver down Sara's spine.

"Heather!" Grissom said as his eyes traveled from his mistress to his wife and back again.

Heather looked distraught as Jerome started to push her chair onto the elevator but she stopped him by putting her hand on the wall.

"No, Jerome. Can't you see?"

Sara felt her stomach begin to churn as she watched the silent interaction between her husband and Heather.

"Oh, pardon me," Jerome voiced but refused to pull the chair back. "I was just taking Heather down to my car. She was discharged a few minutes ago. You don't mind if we ride down with you, do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed Heather onto the elevator and although she wasn't facing Grissom, Sara could see the smug smirk that crossed her lips momentarily before her expression went blank again. Jerome pressed the button for the ground floor and the doors closed.

"I'm so sorry, Grissom. I never would have imagined we would have caught the same elevator. I know you're going through a terrible time right now with Abigail and all. I hate to put more pressure on your situation."

"Is that right?" Sara asked as she looked down at the woman who looked back at her as if she had been struck in the face. "Just how is it that you know already that we're going through a terrible time? News must travel damned fast through this hospital."

"I've known that Abigail has been sick now for some time," Heather said as if wounded. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Sick?" Sara asked with doubt. "Or missing?"

"Sara," Grissom spoke up. "There's no way Heather could know about this yet. Let's just ride down to the garage in silence. I think you can survive thirty seconds together on the elevator."

Sara glared at Grissom as she reached out and pushed the button for the sixth floor again, stopping it abruptly as the doors re-opened on the floor she had originated from. "Tell ya what–why don't "you" spend thirty seconds locked in a small room with her. Oh–that's right–you already did–didn't you? Only it was for a helluva lot longer than thirty seconds."

Sara slid past the wheelchair when the doors opened and started down the hallway but not before seeing Grissom follow her out of the elevator.

"I'm so sorry," Heather sniffed as the doors closed.

"Sara–wait!" Grissom called after her and caught her arm.

"Go to hell!" She yanked her arm away from him but he gripped it more firmly.

"Sara! Stop it! It was an inconvenience that she got onto the elevator with us–but we've got more important things to deal with right now than this. So just push it out of your mind for now–until we get Abigail back." He released her and started walking for the stairs with her but stopped when he saw Catherine.

"Gil–what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he sighed. "Everything. We took the wrong elevator and Heather got into it with us. Bad timing I guess."

"Not on Heather's part," Sara spoke up.

"Now you're going to try to tell us that Heather had that planned? How would she have known that we would step into an elevator that was traveling in the wrong direction?"

Sara knew it was an accident but hated being put in that predicament. She simply looked at him and started toward the stairwell again. "I'll be waiting down at the car.

Sara opened the door to the stairwell just as some officers were taping it off for their investigation. She knew it would be a few minutes until they had the complete stairwell taped off, so she started down the seven flights of stairs to the ground floor where the garage was located. As she passed the fourth floor door she heard it begin to open, but she didn't stop to look at who it was coming through and within seconds it closed again without any sounds to indicate that the person had actually entered the staircase. She maintained her progression down, listening for any signs that Grissom had started his descent but not hearing any at that time. She rounded the second floor and heard the door on the first, then a few steps taken on the metal stairs echoed up to her. Her mind was still on sounds of Grissom from above, until she started down the last half of the staircase that lead to the first floor. She didn't see the figure standing around the corner in the stairs that lead to the lower half of the second floor until it was too late. She only caught a glimpse of something dark as she felt the shove that made her grab onto the rail in front of her. Another shove and she was pushed over it's top but when she twisted, she lost her grip and fell to the stairs a whole floor below her. The pain that ripped through her side nearly took her breath away. She wasn't sure if she had broken her arm as she landed awkwardly or if she had suffered any damage to her legs. She heard the foots run down the stairs while at the same time she picked herself up with difficulty and pulled herself down the other half of a flight until she reached the ground level. The only solace was that she heard the door close up on the first floor which gave her a reprieve. She leaned back against the wall as she tried to get her breath back, then made an attempt to open the door that lead into the garage area but it was too heavy for her injured arm. She grabbed it with her good hand but it slipped closed again. The sound of a door opening from above made her grasp onto the knob again but in her panic she couldn't get it open until finally someone from the other side pushed it open.

"Oh–it's you, Mrs. Grissom." Jerome Kessler stood in front of her and held the door for her. "Are you alright? You look injured!"

"Get away," Sara breathed as she looked at the man then looked past him to where Heather was just standing up from her wheelchair.

"Jerome? What is it?" Heather asked as she approached them then stopped when she saw Sara. "Sara! Are you alright? We heard someone trying to get out of the stairwell so I told Jerome to help them with the door. We had no idea it was you!"

Heather's figure began to swim before Sara's eyes and she heard the sound of the door opening behind her again. She felt lightheaded as she heard Grissom's voice say her name. Then she slid to the floor as the garage began to spin.

"Sara!" Grissom pulled her up into his arms, looking at her eyes that were still trying to focus. "What happened?"

"Someone pushed me–over the stair rail," she managed to get out as she clutched onto his jacket front in an attempt to stop the dizzy sensation.

"Oh my God!" Heather's shocked gasp reached Sara's ears. "When? Just now? Jerome, did you see anyone else in there?"

"No," he answered. "I didn't see anyone except Sara."

"They ran out the first floor door," Sara said more to Grissom than the others.

"My God," Heather said again. "She landed on solid concrete–even if it was only a few feet–she's injured."

"Sara, honey, can you get up yet?" Sara hesitantly nodded her head but when he helped her to her feet she winced with pain and limped. He immediately went to her aid again. "What is it? Where did you get injured?"

"I'm fine." She attempted another step and felt the flaring pain of a scraped bruise on her hip but she pushed herself on. "We have to get down to the station."

"The station?" Heather said. "Is something wrong? Grissom, what was she saying on the elevator about Abigail being missing? Don't tell me the hospital made a mistake like that!"

"No, Heather," he said quietly as he reached out and grasped Sara's arm to stop her. "The hospital didn't lose her–someone came in and took her. Excuse me, a moment."

"Let go," Sara said quietly as Grissom pulled out his cell phone.

"Shh." He waited half a second before going on. "Jim–we're down in the garage. It looks like not all of our suspects have left the building yet. We must have been getting too close because one of them pushed Sara down the stairs. She said they ran out the first floor door to the stairwell. Just a moment–Sara–did you get a look at the person?"

"No–it happened too fast and he seemed to come out of nowhere. By the time I landed on the floor below, he was running out the door."

"He? At least you know it was a man. What about height? Weight?"

"I–don't know. It was all a blur."

"It was a man, Jim. Other than that she doesn't remember. We're heading down to the station right now, maybe she'll remember more on the way. I'll see you when you get down there." He glanced at Heather as he started walking with Sara toward the car. "If you'll excuse us."

"Yes–of course!" Heather's concern sounded in her normally monotonic voice. "Go–find Abigail! Oh, Grissom–Sara–my heart is breaking for you!"

"Thank you, Heather. But we have to go," he said over his shoulder as he unlocked the door for Sara and helped her inside. Sara couldn't stop the grunt of pain as he held onto her arm and ushered her inside, making him look even more closely at her. "Baby–just how far did you fall?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's go."

He put his hands on either side of her face and turned her to look at him. "It does matter! Now how far up were you?"

"I fell from the nearly the second floor landing. I landed halfway down the first floor," she told him as she jerked her face out of his hands. "I told you–I'm fine."

"That was almost fifteen feet! Did you hit anything on the way down?"

"Yes," she hissed. "The other rails."

He looked at her as if in indecision then said very slowly and only loud enough for her to hear. "I want you to tell me if you think you are hurt enough to have put the baby at risk?"

She remained quiet as she stared out of the windshield, watching as Heather and Jerome walked toward a car a few spaces down from theirs. "I don't know. But I have to go to the station and try to find Abby."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she realized she may be sacrificing one baby for another but she nodded her head yes. "Okay. But the minute you feel anything that might suggest something's going wrong, you're coming back to the hospital."

She again nodded her head in agreement and remained silent as he closed the door and went around to the other side of the car and got in with his cell already at his ear as he filled Catherine in on the situation in the stairwell. He started the car and pulled out of the space at a hurried pace and as he sped toward the exit the squeal of tires shrieked through the garage. Grissom kept moving as Sara stared at him through huge eyes. He hung up the phone and looked over at her, taking a second glance when he saw how she was looking at him.

"What?" He asked.

"You almost ran into Heather back there!"

Grissom glanced in his rearview mirror a second. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! You pulled out in front of Jerome Kessler! They almost crashed right into us!"

He looked again then looked back to the street he was pulling onto. "Well, they look like they'll survive."

She remained quiet the rest of the trip to the station, glancing over at him from time to time as he concentrated on his driving. Images of him coming to her aid in the garage weren't surprising to her–what did surprise her and she found extremely odd was how focused he had become on her–so focused that he nearly crashed the car, and into all people, Heather Kessler. It certainly didn't go unnoticed that he didn't go back to check on Heather's safety, instead continued on his way to find Abby. When he finally looked back at her, he reached over and placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it. She remained still for a moment, then slowly pulled her hand out from beneath his and rubbed it with her other hand. Even if she hadn't twisted her wrist on her trip over the railing, she wouldn't have continued the contact with him. It was too raw, too sore, to allow his gesture. She wasn't going to make a scene over it–she just wasn't ready.


	186. Chapter 186

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Six

Brass's office was starting to wear on Sara's nerves. Both she and Grissom had been questioned repeatedly as he tried to find some memory that could open the case for them, but everything seemed air tight. They found that Caitlin had been tasered much the way Sara had been before she was placed on the desert by Natalie. Caitlin informed Jim and Catherine that she had just finished changing Abigail's diaper and went into the bathroom to wash her hands. The last thing she remembered was drying them before the jolt threw her up against the wall. What Caitlin was unaware of was that she had a previous condition with her heart that the taser aggravated and threw her into a minor cardiac seizure then rendered her unconscious. Both Sara and Grissom voiced their concern for the girl but Jim told them that she was doing fine in the hospital, guarded, and being observed–with a very anxious Greg Sanders waiting for a chance to visit her.

The fact that Grissom had been called by someone impersonating Sara began in investigation into the calls that he had received on his cell, but the most they could find was that it had been made by a disposable phone and it was made from within the hospital, itself.

"Here," Grissom said softly as he came into the office where Sara was half-sitting on the edge of Brass's desk. "Eat this."

"No," she said absently as looked at the cup of vegetable soup he was holding. "I don't want it. I feel nauseated as it is."

"Please, try to eat some–at least a little." When she looked at him doubtfully he added, "For the baby?"

She reached out but when she tried to take it from him, pain shot through her wrist and she almost dropped it. He pulled it back and put it on the desk then took her hand in his as he inspected it.

"I'm fine." She told him before he even uttered a word.

"It's swollen, Sara. You may have broken something." He looked at her with concern.

"I don't have time to get it checked out. A broken wrist is the least of my worries right now."

"Meaning?" He looked at her more closely. "Are you hurt somewhere you're not telling me?"

"I said–I'm fine."

"You're fine," he said dully.

"Yes. So just leave it at that, okay?" She said and he looked around the otherwise empty office then closed the door before coming back to her. He took hold of her injured hand and went on to inspect the rest of her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I think its rather obvious, don't you?" After inspecting first one arm, he lifted the other and looked at it, finding a large bruise on her forearm. He looked up at her with a lifted brow, then went on with his investigation. She didn't want him looking at her so closely–it bothered her, but she knew that if the roles were reversed, no matter how upset she was with him, she'd check him for injuries. She decided he was just getting a little extra assurance to make sure their newest baby was alright. He went down on bended knee and lifted the pants legs of her jeans and looked at her calves, then he pulled them down again. When he reached up and started to undo her button and zipper, she tried to pull away and bumping into the desk with her hip, elicited a gasp of pain. He glanced up at her and continued to open her pants but when he tried to pull them down she winced. "What is it?"

"Right here," she sighed as she lifted her tee-shirt and peeled back her jeans to expose the top of her hip that had a large abrasion on it and a bruise already spreading throughout. He looked at her as he stood up again. "I'm just bruised. I can deal with bruises."

"You remember what I said. . .at the first sign of anything going wrong, you're going back to the hospital." He picked up the soup again and brought it back to her then lifted a spoonful to her lips. "Open."

Without thinking, the next words flew from her, "Hmph, you haven't said that in a while."

Her insinuation was clear to Grissom as he raised a brow at her and put the soup into her mouth. "As soon as we get Abigail back home with us, that can be immediately remedied, my dear."

She turned her head away from him, feeling the flush come to her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I shouldn't have."

"You "should" have, but yes, I figured it more or less slipped out. So, don't worry, I won't make you pay up–yet. Here–eat more of this."

"Just put it down on the desk," she said irritably. "I'll use my good hand to eat it."

He did as she suggested but when she sat in the chair and began eating, he pulled a chair next to hers and started gently brailing her swollen wrist. When he hit a certain spot, she yelped and pulled it back, causing him to look at her.

"I don't think it's broken," he said as he got to his feet and started for the door. "But I'm getting some elastic gauze and wrapping it."

She went about eating her soup rather slowly to accommodate the nausea that was nagging at her slightly. The noise of men gathering outside of the office brought her attention to the doorway to watch as several officers talked to Brass before he entered, looking rather frustrated.

"Jim?" She asked quietly.

He gave her a tired, reassuring smile before it faded away completely and he moved to his seat behind the desk. "Boy, when it rains it pours, doesn't it?"

"Did you find out something about Abby?" She looked at him.

"Not yet, but you know she's our first priority." He sits down tiredly. "No–no, it's about Heather."

Sara sits back in her chair. "Really? What happened now?"

"Neighbors complaining of a lot of screaming and yelling going on over there. When the officers arrived they found Heather and Jerome Kessler aggravated with one another but other than that, rather peaceful. They said there was nothing to be concerned about and apologized for the inconvenience, promising to be quiet from now on."

"It must have been incredibly explosive for the neighbors to have heard. I mean, all the noises that used to come from her "domain" couldn't have been very quiet." She absently stirred her soup as she stared sightlessly into it. "Does–Griss know about it yet?"

"No," Brass sighed. "I haven't seen him since I found out. Where is he?"

"He went to get an elastic bandage to wrap my wrist. I evidently sprained it when I flipped over the railing." She looked up at him. "I'm–not going to keep this information from him, Jim."

"What information? About Heather?" He asked with a raised brow.

"I can't keep him here. If he feels he needs to go to her aid–then I'd rather he did it so I'd know about it, instead of him "wanting to go" and keeping it hidden from me. I'm tired of the games, Jim. We're going through a major crisis right now with Abby but to tell you the truth–I really can't trust him to stay here and be more concerned about his own daughter than he will be if he finds out Heather is in chaos again."

"Don't you think you're just inviting trouble, Cookie? If he doesn't know about it–then neither one of you will have to face his decision."

"But it will always be nagging at me."

"What will be nagging at you?" Grissom asked as he entered the room with the bandage and pulled the chair over close to Sara's again. He took the soup from her lap and put it back on Jim's desk then took Sara's injured hand in his. "Your wrist? That's why I'm going to wrap it. It should stabilize it and lessen the pain."

Jim coughed nervously as he watched Grissom as he bent over his chore with Sara, then he looked at Sara who was looking back at him. "Uh–no. We–um–got a complaint a little while ago from one of Heather's neighbors. It seems there was a lot of yelling and arguing going on and they called it in."

Grissom paused in wrapping Sara's hand then continued again until he was finished. He lifted it to look more closely at it as if inspecting it for tightness and stability. "How's that feel? Alright?"

"He's talking to you," Sara told him as she watched him.

"I thought he was finished. He didn't continue." Grissom picked up the bandage and got to his feet.

"That's all you've got to say?" She asked.

Grissom sighed heavily as he turned and looked at Brass. "Okay–you're waiting to see how I'm going to react to this–so how am I supposed to react that will satisfy you both?"

Sara stood up and moved past Grissom. "You're such a bastard."

"How am I a bastard? You set me up. There was not one correct thing I could have said–was there?"

"No," Sara whispered. "There rarely is anymore."

"Fine," he said with impatience and turned quickly to look at Brass with aggravation. "So, Jim–what's the complaint about? Is Heather okay? Should I go see if she needs my assistance?"

"Look, I don't know if there's a right answer or a wrong one, Grissom," Jim said as he watched the two of them. "What I do know is that behaving like this can only make things worse between the two of you. Now–are you seriously contemplating going over to rescue her again?"

"Does she need "rescuing?" Grissom asked coldly, then ran his hand over his beard with frustration. "No, I hadn't planned on going over to see what they were arguing about. Why in the hell would I care what they argue about? Right now I'm only concerned about getting Abigail back. Are we any closer to doing that? Or are we going to concentrate on what "we" argue about?"

Jim watched them both in silence for a moment, then answered his cell as it started going off. "Brass. I'll let them know and we'll be right over. Thanks, Nick." He hung up his phone then got to his feet and looked at Grissom and Sara. "They've finished gathering everything they could from the hospital. I'm heading over to the lab right now, so if you're going to join me. . ."

He started out of the office first then was followed by Sara with Grissom bringing up the rear.

The three of them moved into Catherine's office where she was talking to Nick.

"Wendy's running the DNA samples. I think we've got a great chance of finding out who this is." Nick turned and looked at Grissom and Sara, then came over and gave Sara a hug. "Hey, kiddo–we're doing everything we can–you know that, don't ya?"

"Thanks, Nick. I know–but I feel so useless. I feel lost and my greatest desire is to jump right in the middle of the investigation and help get Abby back sooner."

"We know, Sara," Catherine said gently. "But you know we can't allow you to do that. Not only is it against every policy we have here, even it weren't, you know it would probably put Abby at greater danger if you were involved in the thick of things."

Sara simply looked at Catherine and nodded her head. Nick walked her to a chair and urged her to sit down.

"What were you discussing about DNA?" Grissom asked Catherine. "I didn't realize there was any found."

"It seems that nurse–Caitlin–didn't go down as quickly as she remembered. We found traces of blood on the watch she was wearing. She evidently swung around and attempted to defend herself. Not only did she get in a good scratch, her watch caught the girl somewhere on her body and caused her to bleed a little." She gave Grissom a reassuring smile, then sobered. "But you didn't hear me say any of this–or if you did–I was answering Jim–not you."

Grissom nodded his understanding then looked at Wendy as she came to the doorway and held some papers in her hand and wore a smile of satisfaction.

"We've got a match. We've got a twenty-three-year-old girl by the name of Brandy Costello who matches the skin under Caitlin's fingernails and the blood on the watch. It seems she's in our data files because she was arrested for prostitution when she was in her mid-teens. After that she remained out of trouble for a few years until she was arrested on several charges of assault and battery. Her last known whereabouts was the Reno State Mental Facility where she was being treated for schizophrenia, depression and suicidal ideations." Wendy stepped aside as Greg entered the room with them.

Sara's mind began whirling immediately and when she noticed a slight movement to her side, she glanced over and saw the look of alarm on Nick's face as well. He was trying very inconspicuously not to be obvious about sending glances in her direction.

"And," Greg informed them as he watched Sara's reaction. "It also seems that our good little Ms. Costello was signed into the hospital by her aunt–a Rosa Brennan."

"Rosa Brennan?" Sara said quietly. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"She's the woman whose name was on that rental car–the car that "Natalie" drove away from the diner in." Greg explained. "Evidently Ms. Brennan's purse "wasn't" stolen like she said. She "did" rent the car for her niece." "

Jim looked from Greg to Wendy. Wendy, is there any connections through the DNA that they are actually related?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it." She turned and started back where she had come from. "I'll get that to you as soon as it's back."

"Now–we find this Rosa Brennan and we find Brandy Costello." Jim took a step toward the door. "Greg–do you have Brennan's address handy?"

"Right here."

"I'm going with you," Grissom spoke up and when Jim opened his mouth to speak, Grissom went on. "Don't argue about it, Jim. I'm going."

"Okay-fine–but you're staying in the background the whole time we're talking to this Brennan woman. You got that?"

Grissom nodded his head then turned to look at Sara. "I want you to stay here and wait for me. As soon as I know anything, I'll call you."

Sara looked at him and remained silent. She was afraid that if she spoke now she'd explode with her anxiety. After a moment she merely nodded her head and watched as Grissom and Brass left Catherine's office. Sara looked over at Catherine and noticed that the other woman was watching her very closely.

"You're planning something," Catherine said quietly then looked at Greg and Nick, "and I don't want to hear about it. But, I don't want her acting on her suspicions on her own. Nick–Greg–you are officially off the clock until you take Sara where she needs to go–and again–I don't know about it. Right now, I need to go to the break room for a cup of coffee, and if you're gone when I get back–there really wouldn't have been anything I could have done to stop you–would there?"

Sara watched Catherine leave the office and close the door behind her.

"I'll drive," Nick said as he started for the door with Sara and Greg following.


	187. Chapter 187

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Seven

"Why'd you have to park so far away?" Greg complained as he walked at a hurried rate through the back alley of a rather posh neighborhood.

"Same reason we're walking in alleys and waited until it was dark enough not to be seen," Nick said quietly. "So stop talking so loud."

"She doesn't have any dogs or anything, does she?" Greg asked as the three of them stayed to the shadows as she moved along the outside of the hedges that surrounded the elegant house.

"Not unless she went out and bought some since her first break-in," Nick explained as they paused near the front of the house, but on the other side of the row of bushes. "Anything we can get. Listen for anything, I have no doubts that this Brandy-person was an employee of Heather's at one point."

"She's the perfect candidate," Sara said quietly. "Already trained in the arts of prostitution, plus the mental disorders–very suitable to be under Heather's dominion."

"Yeah, but what are the chances of us actually finding a way inside? If she's there with Abby–she's going to keep her guarded so tightly that no one will find them."

"I've got to try," Sara breathed then started back along the side of the Victorian-style house, pausing at every window and door to inspect for a way to get inside–or the possibility of hearing or seeing something that would point to the whereabouts of her daughter.

"What I don't get," Greg said as he followed her with Nick moving ahead of Sara to check on the next window, "is how Grissom didn't pick up on this–or Brass."

"Grissom wouldn't see it," Nick told him. "He's convinced she's completely innocent. It would be like trying to connect an exotic dancer to Catherine. It would be inconceivable to him. And Brass? He's probably already made the connection but he's traveling a more legitimate path."

"Forget about Grissom's motives for not thinking of this," Sara said as she tried to push the window open to no avail. "I'm working on this without him."

They traveled completely around the structure and even tried the doors at the building in the rear, but all the windows and doors were secure with no way to look inside. Finally as they were coming toward the front of the house again, they heard the first bit of proof that someone was occupying the house as voices were heard coming from the parlor. The three of them maneuvered themselves in the darkness, along the side of the house as they stood under the window and listened.

"You can't seriously think he'd ever leave her," Jerome Kessler remarked.

"Do not antagonize me, Jerome. I know Gil. He'll tire of her struggling soon enough. He did before." Heather said from the window above their heads.

"That's not what I heard," Jerome said. "Everyone I talk to says he was a broken man when she left."

"Yes, so broken, in fact that he came running back to me."

"And you took him straight to your bed," Jerome said as if disgusted with her. "How very loving of you."

"It "was" loving! It always will be with the two of us. He can't turn away, and he always comes running back."

"But he didn't come running back quite so quickly this time, did he? He ran away from your arms straight into hers. Hell, he married her for Christ's sake! What does that tell you, Heather?"

"It tells me she was pregnant with his child! Grissom would do what needed to be done to protect his reputation, even if it meant marrying a woman like her!" Heather's anger was starting to show.

Nick looked over at Sara with disbelief before whispering to her. "I know Grissom's a lot of things, Sara–but that's bull! Even with all his faults–I have to admit he loves you."

"Why can't you get past this, Heather? Why do you have to keep pushing the limit? You said you loved "me"–remember? You got me to do things I regret, all the time promising that we would be together to raise Allison. If there's anything I'll never forgive you for, it's using Allison to pull me back into your web."

"But, Jerome, dear," Heather cooed, "if my web was so terrible, why did you jump into it so quickly and easily? And really, how did you expect me to "raise Allison with you" if I'm going to be with Gil? As usual, you weren't thinking with your head, Jerome."

"I still think you're fooling yourself. Everything you're doing is leading you nowhere."

"It is "not" leading me nowhere. It's just going to take a little time. I knew the moment I opened that door and found him standing there, wanting me, needing me, and all under the rouse of getting advice on a case. He came to me! I didn't go to him! And all it was going to take was a little coaxing. . ."

"Then if this is all so pure, Heather, why did you start recording him from the moment you brought him in here?"

"Insurance, Jerome. You should know that I like to have insurance." There was a moment's silence as Nick and Greg watched Sara as she listened to this woman's unknown confessions. "But that isn't the point. And I don't want to discuss it anymore. It served its purpose. It got Grissom to come back to me."

"It got him to come back to the states to get his wife. Our little role playing just brought him home a day or two earlier than he planned."

"It worked, didn't it? He came back and brought his bastard with him and he came straight to me! He didn't go to her!"

Nick put his hand on Sara's arm until she looked at him. "Come on, kiddo. We're not going to find what we're looking for here. We're just wasting our time. You're just hearing things you already suspected. Nothing that can help get Abby back."

Sara turned back toward the window and continued listening. She couldn't stop the nagging intuition that was telling her she needed to stay. Something important was going to happen.

"He took you to the hospital and saw that you were admitted and settled in. Do you seriously consider that "coming straight to you?" He wasn't even going to do that until you threatened him with not going at all. You know he wasn't going to come back because of the attack until you coerced him and made him feel guilty for not caring enough to come back–especially when–how did you put it–all this was happening because of your love for him. Anyway, he would've come back for any one of his friends at the lab if they were as calculating as you–the only difference is that he probably would've stayed there with them instead of going back to his apartment in search of Sara."

"Don't! Not in my house! You will not mention that woman's name here. If you would've done the job right today, we wouldn't even be having this discussion. She would be in the hospital losing the other brat. Jesus! Who would've thought that androgynous monstrosity would be as fertile as she is. I thought once she lost that first one, that would be it–but she evidently reproduces at the drop of a hat."

"I couldn't help it. She had already gotten past me by the time we got off the elevator down to the fourth floor, then I barely made it in time when we met up with her on the first floor. If you hadn't waited with the elevator door open for me, I would've never made it in time. Anyway, you don't know, maybe it caused sufficient damage for her to lose the baby. These things can take time."

"Not fast enough, if you ask me," Heather complained.

"Heather, please. I'll ask again. Give up on this insanity. We've got Allison. We can leave Las Vegas and be happy together. I will love you more than Gil Grissom ever would be able to."

"That's impossible! You can never compare to what Gil can give me!" Heather paused in her thoughts. "And he is going to give it to me. It's only a matter of time now. If she doesn't lose this baby from her "accident" today, I'll make her life a living hell until the stress does the job the way it did with the first one."

Sara had heard enough. She wasn't going to allow this manipulating bitch the opportunity to hurt her any farther. She was on the porch within seconds.

"Sara!" Nick called in a loud whisper after her.

"Stay there!" She ordered then grabbed onto the doorknob, finding it locked as expected, but with one hard thrust with her shoulder, the door popped open.

She looked to the left and proceeded toward the lit parlor, not knowing exactly what she planned to do other than confront her and finally have it out with her. She had no idea what she wanted from Heather anymore because Heather had tarnished so many things in Sara's life. She did know she had to confront her about it.

Sara could have sworn Heather was wearing an expression of pure satisfaction as she stood in the parlor, clearly having heard the door being burst through .

"Well, well, look who graced us with her presence, Jerome."

"I heard you! You had your lackey push me down the stairs! How do you think Grissom's going to react when he finds out that you tried to kill his child?" Sara asked as she took a step toward the woman.

"Jerome, it seems our intruder has chosen to break in again. Thank goodness you're here this time to stop her from attacking me "again."

"I'm not going to hurt her any farther, Heather," Jerome told her.

"Can you at least subdue her?" Heather asked with blatant irritation at his lack of initiative. "She's here to attack me for Christ's sake!"

"Sara!" Nick walked in behind them, causing Heather to spin around in time to see both him and Greg. "Come on, honey. It's time we go. There's nothing more we can do here."

"Do here?" Heather asked. "So you had a purpose, other than just eavesdropping? Tell me, Sara, what exactly did you think you were going to find here? Your husband, perhaps?"

Sara's hand flew before she could stop herself. The slap echoed throughout the large room but Heather merely shook her head and smiled at Sara.

"Give it your best shot, Sara. If you like it rough, I can take you upstairs and show you how to really play the game–after all, I've done it enough time with Gil, why not with you too? Threesomes are always somewhat fun–but if you prefer privacy, I could give you private lessons. Or would you rather try our bondage room? Gil was always a fan of that room as well."

"Shut your filthy mouth, Heather!" Nick told her and he tried to grab onto Sara but it was too late as Sara's fist flew through the air and came in contact with Heather's jaw and knocked her down on the floor.

It took a moment for Heather to look up at Sara but when she did there was pure satisfaction glowing from her eyes. "You just gave me what I wanted. Jerome, call the police."

"Sara, come on," Greg said as he got on the other side of her and he and Nick pulled her with them. "You're playing into her hands! We have to get out of here!"

Sara looked at Greg as if remembering he was there, then she looked back at Heather. God, she hated that woman! She looked at Jerome who was opening his cell as he seemed to be looking at her with pity in his eyes.

"I'm calling to report that my friend has been attacked by an intruder."

"Sara!" Nick said sternly. "We have to get out of here–now!"

Sara remained silent on the ride back to the lab. She had truly believed that if they could get into Heather's house, they'd find the young woman who took her daughter. The connection between her arrests for prostitution and Heather's business endeavors was just too much for it to be a coincidence.

"Sara, I don't know what's going to happen, but we're going to stand behind you. If we get into trouble for trespassing, then so be it. She's not going to get away with trying to pin her rough sex with Jerome on you. At least we know for sure now that she wasn't attacked in the first place." Nick tried to sooth her.

"And I bet any money that she not only taped those videos with Grissom–but she sent them to you too!" Greg told her.

"It doesn't matter," Sara said quietly. "None of it matters if we don't get Abby back."

"We will, Sara. We just have to keep looking."

As the three of them walked down the hall toward Catherine's office they were met at her door by the red head who showed signs of intense anxiety.

"What the hell did you guys do!" She blurted, then pushed her hair back from her face as she ushered them into the room with her. "I know I didn't want involved but they're coming to pick Sara up. She's going to be taken in for questioning regarding an attack on Heather! For God's sake, I thought you all had more sense than to go in and attack the woman! Did you ever hear of discretion?"

"She deserved it, Cath," Nick explained. "We heard everything. She's the one who was behind the videos of her and Gris. And we're pretty sure it was either her or Jerome who sent the emails to Sara. They've been scheming all along to break Sara and Grissom up. Hell, we even heard them confess pushing her down the stairs at the hospital!"

Catherine turned and looked at Sara then took her hands and walked her over to the chair in front of her desk. "Honey, you know that unless we can prove any of this, it's pointless having just "heard" them talking about it. With you being accused of being an intruder and the guys following you inside–their testimony on any of this is going to be greatly questioned to say the least."

Sara looked up at Catherine then back to the floor. "I want Abby back. That's all I want anymore."

"No, Sara," Catherine said sadly. "I know things are bad between you and Gil right now–but you're going to work it out. It's just going to be a matter of time. . ."

"I don't want him anymore," Sara said dully. "She can have him. She knows a side of him that he will never show me–a side of him that I never wanted to believe was there. I don't know who he is anymore, I only know he isn't the man I fell in love with."

Catherine looked at her sadly, then glanced up at Nick and Greg. She stood up and walked to the side of the room with them and even though they tried to be quiet, Sara could hear them filling her in on the sexual activities that Heather had told her she shared with Grissom.

"That bitch!" Catherine breathed then came back to Sara and knelt in front of her again. "Sara. I want you to listen to me. Heather is very good at what she does. And what she does is manipulate people. She's manipulating you right now and doing an excellent job at it. It doesn't matter if Gil did these things with Heather or not–because now that Heather planted the seed of doubt in your mind–it will always be there. I wish I could say that she's going to get her payback some day–but that isn't the way life runs with people like Heather. All we can do now is just step back from the whole situation regarding Gil and concentrate on Abby. Do you understand, Sara?"

Sara nodded her head slowly, but before she could answer, Catherine's office door was opened and two police officers entered. They looked at Sara and Catherine, then the guys.

"We're here to pick up Sara Siidle. We. . .have to take her to the station," the dark-haired officer said with regret. "It seems someone accused her of breaking into a home and assaulting the home owner. I can see though, that she isn't here. Maybe you have some idea where we might find her?"

Nick slowly shook his head. "No, Dave. I haven't seen her all day."

"I didn't think so," Dave said. "You'll let me know if she comes in, won't you?" Upon Nick's agreement, Dave and the other officer turned to look at Sara again. "I hope you find your little girl real soon,, Sara."

"Thank you, Dave." Sara watched the two men leave the office.


	188. Chapter 188

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Eight

"Willows," Catherine answered her phone then looked at the other three in her office. "Wait, Jim, I'm going to put you on speaker just in case anyone's here who'd like to hear what you're saying." She switches the phone. "Go ahead, Jim."

"We heard over the radio that Heather was attacked again tonight," Brass said. "We made it back to the station when she practically flew in on her broomstick and began spilling her guts to Grissom. She's not a pretty sight by any standards."

"What are you talking about, Jim?" Catherine looked at the others in the room. "Tell you what happened?"

"Come on, Catherine–Sara's being accused of beating the royal shit out of her! I find it hard to believe that considering Sara's walking around with a sprained wrist, she would be able to do the damage that was done to Heather. But I need to know what happened."

"It's true, Jim," Sara spoke up. "I hit her–twice."

"Okay," he answered thoughtfully, "Now–what did you hit her with?"

"What do you mean? My hand–what else? I slapped her first, then punched her the second time."

"Are you sure."

"Of course I'm sure," Sara told him.

"I was there, Jim," Nick spoke up.

"Me too," said Greg.

"That's what she did," Nick told him. "Why?"

"Because she looks like she was worked over pretty good. And, there were fresh strangulation marks around her throat. With Sara's sprained wrist–it would be impossible to get the marks she has."

"Yeah, well I have a good idea who did it," Nick said.

"It was Jerome Kessler," Greg spoke up. "We heard them talking about their "role playing" and how it worked to get Grissom back to the states."

"Jim?" Sara spoke up quietly.

"Yeah, Sara?"

"Jim, " she began hesitantly, almost as if she were afraid of the answer. "Where's Griss?" The huge delay told Sara. "Never mind, Jim. I guess that was a stupid question."

"Jim," Catherine broke in, clearly wanting to change the subject. "What's the story of Rosa Brennan? What did you find out?"

"She's dead, Cath. We found her hanging from the rafters in the attic. Looks like she's been there at least two days."

"Was it suicide? Or did someone hang her there?"

"Someone hung her up. Her hands were tied behind her back."

"Now what?" Nick breathed his frustration.

"Now we start from scratch."

"Jim?" Catherine began again. "Since you already know that Sara and the guys were over at Heather's, then you realize "why" they were there. Has there been any connection between the Costello girl and Heather?"

"We're looking into it. But it isn't as if I expect to find a W-2 on this girl. I suspect taxes weren't high on Heather's list of priorities when she ran her business. At least not taxes on underage females working for her."

"Is there any way we can get a search warrant for Heather's properties?"

"Not unless we have a reasonable excuse–right now we have nothing. Until we can actually make that connection between Brandy Costello and Heather–she's untouchable."

"Alright, Jim. Any suggestions on what we should do with Sara? Dave Lynnwood and Joe Tyler came for her already but managed to "not see" her before wishing her well on finding Abby. Do we have to worry about anyone else coming for her?"

"Not tonight–and probably not into tomorrow sometime. I'm pushing it off as low priority, but if Heather gets through to some of her old clients who have a little more power than I do–it might get shoved to the top of the list. Right now, Grissom's with her. . ." he started then stopped himself quickly. "I'm sorry, Cookie. I shouldn't have said that."

"Jim?" Catherine broke in uncomfortably. "Can you tell me something? Why in the hell did Grissom go with her?"

"He didn't "go" with her. They're still here. She's in a spare office and he's in and out. I can't say that I agree with what he's doing, but at least he's keeping her occupied so she doesn't call in her top guns to go after Sara yet."

"Thanks, Jim. We'll be talking to you soon." Catherine switched off the phone then looked back to Sara. "I–know things don't look good right now, Sara–but you've got to keep your faith."

"Faith? I'm Atheist. What faith would you be referring to?"

"Faith in us–faith in Jim–and mostly, faith in Gil."

Her comment made Sara burst out a false laugh. "Don't you understand, Catherine? He's chosen! Our daughter is missing–and he still chose to go to her! It's over!"

Sara got to her feet and left the room, only to have Nick follow her.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asked as she stormed off toward the garage.

"I don't know. But I'm not going to sit around and do nothing. There's got to be some connection between Costello and Heather! I just have to find it."

"You're not going to find it going out there. Any place that we have leads on right now, is being investigated. Sara, I can't let you leave!" He grabbed onto her arm and stopped her. "You've got to think about this baby now."

"Uh–Sara," Archie entered the hall from where he had been working. "Could you come in here?"

Sara looked at Nick then back to Archie, then went into where he had just come from. The first thing she took note of was the screen Arch had been looking at.

"What's this, Arch?"

"This is Grissom's email. I've been trying to locate where the original emails came from, but as I was working on it tonight–these started coming in. One right after another–all the same thing. I–think you better take a look at them."

Sara and Nick moved to stand at the screen and upon scrolling down the list of emails Grissom had gotten over the past few weeks, they slowed as they approached the bottom. Then Sara felt the tingling begin in her head as she read the subject line of the next three emails. It read: "I've got a pain in my saw dust. . ."

"Oh my god," escaped Sara's lips as she grasped onto the edge of the table for support then reached for the mouse. Her hand shook as she opened the first one to find the message: "A gift for you. Get her back as quickly as you can." This was followed by a link that again read "I've got a pain in my saw dust. . ."

Her hand started shaking fiercely as she stared at the screen but it was soon covered by Nick's hand as he gently assisted her in clicking the link.

"I won't go on with this any longer," Jerome Kessler sat in the front parlor of Heather's house as he looked into the camera. "I can't. I've lived a respectable life for the past two decades. I've been living what I thought to be a strong existence–until she came back. I don't understand this power she has over us–I never will, really. I've done things that would have been incomprehensible to me five years ago. I don't like who I am anymore. I can't do this anymore."

The video ended and Sara looked up at Nick. He nodded toward the screen, indicating that she should move on to the next one. When she opened it, it held the same message as the first one. She clicked on the link. She watched a video of Heather and Jerome talking in the parlor at what looked to Sara to be a short time before her, Nick and Greg's arrival that night.

"I don't understand!" Jerome yelled at Heather. "Why go through all of this? What is it about that guy that won't let you give him up? What the hell does he do to you that I don't?"

"He says no!" Heather growled at him. "Right from the very beginning! He said no to everything! When we're together–I'm not Lady Heather anymore! I'm not expected to dominate him. I'm not expected to get out my collection of toys and use them on him. I'm not expected to do anything–except love him! Why do you think I fell in love with him to begin with? He says no to all of that! When he makes love to me–it's clean–it's pure–and he makes me feel alive again!"

"I could do that! "You" are the one who insisted on these games of yours. You're the one who suggested the bondage–the beatings–everything. I only do it because you want me to!"

"That's the difference between Gil and you. He–said–no. He makes love to me. He doesn't have sex with a subhuman with all the accessories that come with Lady Heather. He–said–no."

Sara went to the next email.

"He'll never find out," Heather said coldly to Jerome. "He'll forget about her soon enough. I'm still young enough. I can give him the children he wants. Our children will be masterpieces! He'll forget he even had a daughter to that thing that likes to refer to herself as a woman!"

Sara turned and looked at Nick but he was on his cell already.

"Jim, we've got that proof you needed. I'm gonna forward some emails to you and you'll have enough for a search warrant." Nick said then started after Sara as she hurried out the door. "Sara! Wait for me!"

They both knew where they were going. At this point, Sara didn't care what circumstance she would find her husband in when she arrived. He was no longer her concern. Her daughter was. They couldn't get there fast enough and when they were heading down the hall to Brass's office, she saw him opening the door to another office as he hurried inside with a laptop. The sight of Grissom and Heather inside turned her in that direction as she burst through the doorway.

This time Sara didn't spare any time as she shoved her way past Grissom and grabbed hold of Heather and pulled her to her feet by the front of her blouse. "Where is she?"

Heather stared at her through eyes that remained calm. "I told you she was out of control, Gil."

Sara was pulled off of Heather in an instant and Grissom wrapped his arms around her to restrain her. "Sara! Stop!"

"Let me go!" Sara wasn't even concerned with the man holding her anymore. Her only target was the woman who stood before her, clasping her throat. "What did you do with her?"

"Sara!" Grissom said sternly. "I said stop!"

"You might want to think twice about that, boss-man," Nick said from where he had been frantically typing into the laptop he had taken from Brass upon entering the room. "You got a few emails you need to check into."

Sara looked over at the screen that evidently had been opened by Brass and now, instead of only three emails labeled "I've got a pain in my saw dust. . ." there were about twenty. Nick clicked on the fourth one, then on the link, but this time, instead of Heather's parlor, it was a bright room with a table and two chairs. Brandy Costello, a dark-haired girl, sat at the table, holding a bundle in her arms as Jerome Kessler sat across the table from her.

"Can you sing your lullaby for me, Brandy?" Jerome asked.

"She says I'm not supposed to be called Brandy anymore." The girl gently rocked the bundle she was holding. "She says when I sing my lullaby, I'm not Brandy anymore."

"Okay, Natalie–can you sing your lullaby for me?"

Brandy chuckled as she looked at Jerome. "Not for you–but I will for Lela. Do you know what Lela means? She told me. She told me it means "dark-haired beauty" just like me–and just like her. That's how she got her named Lela."

"Okay, Natalie. Sing for Lela."

Brandy looked down at the bundle and began, "I've got a pain in my saw dust, that's what is the matter with me. . .Do you know where I learned that? She taught me. She said the other Natalie used to sing it. That's why she had me sing it for her."

"Why does she have you sing it? Does she miss the first Natalie?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. Maybe. Maybe that's why she wants me to wear that wig and dress in those baggy clothes. But. . .I don't know. I don't even know if she even "knew" the other Natalie. But Jerome–does she miss "anyone?"

"You're right, Brandy," Jerome said sadly. "I don't think she "can" miss anyone. Not even Zoey."

"Who's Zoey?" Brandy looked up at Jerome through curious eyes.

"Are you Lela's mother, Natalie?" Jerome changed the subject.

"Yes–I am. She said I could be. She said I could have her if I put on that wig and played hide and seek with the other woman. She said if I did a really good job and didn't let the man see me–I could have Lela for my very own!"

"You played hide and seek with someone? Who did you play with, Natalie?"

"The other lady. The pretty lady. When she smiles at that man she's the most beautiful woman ever! She makes the world feel good when she smiles like that! But I'm not supposed to talk about that. I'm never supposed to talk about that." Brandy looked up at Jerome. "She said the other man was going to be her husband, but when I asked how he could be her husband when he was married to the pretty lady. . ." Brandy dropped her gaze back to the baby. "That was when she hit me with the crop and broke my tooth. I saw him that day in her room at the hospital and she got soooo mad. She said it was a good thing I told him you were my uncle. I don't know what she wouldda done if I hadn't."

The video ended and Grissom's grip had loosened on Sara. He slowly turned his head from the computer screen to Heather who was still standing at the end of the table.

"You have her?" He whispered with disbelief as he stepped toward her as if in a trance. "Why? Why would you do this to me?"

"You'll get your answers about why she did it later," Brass said. "First find out "where" this is happening."

Nick clicked on the next link.

This time the room was a dim bedroom as Brandy sat on the edge of the bed. "I've got a pain. . ."

Sara saw how Grissom's stance seemed to deflate as he stared at the screen.

"That's what she taught me to sing. She taught me lots of things–just like I'm going to teach you lots of things. Not like the "other" baby. Sometimes I miss my other baby," Brandy said as she seemed to lose focus for a moment then cheered up as she looked back at the bundle in her arms. She took it to a nearby rocking chair and began rocking. Sara couldn't curb the tears that started slipping down her face. She could see her baby, but she couldn't get to her.

"I "know" where it is," Grissom growled as he stared at Heather and his statement made Sara look at the room more closely, now realizing it was the room he had stayed in with Heather when they had been videoed during their infamous last night together.

They looked back at the screen when they heard Brandy singing again before continuing with her conversation with Abby. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. They were going to come for me and put me away again. Just because I wouldn't take my medicine! She told me so! She doesn't make me take my medicine!" She paused as if in thought then looked around the room before looking back at Abby. "I couldn't help if it my other baby didn't wake up. I only shook her a little to make her stop crying–just a little! It wasn't my fault she wouldn't wake up then. But I won't have to shake you–will I? You're a good baby. I love good babies."

Brandy started humming to Abby again and Grissom turned toward the door but Heather reached out and grabbed onto his arm.

"No! Wait! It isn't what it seems. I–I did it for us!" Heather said stiffly.

Abby started to whimper then Brandy could be heard again. "Don't cry. Don't cry. Please-don't cry. PLEASE! Don't cry!"

The sound of panic in the girl's voice sent Grissom into a frenzy as he tried to pull his arm free but she clung to him. The more he fought Heather, the tighter she clung to his arm. Sara watched her mild-mannered husband change before her very eyes as he turned and grabbed onto Heather's face. The shock of having this man's usually gentle caress grab her most cherished part of her body, released Heather's grip on him while at the same time he shoved her away. She landed up against the wall with a thud and would have run after him again if Nick hadn't grabbed her and held her back. Without even looking at Sara, Grissom grabbed his wife's hand and ran through the door as Brass followed closely behind, shouting orders for his officers as he went.


	189. Chapter 189

Chapter One-Hundred-Eighty-Nine

The silence as Grissom drove was deafening. Sara sat in the passenger's seat as they followed Brass who sped through the streets of Las Vegas with flashing lights. Upon their arrival at Heather's house they were surprised by the unusual amount of light shining from the building. The porch light glared and the open front door warned them that something wasn't as they had hoped. Sara rushed past Grissom into the house in search of her daughter but upon getting to the bottom of the stairs she realized she didn't know where to go from there. Grissom hurried up the steps past her and went straight to the room where he tried the door. As he flung it open, Sara could smell the coppery aroma of blood and her eyes scanned the room until she found Jerome Kessler lying along the side of the bed with heavy gashes on his arms and face. The wound that stopped him was in his chest as the knife remained sticking from his body. The sound of a mixture of blood and air bubbling from his wound told them that he was stabbed in the lung at the very least.

Brass immediately kneeled next to the body and felt his throat for a pulse. "Get an ambulance for this guy! He's still alive!"

Grissom grabbed onto Sara as they both searched the room for any signs of Brandy Costello and their daughter.

"Mr. Kessler!" Brass yelled at the man. "Mr. Kessler!" Slowly, his eyes fluttered open as he gasped for air. "Brandy Costello, Mr. Kessler! Where is Brandy?"

"Stays . . . in . . . mat room. . ."

"The mat room! Where's the mat room?"

"Cellar," he gasped.

"Spread out! Hit every floor–especially the basement!"

"Ab. . .by," he got out as he looked past Brass at Grissom and Sara. "Not. . .here."

Grissom pushed past Sara and knelt down next to him. "Where is she? Where's my daughter?"

Sara looked around the room again, finding a pink bundle on the floor behind the door. She raced to it. When she grabbed onto it, her heart fell.

"It's a doll," Sara cried. "A doll!"

"Where is she?" Grissom yelled at the other man, but Jerome only stared back at him as he tried to fill his lungs with oxygen. "Where is she?"

Jerome gave the smallest of shakes as he continued to stare at Grissom. Grissom slowly got to his feet again as he looked around the room until he saw Sara and he walked to her. He took the doll out of her hands and tossed it onto the bed then put his arms around her and they stepped back out of the way as medics entered the room and took over the care of Mr. Kessler.

"Do. . ." Sara started numbly as she pulled back from Grissom. "Do you know where this mat room it?"

Grissom only looked at her, then he was back out of the room and starting down the stairs. Sara followed him and they found Brass about to go down another set of stairs with several other officers. They rushed down the steps where they came across a long, dimly lit hallway with doors lining it.

"Do you remember?" Grissom asked Brass and received a hesitant shrug.

"Last one–wasn't it?" Brass forged ahead but gave orders to the others. "Check each room!"

Brass reached the door to the end room slightly ahead of Grissom and he opened it. The room was dark but within a second, Brass flipped the switches that flooded the room with brilliance. Sara looked through wide eyes as she took in the rubber-lined room. There was a little cot in the corner with a suitcase that was opened next to it on the floor, showing a mixture of what could only be described as streetwalker-clothes with the mini skirts, short shorts, halter tops, knee-high boots and spiked heels, and oversized sweatshirts, worn blue jeans and grubby sneakers. The straggly light brown wig sent a chill through Sara as she recognized the unkempt style of Natalie Davis.

"She's not here," Sara whispered as she looked around. She turned and started for the next door available but Grissom pulled her back and tried to usher her back down the hall toward the stairs that would lead up to the first floor.

"You don't need to go in there," he said quietly.

She only glanced at him. The suspicion that he knew exactly what was inside the room nagged at her. She grabbed the handle and pushed it open then reached for the light. This time the room wasn't quite as bright as the last one but the appliances that were sitting throughout left no room to doubt what they were for. The straps that were attached to each device shined from excessive use even though each seemed in a sterile, pristine condition. She glanced at the walls and saw various sized and shaped "utensils" to be added to the stimulation the recipients received during their stays at "Lady Heather's Room of Bondage." Sara looked around the room then turned and looked at Grissom who was by now going through the room to make sure it was empty. Sara moved on to the next room and the next, each room showing her a side of human nature that although she was aware of, she didn't want to contemplate. The fact that her husband knew what was inside each of these rooms didn't go unnoticed.

"She's not down here," Brass said as he finally caught up to her and when she turned to look at him, his expression changed to one of understanding. "He knows what's in here because he's had to investigate it enough–that's all."

She nodded her head and started back for the stairs where they met other officers who were coming from the back of the house and the upper floors. Sara watched as the ambulance left with Jerome Kessler inside.

"There's nothing here, Captain," one of the detectives informed him and Brass nodded in acceptance then turned and started for the door with Grissom and Sara.

Nick and Greg came up the steps of the porch with Catherine in the lead. She paused in front of Sara and squeezed her hand, then looked at Grissom. "We're going to go over it with a fine-tooth comb, Gil–you know that."

"I know," he told her then walked past her and out the door to the car he had been driving.

Sara made it to the passenger's door just as he started the car and she wasn't sure if he would have actually waited for her if she had not made it in time. She closed the door and buckled up then grabbed onto the door handle as he peeled down the street.

"Where are we going now?" She asked.

"To get answers."

They remained quiet as they drove back to the station. Sara occasionally glanced over at her husband only to find his gaze pointed on his driving with no evidence that he was even aware that she was with him. Upon pulling into the garage, he slammed it into gear, pulled out the keys and was heading inside the building by the time Sara was just closing her door. She hurried to keep up with him but he continued his silence until he thrust open the door to the room they had vacated earlier. Upon seeing no one there, he turned and barged back out.

"Heather Kessler!" He barked at the receptionist. "What did you do with her?"

"Mrs. Kessler was released nearly an hour ago, Dr. Grissom."

"She what? Under whose authority?"

"Judge Daniels and Mrs. Kessler's lawyer saw to it. The judge sent a rush through on her bail hearing. He more or less side-tracked it altogether if you ask me."

"Where would she go?" Sara asked Grissom, finally breaking the silence that had remained between them since they left Heather's. "Other than clients–she doesn't have anyone else–does she?'

"You'd be surprised," he said as he glanced at her, then turned back toward Brass's office where the captain was just entering. "What now?"

"I just got word that someone matching Brandy Costello's description tried to get into Rosa Brennan's house but she never got close enough to actually go in. When she saw our guys still searching through the place, she drove off in a black Lexus. We've got an APB out on it so hopefully she'll be found soon. What about Kessler? Where are they keeping her?"

"She's been bailed out," Grissom told him.

"Right. She got through to someone–didn't she?"

"Evidently Judge Daniels owes her a few favors."

"Well, he just bought her enough time to get out of town and if she's fast enough–out of the country."

"You can't let that happen!" Sara finally spoke up as the thought of the woman actually getting away with everything once again ripped through her. "What about her granddaughter? Would she take her granddaughter with her if she left the country?"

"You heard Kessler and the girl," Brass told her. "Heather doesn't sound as if she's too interested in anyone but herself." Brass paused as he looked at Sara. "But if she could use the kids. . ." He turned back to his desk and started typing in his computer.

"What are you doing?" Grissom asked.

"Getting Jerome Kessler's address. She's got to be there."

"I don't think she'd risk. . ." Grissom started but Sara didn't want to hear what he thought and didn't think Heather Kessler was capable of anymore.

The moment the address came up on the screen, Sara turned and grabbed the keys out of Grissom's jacket pocket. She was out the door of the office before he even realized what was going on, but she could hear him calling after her as she hurried back to the garage. She went a little faster and managed to pull out of the garage by the time Grissom and Brass came through the garage doorway. It seemed to take forever to get there even as she was running red lights and swerving through ignored stop signs. She watched the city disappear behind her as she went into suburbia and then found the large house she had been looking for. She parked down the street about half a block then went back and began knocking on the door. After another attempt an older woman answered the door.

"Yes?" She asked as she stared at Sara.

"Is this the home of Jerome Kessler?"

"Yes, it is," she answered.

"Who is it, Gram?" Came the tiny voice from directly behind the woman and Sara could see the little girl who was wearing a nightie and sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"I don't know, honey. Go back in the other room now."

"But that baby is crying again and I can't sleep."

Sara's eyes went to the older woman instantly just as the woman began closing the door, but Sara caught it and pushed it open again. Sara gave a final shove that gained her entrance but when she tried to run past Allison and her great-grandmother, the older woman grasped onto her arm.

"Please–please, don't let them take Allison!"

Sara could hear Heather's voice from the rear of the house as she spouted orders to someone and before Sara could gain entry into the kitchen, she heard the door slam closed. Sara shoved through the kitchen's swinging door only to find Heather standing there, leaning against the counter as she looked at Sara. Sara ran past her and out the back door but saw the black Lexus rushing down the alley. Sara turned back into the house.

"Where is she?" Sara demanded but Heather only shrugged her shoulders. "Where is she, you fucking bitch!"

Sara grabbed Heather by the shoulders and started slamming her back against the cabinet, only stopping when she heard the crying behind her. Sara turned her head and looked at the girl who was watching the scene unfold before her with terror in her eyes and it only took a moment for her to realize the child was watching, what she had come to know as a grandmother, being beat. The other woman entered the kitchen and looked at Sara through huge eyes.

"No! Stop!"

At first Sara thought she was talking to her, but the crashing of something hard against her head clued her in that the woman was trying to stop Heather's attack on Sara. Sara put her hand to her head, trying to clear it a moment which gave Heather the time to rush past her and toward the front door. Sara was after her in a millisecond and she dove onto her, knocking her to the floor in the hallway. She struggled beneath her as Sara tried to find some way to keep the woman in place but saw nothing.

"Here–use this!" The older woman handed Sara what appeared to be a length of clothesline. "Get that bitch out of here! I wanted her out of Jerome's life when he was only a boy but he wouldn't listen to me until he found out what she was really like and now she's got her hooks into him again!"

Sara looped the line around Heather's wrists and tied her securely before pulling her up by her arm and a handful of hair.

"Where is she?" Sara growled again.

"You'll never find her," Heather spit at her in a whisper.

"Here!" The older woman approached her again with an elastic band that would normally be used to hold small items together. "I'll do her legs!"

The woman dropped to her knees in front of Heather in an attempt to wrap the band around her ankles but with a swift, powerful kick, she was struck in the face and knocked unconscious. Sara looked at her with disbelief then looked back at Heather.

"Showing your true colors, Heather?" She asked as she yanked on her hair and banged her head back against the wall, then shoved her to the floor where she immediately sat on her knees and finished what the older woman had started.

The little girl who had been in the kitchen began crying in full now and Sara jumped to her feet and went to her. She stood there with her finger in her mouth and turned to Sara with red eyes.

"I want my Gram."

"I know, honey. But if you come with me, I'll take you to her."

Sara held her hand out and the girl hesitated a moment then slowly approached her and took it. She didn't know "which" grandmother the child was talking about but she knew that she couldn't let the little girl see either one in the states they were in. Instead, she took the child outside and started around to the front of the house with her. The lights that were flashing informed her that Brass had arrived; the voice that boomed from inside told her that Grissom was with him.

"Where's Sara?" Grissom yelled in a near-hysteric tone.

"She took my granddaughter, Gil! She said if I couldn't tell her where her daughter was–she was going to take my granddaughter!" Heather cried just as Sara arrived in the doorway to see Grissom lifting Heather to her feet.

"Where is she?" Grissom tried again.

"I told you–she took Allison!"

Grissom turned and started back out toward the front door but stopped when he saw Sara standing partially in the front lawn, now holding the frightened child in her arms.

"Mrs. Grissom, we can take her now," said a female officer who walked up to her but when she tried to hand the child to her, she clutched more tightly onto Sara's neck and started to whimper.

Heather tried to take a step toward Grissom. "Gil, you can't believe that I'm involved in any of this. I only came to get Allison and perhaps find out what Jerome had done with Abigail. I had no idea he was behind all of this."

Sara was about to rush back into the house and pound the woman's head against the wall a few more times, child or no child in her arms, but she stopped when she saw Grissom spin around with his arm outstretched. Sara would never be sure whether the act was intentional or accidental, but the impact of the back of his hand striking Heather's face sent her reeling backwards against the wall.

"Where–is–my–daughter?" He thrust at her as he towered above her and for the first time ever, Sara saw fear in Heather's eyes. But the fear quickly masked over as she returned to her stone expression as she glared back at Grissom.

"Do you think that intimidates me, Gil? I do this for a living! You once told me all I had to do was tell you to stop, but we never did–did we? We continued whether we were interrupted with your affair with that woman or not. I always forgave you and took you back."

"I want my baby!" He yelled at her again.

"So–do–I." She turned her face away from him, clearly zoning him out and he grabbed onto her shoulders but before he could move a muscle, Brass was calling into the house for him.

"Griss! We've found the Lexus! It crashed into a steel guard rail about two blocks down the street. The Costello girl hit the windshield. I don't think she's gonna make it."

Grissom slowly turned and looked at Heather who was now holding the slightest hint of a smile as she looked back at him.

"What do they call this?" Heather asked coldly. "Payback time?"

He rose his hand again but stopped himself and turned toward the front of the house where Sara was watching. He rushed back to her and grabbed the child she was holding and pulled her away even as the child fought to stay with her, and he handed her to the waiting officer.

"Sorry, kid–she's already taken."

He took Sara's hand and pulled her along with him as they hurried to the car Sara had driven there. They traveled in the direction Sara had seen the Lexus going and within another block turned right and found the crashed vehicle. The sight of the young woman slumped over the steering wheel slowed their steps, until they heard the distinct cry coming from the back seat. They raced around to the passenger's side and tried to open the door only to find it was crimped in the crash. Sara looked at the front door which was unusable as well, but then noticed the open window. She practically dove through it then climbed between the driver's and passenger's seat until she was finally in the back and unstrapping her daughter from the car seat. She couldn't stop the gasping sobs that started to escape her as she shuffled across the seat and squeezed between the front seats again. She handed Abby to Grissom who was reaching through the opened window for her. At her loss of contact with Abby, Sara felt lost. All she wanted was her daughter. She moved back toward the window but as she was shuffling her body through she felt a hand grasp onto her ankle. She turned and saw Brandy looking at her through blood that was spilling down over her face.

"But she said I could have her," Brandy said weakly.

Someone's arm grabbed Sara and yanked her the rest of the way out of the car. When she was standing on the ground she saw that it was Grissom who was still holding Abby. Sara grabbed onto the child and hugged her tightly while Grissom maintained his hold on them both and mumbled his thanks to his god against Sara's hair.


	190. Chapter 190

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety

When they arrived at the hospital, the staff was already aware of the circumstances of Abby's return and Dr. Zartman was alerted. Within minutes she was in the emergency department examining the child.

"I don't suppose you know what they fed her today," Dr. Zartman inquired as she listened to Abby's tummy with her stethoscope.

"We brought the diaper bag that they were using. We're sending the bottles to the CSI lab to see if they tampered with her formula," Grissom told her.

"You think they might have drugged her?" Dr. Zartman asked as she pointed her pen light into Abby's eyes. "She seems to be reacting relatively fine. I'd say if they added anything to her formula, it was minimal. But, I guess we'll find out soon enough from the lab. As far as drinking the formula–she doesn't seem to be dehydrated, so it looks like her stomach has been handling it since they took her. If you recall, I was going to begin her on formula anyway to see if she could handle it. Evidently, she's doing much better."

"Can I take her home with me?" Sara asked with concerned eyes.

"I'd like to keep her just long enough to get the results from the lab. I want to know if they find anything in the bottles "before" you take her. It's better than sending her home then calling you back in. But, other than that, I'm going to leave it up to you. We can either keep her overnight and monitor her hydration again–or at this point, I believe you can do just as well simply watching her reactions to her formula. If she doesn't do well, you can start her on the Pedialyte again. But, like I said, we'll wait for the results from the lab first."

Grissom turned back to Sara. "I want you examined while we're waiting."

"I don't want to leave Abby." She held onto Abby's hand. "I'm fine."

"That may be–but I think it would be best to make sure the baby is alright."

This statement turned the doctor's attention back to Sara and Grissom. "The baby?"

"She's pregnant–and she was knocked down a flight of stairs today," Grissom said to strengthen his argument.

Dr. Zartman looked at her with a raised brow before looking back at Grissom. "I understand it was a "trying" time or the both of you, but may I ask "how" she was knocked down a flight of stairs?"

"It wasn't by him," Sara told her dimly, catching the suspicion of spousal abuse. "It was one of the people who took Abby."

"Mrs. Grissom, it wouldn't hurt to get looked at. If nothing else, it will probably put your mind at ease if they find nothing wrong. No point in worrying when there is no need. How far are you?"

"I–don't know. I only found out I was pregnant yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure they'll come up with a rough idea concerning that, too. Come with me, Mrs. Grissom. If I take you to get you checked in and we'll have an OB look at you."

Sara looked at her doubtfully, not wanting to leave Abby so soon but after another encouraging look from Dr. Zartman, she reluctantly followed her out of the room. In a matter of minutes she was put into a room of her own and after another fifteen minutes a lab tech was drawling blood for a serum pregnancy test. It took another half hour before the doctor entered and began her exam.

"You're going to be sore for a while, that's for certain," he told her as he looked at the bruised areas she had obtained during her fall.

"Actually, I'm not doing too bad. I'm not hurting so much."

"Shock. You've been through a lot today. Once you go home and get a good night's rest, I have a feeling you're going to wake up and feel like you've been run over by a truck."

"What about the pregnancy?" She looked at him through concerned eyes.

"There's actually a lot of padding down there that protects the embryo. You'd be surprised what a body can go through without losing the baby. Amazingly enough, the stress could do more damage than the fall." He moved his hands over her abdomen and started probing, then took her hand and helped her into a sitting position. "I think you're best bet would be to go home and stay in bed for a week."

"That's going to be impossible. I have a three-and-a-half-month-old to take care of."

"You better find someone to help. I heard what happened and can understand your need to be with your baby, but it would be best if you have some extra help. This would be a good time for your husband to step in and take over for a while."

"I really would rather take care of her myself."

"You might prefer it, but believe me, once you wake up and feel all this, you're not going to be able to do it. Pain meds are going to be limited to acetaminophen, and muscle relaxers are out of the question. You're just going to have to grin and bear it. Anyway, if there's any remote chances of something going wrong with the pregnancy, you'd be better off if you were resting for the next few weeks."

"Then you know how far I am?"

"From the size of your uterus and your hCG level, I'd estimate ten weeks. You know you're still in the dangerous period, so I can't stress enough that you need to be taking it easy for the next few weeks, until you're out of the first trimester." He sat at the computer and typed some information into it. "As of now, you're high risk considering you had a miscarriage just over a year ago, and now you're pregnant again only about a month after delivering a high-risk birth. You also had preeclampsia during your pregnancy?"

"Yes. I delivered Abby several weeks early because of it."

"I'm going to send the request through to start you on prenatal care. I want you monitored closely and we'll try to keep you out of trouble as much as possible this time."

Sara looked up at the door when she heard a short knock, then watched as the doctor moved to the door and looked outside. After a few words he turned and looked back at Sara.

"Visitors," he gave her a small smile. "May they come in?"

Sara gave a small nod and watched as Grissom entered with Abby, letting his gaze go from Sara back to the doctor. "How is she?"

"She's good, actually. I was just telling her that she's going to be extremely sore by tomorrow morning, but as far as the pregnancy goes, she's still doing alright. She's going to need you doing most of the care for the next week or so. Will you be available to stay home with her full time?"

"No," Sara spoke up. "He won't. He's going to be extremely busy over the next few weeks."

Grissom looked at her in confusion. "I'm–not going to be busy–I don't plan on . . ."

"You'll be too occupied with . . . other things."

"Other things?" He asked.

"Alright–other people," she whispered. "I "won't" be going home with you!"

The doctor looked from her to Grissom then back again. "I can't allow you to leave here planning to take on the full care of a three-month-old, Mrs. Grissom. Believe me, you're not going to be up to toting a child around all day."

"I'll be taking Sara home with me," Grissom explained, turning Sara's eyes on him. "Abigail is going to need both of us with her over the next few days. She's been through enough this week without being separated from both of us again." He looked back to the doctor. "Sara will be well taken care of at our place."

"I also need you to keep in mind that she needs as little stress as possible over the next few weeks. Considering that you are evidently separated–can you provide her with a stress-free atmosphere? Or at least as stress-free as you can possibly make it?" The doctor asked and received a hesitant nod from Grissom then turned back to Sara. "Then I'm going to let you go. I can't force you to stay with your husband, Sara, but I can guarantee that both you and Abigail will be better off being together–and if that means Mr. Grissom has to be involved in your care–I think you can put up with him for a few days." He moved back to the computer and typed a few more strokes before logging out and getting to his feet again. "You can stop at the appointment desk on the way out and we'll get you started on your care. It's nice to have met you, Sara. I'm sure you're going to have another beautiful healthy child in about seven months to join this little girl."

"Thank you, doctor." She watched as he left the room then looked at Grissom who looked back at her. Finally, she spoke to him in exasperation. "You can leave now! I have to get re-dressed!"

"I'll help. I'm sure you're sore from your fall."

"I don't "need" your help. Just leave until I come out. You can go pick up my appointments and discharge papers."

She watched as Grissom left the room before removing her hospital gown and grabbing onto her bra but when she attempted to put it on, she felt the first signs of her body's objections as her muscles groaned with stiff pain. She forced herself through putting on the piece of clothing, wondering if perhaps she would have been better off if her husband had actually helped her get dressed again, but then thought better of it. After another five minutes she had her tee-shirt pulled on and was closing a light jacket over herself. She slowly made her way out to where she found Grissom waiting with Abby.

"All finished?"

"Yes," she took her discharge papers and turned back toward them as she took her daughter into her arms and walked toward the exit with him. "What did you find out? Did the results come back from the lab?"

She noticed the hesitation as he put his hand on her elbow to usher her through the door and toward the parking lot.

"Yes, they found a mild tranquilizer but when they tested Abigail, there wasn't any evidence of it in her system. Evidently Brandy hadn't given it to her yet."

They approached the car and she opened the door for him to put Abby into her car seat. "I would think that if it had been Brandy who was tranquilizing Abby, it would've been done immediately, not "after" Heather met with them."

"I–don't know," he said quietly as he strapped Abby into the seat.

"Don't you?" She asked as she closed the door then moved to the front, passenger's seat. "No, I don't suppose you would."

He got into the driver's seat and sat quietly looking ahead before finally starting the car and pulling onto the street. "They said Abigail's hydration was excellent. She didn't suffer any fluid loss while she was gone."

"Oh? I guess they must've taken exceptional care of her."

"I'm not saying that. All I'm saying is that Abigail's doing well." He continued to drive toward their apartment. "I think it would be best if we don't keep bringing up things that are going to cause you more stress."

"Is that for "my" benefit? Or "yours?"

"How about Abigail's?" He looked over at her, then reached over and took her hand in his. "Look. Right now we've got so much on our plates that we don't need to constantly fight over what can't be changed. We don't want Abigail to soak up all the tension that's between us."

Sara just stared at him. She knew it was true. For Abby's sake, she would be willing to stay in the same place as Grissom. But that would only be until she and Abby recovered from their ordeal. Nothing had changed. The fact that he found out Heather was behind everything didn't change the fact that he chose that woman–every time–over Sara. He defended her to the very end, refusing to believe what the woman was capable of–what Sara tried to explain to him that she was capable of. It didn't change the fact that instead of coming to Sara in Costa Rica, he chose to go to Heather's bed first. It didn't change the fact that her trust in him was ruptured. Finally, she pulled her hand out of his.

"Then don't force me to do things I'm not prepared to do."

He remained quiet for the remainder of the ride home, only speaking to Abby as he lifted her from her car seat. Together, they moved inside the apartment which seemed empty and cold as the moved about inside. Sara went through the living room, turning on lamps then moved on to the kitchen. Grissom put a sleeping Abby in her bassinet then came back out of his bedroom to find Sara looking through the luggage he had brought back to the states with him.

"I don't think you're going to find any more of Abigail's things in there. I took everything out since we've arrived."

"Where is it?" She sighed tiredly as she looked around the room.

"Dirty. I told you that in the hospital before she was . . ."

Sara looked up at him and cringed at his inability to say what actually happened. "Abducted?"

He turned away from her and went back to the bedroom where he looked at Abby then back up at Sara. "I imagine you're getting tired from all you've been through the past few days."

"The past few "weeks" you mean, don't you?"

He seemed to ignore her comment as he continued. "You should lie down and rest awhile."

"If I'm sleeping in here–where are you sleeping?" She asked.

He looked at her a moment. "I'll be sleeping on the sofa."

Sara gave a short nod, then turned back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock and decided on a warm shower then went back to the bedroom where she rummaged through the dresser until she found an old pair of lounge pants and one of Grissom's tee-shirts. Another few minutes and she was between the sheets, allowing sleep to finally overtake her.

Sara didn't budge until the following morning when she heard Abby crying in the bassinet a few feet away from the bed but when she tried to hop out of bed as was her usual custom, she felt as if every muscle in her body was screaming. She let out with a low moan as she tried to get into a sitting position with her feet resting on the floor but before she could get fully up Grissom was already lifting Abby from her resting place. He barely glanced at Sara but at the last moment came to the side of the bed and aided her in sitting up properly but in the process she let out with a louder groan as a sharp pain ran down through the small of her back.

"My back," she gasped. "I think it's going into spasms."

He looked at her then gently probing her lumbosacral area.

"Did the doctor say you could take anything for the pain?"

"Tylenol."

"I can't imagine you'd be allowed muscle relaxers. It looks like you're going to be stuck on your rump until the spasm works its way out."

"I–I need to. . ." She started and when he looked at her questioningly, she reluctantly went on. "I need to go to the bathroom."

He turned with Abby and put her back in the bassinet, then came back to Sara's side where she was trying to get to her feet. He held his arm out for her to grab onto and he slowly maneuvered with her into the bathroom. Once at the toilet, she scooted him out until she was finished. She tried to make her way back to the bedroom as she leaned on the sink's countertop then worked her way to the door but once she opened it, he was back at her side and helping her back to the bed. She found a glass of water and some extra strength Tylenol sitting on the night stand next to her. He gave her the pills and waited until she drank some of the water to wash them down, then stood by as she eventually got settled onto the mattress. She wanted nothing more than to be able to get to her feet and pick up Abby but knew it would be futile to try–at least for the rest of this day, if not into the next. She moaned deeply as she tried to stretch her legs out across the mattress, the position putting more pressure on her back. She closed her eyes against the pain and felt her tears burn her eyes. She felt completely helpless and she hated it. The touch of Grissom's hands on her thighs jerked her eyes open.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm simply lifting your legs and putting some pillows beneath your knees. It will help alleviate the pressure on your back." He lifted his gaze from her legs to look at her faces. "Regardless of what you may think of me, I'm not into molesting someone completely incapacitated. But, I guess I need to point out, my dear, that for now–you are completely at my mercy."

She watched in silence as he pulled the sheet over her legs and waist then picked up Abby and left Sara to herself.


	191. Chapter 191

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-One

He sat in his chair holding Abigail. How could he put her down? He nearly lost her to illness–and then he lost her to–he couldn't even say it. His mind was numb. His only connection with the real world at this moment was the baby he held in his arms. The child's mother was asleep in the other room, not realizing that she no sooner had fallen asleep than he was in the room, taking the child into the livingroom with him. He held her off and on through the night, only dozing occasionally as she would sleep on his chest with a blanket draped over her to keep her warm. And when he would doze, he would be jerked back to consciousness with vivid images of faces jumping out at him.

The first dream had Natalie Davis staring at him through her oblivious eyes. "I've got a pain in my. . ." He stayed awake for nearly a half hour after that. He didn't want to see Natalie Davis–but he could understand why he'd be dreaming of her tonight. When he fell asleep again, Brandy Costello jumped out at him, declaring that "she said I could have her." He jerked awake from that and felt as if he were going to throw up. His breathing had accelerated and his heart felt as if it were going to pound out of his chest. He hugged Abigail more tightly to him. Just who "she" was–he didn't want to think about right now. He "couldn't" think about it. He was afraid that if he were to think about it now, he would lose what control he had on his thoughts–scattered though they be.

He needed to focus his mind on Abigail and Sara, even though Sara wanted nothing to do with him. And could he blame her? Jesus God! Could he blame her? A sob escaped him as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the far wall where a shadowbox hung with a collection of butterflies and moths inside. He only allowed a brief thought about the night she gave him that shadowbox–another night he had disappointed her. He wouldn't think about that now. So, he got up and put Abigail back in her bassinet as made himself a sandwich then picked her up again. He ate then checked her diaper, needing anything to do just so he wouldn't go back to sleep. But after a diaper change and a bottle of formula, his eyes started to droop as he held his daughter against him again.

"I'll always be here for you, Grissom. You know that. I'll never turn you away."

He didn't even have to fall asleep to hear Heather's voice declaring her devotion to him. He immediately covered his eyes with his hand and a sob escaped him. He trusted her! And for him to turn everything around in an instant and see that she was behind all of this–everything–was more than his scrambled mind could contemplate at this moment

He had never given her his heart as he had to Sara, but he had loved her in their own way. How long was it? Over five years? He wasn't even sure anymore when he entered that building with Jim and opened himself up to her. But he could have never loved her the way he loved Sara. He thought she knew that.

He stood up immediately and put Abigail back in her bassinet then went to the kitchen and poured himself a shot of bourbon. He couldn't think about this now! It was all inconceivable that she could have done any of this.

He wouldn't think about it now! He couldn't! He'd just shut himself off–tune out. He was not ready to deal with this. He was exhausted. So tired. He got up and went to the baby's hamper and started doing her laundry.

He slept on the sofa this time, this voice coming to him almost metallic as it echoed through his brain. "Do you trust me?"

He could feel himself smile as he looked into those chocolate orbs and felt himself melt. The first real warmth he had felt in weeks. "Intimately."

The room spun around him and she stood before him again in the layout room, this time, the love was gone and was replaced by pain. Pain he had caused. "It's fine. Do what you need to do."

Only this time he walked after her. This time he grabbed her arms and turned her to face him. He had to make her understand but when he turned her, they were standing in their apartment in Paris and she made herself clear to him. "I don't want you anymore!"

This time he woke up with the tiny sobs that repeatedly wracked through him. He looked around the livingroom as he gained composure of himself. That was when he heard Abigail cry and he got her again, seeing Sara getting up as well. He couldn't believe how calm he sounded as he spoke to her, touched her flaming hot skin over muscles spasms in her lower back that were bunching with pain, then he helped her to the bathroom. He almost sounded as if he were alright as he got her the Tylenol and water, then put her to bed. He nearly sounded back to his old self when he informed her that she was going nowhere with her back in that condition and would be relying on him completely. He watched as she looked back at him through a mixture of fear and anger.

He was so exhausted by it all. How can he keep his family together with someone who hates him? For every second of love she had ever shown him–he feared he had damaged her beyond repair. He took Abigail to the sofa and changed her diaper again, put a clean set of clothes on her, then went for a bottle to warm. He hesitantly entered his bedroom as he fed Abigail, then leaned back against the dresser as he looked at his wife. He knew she was aware of his presence. She had been trying to maneuver herself on the mattress into a more comfortable position when he entered the room, but stopped and closed her eyes as he stood at the foot of the bed. He remained silent as Abigail drank from her bottle.

"I don't want to stay here like this," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I want to be with Abby."

"Alright."

"Can we find some kind of alternative to this bed so I can be with her?"

"Not today." He moved out of the bedroom where he grabbed a kitchen chair and brought it back in then sat next to the bed. "I'm going to call Nick and have him bring the rest of Abigail's things over. I'll see if Greg can stay with you awhile today and I'll go out and get a crib and some other things for Abigail. I suppose the little things like the decor can wait until you're up and around and you can choose what you want. In the meantime she'll have to do without her mobile and any other little tidbits that you might want to add. . ."

"Grissom! Stop it! I told you. . .I'm not staying here indefinitely. I was forced to stay here for Abby's sake and for the sake of the new baby–but when I'm well enough to leave. . ."

"I thought we could put the nursery in my office. I can clean everything out and either put it in storage or split it between the livingroom and bedroom. . ."

"Grissom!"

"Of course, things that I don't want anymore can be thrown away."

"Grissom! You're not listening!"

He looked at her as he removed the bottle from Abby's mouth and turned her toward his shoulder to burp her. "No. I'm not listening. You're right. You're right about everything. But for now, I'm not listening."

He got up and went back to the livingroom with Abigail. He wasn't going to deal with everything right now. Not now. He needed some time. He needed some rest too.

By noon, Grissom had made breakfast for Sara and taken it in to her which remained untouched when he went back in to her an hour later. She only glanced at him long enough to see that he hadn't brought Abigail back in with him, then she didn't bother looking at him anymore. Without commenting on it, he removed the food then took it out to the garbage. At lunch time he took in a sandwich and some soup and added another dose of Tylenol before hearing the doorbell ring. As he suspected, it was Nick, bringing over the rest of Abigail's clothing.

"How's Sara?" He asked as he stood in the doorway and handed the diaper bag to Grissom.

"Her back is giving her a good deal of trouble right now, like I told you on the telephone. She's unable to come out of the bedroom."

"Can I go in and see her?"

Grissom wanted very much to say no, but decided against it at the last minute. He stood aside and allowed the younger man to enter his apartment before walking him back to the bedroom where Sara was still lying on her back although by now had managed to put an extra pillow beneath her head.

"Hey," Nick said jovially. "Look at you! Taking it easy while all the rest of us are out there running our butts off chasing down the bad guys!"

"I wish I could run my butt off–but right now it feels about five-hundred pounds."

"Is there anything I can do? Do you need something to hold on to so you can turn on your side? Do you need help eating?"

Grissom watched the man offer these things–things "he" should have thought of, but didn't, and he watched as Sara grasped onto the man's hand and pulled herself into a more comfortable position.

"Okay," Nick asked. "Now, how about the food? Is there anything I can do?"

"Just put this pillow behind my back and it should raise me enough to be able to eat it by myself."

"Sure–sure," he told her anxiously as he helped her into a more upright position and put the pillow behind her. "How's that?"

"Better. Thanks." She looked at her food, then at Nick again. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"Nah," he gave a short laugh. "I have a date waiting at Frank's and you know what today is."

"Wrangler Special Day, huh?" She gave him an amused smile.

"You bet."

"Anyone I know?" She asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Your date? Anyone special?"

"Uh–yes and yes. And that's all I've got to say on that subject." He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. "So, if there's nothing else I can do for ya, I'll take my leave and go see another pretty little lady deserving my attention."

"I bet she is. Say hi to Mandy for me."

"Okay," he said as he started to turn away from her, then stopped and smiled over his shoulder ". . ."if" I happen to see her."

Grissom watched as Nick made his way back through the apartment and left them alone again, then came back to Sara.

"You know, you could've asked me to help you sit up."

She shrugged her shoulders. "You haven't been in here long enough to ask you much of anything."

"I thought you preferred it that way."

She went about eating and when she was finished he took her dishes away. When he came back to the bedroom he found Sara trying to reach for the bassinet.

"What are you doing?"

"I want Abby," she said quietly. "You can't keep her from me like this."

"I'm not trying to keep her from you. Would you just lie down again? Believe me, the more you rest your back right now, the sooner you'll be able to get up and do everything for Abigail that you want to. Just lie down and I'll bring the bassinet closer."

He offered Sara his hand and she used it to lower herself back into her flat position but turned slightly toward the side of the bed where he then pushed Abigail. He took the seat close by again and watched as she reached over the edge and stroked Abigail's cheek as the child slept, then rested with her hand holding onto the baby's. He watched her and could feel the burning at the back of his eyes, wanting nothing in this world more than to be able to slide up behind her on the bed and hold her; let her lean back against him as his body provides her with the warmth and support her stressed muscles need and her body provides him with the emotional support that he needs.

"You don't have to stay here to watch, you know. I think I'm capable of lying with her without causing her any harm."

"I'm tired, Sara. I'm simply sitting here." The sound of his cell going off in his pocket moved him to his feet immediately. He didn't want it to wake Abigail. "Grissom."

"Hey, I'm down at the station and thought you might be interested in what's going on," Jim said with various voices coming from behind him. "It seems your drama queen is too ill to be sentenced."

Grissom looked at Sara then walked toward the kitchen. "I–I'm not sure I want to be involved with this, Jim."

"Well, it looks like you're already involved because she's spouting that you had a hand in everything–everything from the beating she took to the abduction of Abby."

"That–that can't be true. Heather wouldn't do that."

"Still blind, huh?" Brass said with disgust.

"I "meant" she wouldn't do it because she'd know how ridiculous it is. No one would believe it. Anyone who knows me knows I'd never do either. She'd never fall back onto something so ridiculous."

"There are several witnesses stating they saw you back-hand her at Jerome Kessler's house, so I'd tread lightly, buddy."

"I didn't mean to hit her! It just–happened! I turned too fast and . . .and I don't think Heather would be claiming this. Heather's much too intelligent to try anything so weak."

"Weak or not. . .it's circulating and it wouldn't be too far-fetched to warn you that they might be sending someone down to question you."

"I can't leave here to be questioned. Not with Sara in the shape she's in. You never know how long the questioning could take! I need to be here to take care of her."

"If they decide to send someone for you, you're not going to have much of a choice."

"If I come down on my own and put an end to this nonsense I'd have a better chance of getting back to Sara in a reasonable amount of time. I know Heather–maybe I should come down and speak with her." Grissom turned absently when he heard something behind him but didn't see anything in particular.

"You think that's going to make a difference?"

"I think if anyone can get through to her, it would be me."

"Yeah–and I imagine that's what Jerome Kessler thought too and look where it got him. He's in the hospital fighting for his life."

"Heather didn't do that. That was Brandy Costello and you can't convince me otherwise."

"Yeah–whatever," Brass said with disbelief before adding, "That's not all. The old lady–Kessler's mother–they're not sure she's going to make it. It seems she got kicked from the front then flew back and cracked the back of her skull off the radiator."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be. They're trying to pin that one on Sara. It seems old Mrs. Kessler was trying to stop Sara from attacking Heather and in the process Sara stopped her with a good swift kick in the face,.according to Heather, of course."

"I–I don't know what happened to her. She was already unconscious by the time I arrived. If Sara pushed her away, I'm sure it was accidental. Sara wouldn't kick an old woman in the face," Grissom said weakly. "I'll be right down, Jim. I've got to talk to her. I won't have anyone coming in here trying to take Sara into custody."

Grissom hung up the telephone and turned back toward the bedroom as he dialed Greg Sanders.

"Yeah?" Greg answered.

"Greg. I need to step out of the apartment. Would you be free to spend some time with Sara and Abigail until I get back?"

"When do you need me there?"

"Now. If you can get here quickly, I'll leave right away."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"I'll leave the door open." He hung up again and looked at Sara who was now sitting very gingerly on the chair he had taken in as she held Abigail in her arms. "You shouldn't be up like this!"

"I needed to hold her," Sara said unemotionally.

"I have to go out. Greg's going to be here in about fifteen minutes–so please–get back in bed and I'll let Abigail lie on the mattress next to you." He took Abigail from Sara and extended his hand to the woman. She slowly took it and with his help maneuvered herself back onto the bed. She watched as he moved around to the other side and lay Abigail next to her.

"You have to go out? You just swore you were practically exhausted. Something come up more important than rest?"

He looked at her momentarily but noticed that she was giving her full attention to Abigail again, so he turned and started for the door. He had to get these allegations straightened out before they came for Sara.


	192. Chapter 192

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Two

Greg arrived inside a half hour and was eager to help Sara in any way he could. Little did he know that one of his first chores was to set up the laptop so she could begin research she knew she now must accomplish. Her husband may have threatened that she was under his mercy now, but it wouldn't be that way forever. She looked at Greg as he held Abigail and played with her and she knew other changes had to take place as well. Both applications were completed on-line and she knew she'd be receiving the packet for her first task and she was printing out the petition for the second.

She knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time. She was positive about the first possibility when she stepped onto the plane in France to return home. The fact that Grissom actually returned to the states only made the job easier as far as legalities go. The second problem arose when she realized that her daughter had been named after her husband's mistress. But, they were going to be taken care of now and as soon as she was able to be up and get around, she would begin her life anew. She wouldn't look back. She couldn't.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom stood outside the interrogation room and watched as Heather sat on the other side. She seemed as calm as usual as Catherine sat on one side of the table with Jim and Heather sat on the other side with a man presumed to be her lawyer.

"I think Mrs. Kessler has made it abundantly clear that she was only doing as Dr. Grissom instructed," her attorney voiced.

"So, because "Dr. Grissom" told her, she had Brandy Costello dress up as Natalie Davis "and" come into Desert Palms "and" walk away with his own daughter–as a sort of "Gaslight" type deal in order to make his wife think she was insane. He's been sending this girl after Sara for over a year now, and when Sara left the country, he decided to go after her, then begin his harassment with the Natalie-look-alike. Come on, Heather!" Jim said between an amused laugh and a roar. "You can do better than that!"

"Believe what you like, Captain Brass," Heather said coolly. "The fact is that your friend enjoyed my company. He enjoyed the lifestyle I had to offer him. He just–got a little–over enthusiastic the last time we were together."

"So, you're saying Grissom gave you those bruises on your throat and face."

"Yes–he did." Her coolness was making the room frigid. "But it was consensual. Just as his plan was consensual to take his daughter and my granddaughter so we could be together and live as a family."

"This is ridiculous," Brass said with disgust. "You keep with your delusions, lady, but you're not going to convince anyone of this crap. What were your plans? Go off with Grissom and do the same to him as you did to Kessler? Play the little black widow and shove a knife into Grissom's chest too?"

"I didn't do that!" Heather said, showing some fire in her glare as she looked at Brass. "I wasn't even there! That was between Brandy and Jerome! I would have never hurt Jerome–he was Zoey's father! Whatever happened to Jerome, he called upon himself. I can't be responsible for what a girl does while she's high on crack!"

"Just who provided her with that crack, Heather?"

"I do not condone the use of drugs!"

"But you'd let a drugged up kid take care of a three-month-old baby–a kid who was highly suspected of killing her own child–to take care of a baby you are claiming to want to raise as your own."

"I was going to get the child at my mother-in-law's house. Things just got out of hand again."

"Speaking of your mother-in-law," Catherine said softly as she leaned forward and showed Heather a picture of the woman who was now on a respirator. Heather turned away. "You're claiming that Sara Grissom. . ."

"I said, Sara Sidle!" Heather broke in.

"Okay, Sara Sidle–kicked the woman when she was trying to rescue you from Sara's attack. Is this true."

"Yes. I tried to stop Sara but she went after her anyway."

"Then, Heather," Catherine pushed another picture in front of Heather, a close-up of the bruise left by the kick. "Can you explain to me how the bruise from the kick matches the heeled boots you were wearing, and most definitely not the athletic shoes Sara was wearing."

Heather looked down at the picture, then looked at the mirror and straight at Grissom who stood on the other side. "I can't explain that. I can only tell you what happened."

Catherine gathered her pictures and stood up, looking at the other man across the table from them. "There's no evidence here to support her allegations that Sara was involved in any way to the injuries the senior Mrs. Kessler sustained. I think you can see that it can, and will be, easily proven just who kicked the woman–and if she dies, I'm sure charges will be brought against the correct person. Jim, I'll let Nick come in and go over what he's collected."

Grissom watched with surprise as Catherine left the room and Nick Stokes entered a short time later, also carrying some photos. He barely looked at Heather as he stood at the end of the table and spread several photos out before her.

"You're claiming that Gil Grissom was the person who gave you those bruises? Around your throat, particularly? I believe you said it was a favorite "activity" of his?" Heather refused to answer so he went on. "According to the photos taken of your throat, we've compared them in size to both Grissom's and Jerome Kessler's hands. Kessler's fingers are longer than Grissom's and easily could have made those marks as you can see here. Gil Grissom's fingers are shorter and couldn't have reached the bruised areas. So, as you can see, this blows your allegations that Grissom was partaking in rough sex earlier this week and then again yesterday morning when he supposedly met you down in the parking garage of the hospital. Would you like to add anything at this point?"

Heather slowly looked up at Nick and gave him a small smile. "I'd think you'd be happy, Mr. Stokes. Everyone knows you're in love with Sara and would jump at the chance to break up her marriage to Dr. Grissom."

"Oh, I'd jump at the chance to break up the marriage alright, but it isn't because I'm in love with Sara. It's because I love her like she's my own sister and she deserves to be treated better than this!"

"It wouldn't be the first time a brother and sister felt that kind of "love," Nicky. Would you like to "talk" about your deep, dark, feelings concerning Miss Sidle?" Heather taunted, but instead of riling Nick, the man simply looked over at Brass instead.

"I think we've got that much cleared up. I'll see that this gets to the proper place, Jim."

"Thanks, Nick."

Nick turned and walked out of the room but instead of heading in the direction Catherine went, he turned and came back to where Grissom was standing, stopping suddenly upon sight of him.

"I didn't do it for you–you know that, don't you?" Nick asked finally. "Abby doesn't deserve to be labeled the daughter of a man who gets his kicks beating women. I wasn't going to let her ruin Abby's life."

Grissom gave him a hesitant nod, not knowing what else to say as he watched Nick walk past him and leave the area.

"Well, seeing as we have nothing against either Dr. or Mrs. Grissom, I'm finished questioning Mrs. Kessler at this point," Jim said as he got to his feet.

"What about his involvement in the abduction?" The other man questioned. "You haven't proven a thing with your photos. If Dr. Grissom was instructing Mrs. Kessler to initiate the abduction. . ."

"Well, even if he did," Jim broke in. "And I'm sure once everything is brought out in the open within the next day or two, we'll see that he didn't–there is nothing illegal about a man taking his own baby from the hospital. There is no need to pursue your request for us to charge Dr. Grissom or his wife with anything at this point." He looked from the man to Heather and gave her a sweet smile. "Lady Heather–it's been a real pleasure to see you in here today."

Grissom watched as Brass left the room then came around to stand next to him.

"I–don't understand why she's doing this to me." Grissom said weakly.

"Don't you?" Brass looked over at him. "Madam Heather is going to do anything to save her ass. Right now, you're the most convenient means to that end."

"But she knows it won't work. We're a CSI unit for Christ's sake! She knows that everything she says will be proven one way or the other. There's got to be more behind this than simply wanting to save herself. She's protecting someone, otherwise she wouldn't have put herself into this position."

"You keep believing that if it makes you feel like everything's right in your world. But it isn't going to get you anywhere but deeper in this hole you've gotten yourself into."

"I've got to believe it, Jim. How can I believe that she's deceived me all this time? If she's capable of doing all of this–it goes against everything I've ever believed."

"But, it's everything Sara's ever told you about her." Jim looked at him with disdain. "You chose that woman over Sara's truth every time. I think it's time you open your eyes before you lose the one you swear you want. Because if you don't look at the truth pretty soon, you're going to end up right where Heather wants you."

"I "am" looking at the truth–but it's so damned hard! It would be the same as if you tried to tell me that Catherine attempted to kidnap Abigail or do any of the other things Heather's been accused of."

"No one's ever tried to tell you that Catherine was anything like Heather." Brass started walking down the hall and gestured for Grissom to follow until they entered Brass's office and the captain went to the laptop sitting on the desk and clicked a few buttons. "I think you better sit your ass down and take a good, hard look at the rest of these emails that were sent to you. I've already sent them on for evidence but you need to see them as well. I don't know how many Sara's seen, but I know there are a few that will only hurt her more if she ever saw them. So, all I got to say is that you've been warned about Heather repeatedly and still you went back. I hope, for your sake, that your last foray into her clutches hasn't ruined everything you've been working toward since Sara walked into your life."

Grissom looked at Brass, definitely not wanting to go through this right now. "Can't this wait until later?"

"Sure. Go home and watch them, but I wouldn't do it when Sara's around."

The insinuation that the contents of the emails were of something that was extremely explicit turned Grissom's stomach. He slowly approached the desk and took a seat. The first three emails were the initial emails sent to Grissom while he was in Paris and the following three were of Brandy Costello and Jerome that he had seen earlier. The next video was older than the first ones and Grissom recognized it immediately. It was during the time he was trying to locate the person who had attacked Heather in the saloon. He watched the split screen as one side showed both Heather and himself. As he stood there he had been oblivious to Heather's reactions as she looked past him and out the window as she saw something that seemed to interest her greatly. The other side of the screen showed Sara standing in the dim light that was escaping from the window, a look of complete horror on her face as she watched the scene unfold inside the house. When Heather looked back at Grissom she was nearly beside herself with grief and went into his arms for consolation, embracing for a long time before she left him to close the drapes, blocking Sara's view. Defeat was spread across Sara's features as she turned away from them and walked out of the frame. The other screen showed how he and Heather simply moved to the table, each sitting on separate sides as she poured more tea.

That video ended and Grissom went to the next email and upon seeing himself holding Heather on his lap as she cried against his shoulder, his stomach twisted in knots. It was the same night as the last video but later, much later, and she had seemed devastated until he started to console her. He watched as his simple stroking of her back and hair turned her toward him. He watched as she leaned into him and soon their hands were holding onto one another. He didn't even realize how he had gotten onto the sofa with her but soon their mouths tasted one another's and within moments, she grasped onto his hand and moved it upward until he was sliding it, on his own, beneath her dress. He then watched as he jerked away, nearly pushing her to the floor as he moved away from her. Then he noticed the look of contempt that entered Heather's eyes, something he hadn't had the opportunity to see at the time, as he was dealing with the immense guilt of what he had done–or nearly done. He watched something cold and vile enter Heather's eyes as she looked at him, then got to her feet, straightened her dress, and walked out of the room.

Another email had a video of a telephone call received by Heather. He watched as he stood on the other side of the room, picking up his cup of tea, not seeing at that time, how she looked at his caller ID on his cell phone.

"Yes? May I help you?" Heather said in a breathy voice.

Grissom could hear the hesitation, then the tiny sobs coming from the other end of the phone as Sara tried to talk. "I need to talk to the person who owns this phone."

"I'm sorry, but he's indisposed right now." Heather turned and smiled at Grissom on the video and he gave her a questioning smile. "Could you give me your name and when we're through, I'll give him the message."

"Heather?" Grissom's asked in confusion then watched as she clicked the telephone closed. "That's my phone. Where did you find it?"

"It was right here–all the time. I can't believe we didn't see it before this. Oh–someone called–I believe it was Sara but I can't be sure. I tried to explain that we were in the middle of a discussion but evidently she didn't want to wait." Heather told him then turned back toward the mantle with a smile tugging at her lips and a look of satisfaction in her eyes.

Grissom closed that email, feeling as if his head were about to explode. He recognized the time and place and after hearing what was going on the other end of the phone for the first time–he realized that Sara was losing their first child as Heather refused to give him the message. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to regain some of the sanity he felt he was losing. He opened his eyes and looked at the computer with his hand still covering his mouth then almost of its own volition, his other hand slowly reached to click on the next email.

He cringed as sight of him in Heather's bed with her came up–he silently watched what should have never been and when he closed that email prematurely and opened the next, it was a continuation of their night together. Again and again he closed them before the end, only to go onto the next one and see himself in a position he wanted to forget. After four emails of that sort, he went on to the next one where he found Jerome and Heather in the same bed. He listened to Heather saying things to Jerome that Sara had been trying to tell him for years.

"I thought when I got rid of that first mistake, that would be the end of it!" Heather told Jerome as she lay in his arms. "I never thought she'd take him back after that–but after her abduction he must have caught her off guard and convinced her to stay with him. Can you imagine! I NEVER would take someone back who cheated on me as thoroughly as he cheated on her."

"But I thought you said he didn't actually have sex with you except for those two occasions–the first night he met you–and then before he went to Costa Rica," Jerome looked at her more closely, causing her to smile at him.

"You don't have to have sex to cheat, Jerome! Every time he came running to me–he betrayed her–he chose me over her wishes. It's one thing to betray the body–but when you betray the mind–that's unforgivable! I would never have taken him back! So, I had him come running every chance I could–and in the end–when she had had enough and went to another country–he came running to me of his own free will!" She chuckled. "It was delicious to watch him, so deflated as he whined on and on about her. And then–again–he chose me."

"But he chose "her" in the end–not you. He left you and went to be with her. He gave her more than he ever gave you."

"He gave me "everything!" He gave me his pride that night! I had that much before he went for her."

"So, to compensate for the humiliation of him leaving you to search for Sara, you sent those videos of the two of you to Sara. Did you get what you wanted? Did you really think you were going to get him back?"

"Oh, yes–I got what I wanted. Sara knows she can never trust him again. And I know he'll still come running any time I snap my fingers."

"So, he's just another puppet on your string."

"No. Never a puppet. More, a pet. A puppet does whatever I want, whenever I want. A pet can have complete devotion and yet be defiant. It adds spice to the relationship if you're not 100% sure. Gilbert Grissom will always be an enigma to me. A puzzle that may take me a lifetime to solve–but will so enjoy doing it. And while doing it–knowing that imitation of a woman can never interfere with us again."

He could look at no more. He felt as if he were suffocating. He needed fresh air to breathe. As he got to his feet, he felt the floor give out beneath him and he lost his balance. Everything seemed to go topsy-turvy as he grasped onto the bookcase against the wall, then lunged forward to grab onto the doorframe. He looked up in time to see Brass about to re-enter the room, concern spreading across his face as he reached for him.

"You okay?"

"I–I have to get out of there." He started tugging at his shirt collar, pulling it away from his throat. "I need some fresh air."

"Gil?"

Heather's voice turned Grissom's fogged attention toward the woman as she was being lead from the interrogation room and paused only ten feet away from him. Her figure swayed before him as he looked at her, but still he approached her.

"What did you do?" He managed to get out. "What have you done to me?"

"Done to you? Gilbert, I've loved you. I've loved you as no other woman has ever loved you."

"You haven't loved me! You have no concept of what that word means! Why? Why me?"

She stared at him a long moment as if in indecision about whether or not she wanted to answer him. "Because you were the there."

He watched as she turned and walked back through the hallway with her attorney and a female guard.

"Grissom?" Brass's voice came through to him almost in an echo but he didn't respond as he turned and started for the nearest exit.

The sweltering heat of Las Vegas pounded down against him as he walked through the garage and got into his vehicle. The air conditioning helped him breathe a bit easier as he turned it on full blast and pulled into the street, then almost of its own will, the SUV found its way back to his apartment.


	193. Chapter 193

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Three

Sara pulled herself up, using the trapeze system that Greg had fixed onto the head of the bed. Through a series of rods, chains and handles it enabled her to move about using the muscles of her arms and legs more than the muscles of her lower back.

"How's it working?" Greg walked into the bedroom as he fed Abby a bottle of formula. "Caitlin told me about this–she says they use it in rehab all the time. It speeds up the recovery time by days."

"It's amazing." She gave him a smile of appreciation. "Instead of weighing five hundred pounds–my butt only feels like it weighs about fifty."

"Is that how much it's supposed to weigh?" Greg asked with raised brows, then turned to look back toward the front of the apartment when they heard the door open and close.

"What? My butt?" She asked absently as she glanced at him then back toward the doorway to the bedroom. "I should hope not."

"I–um," Grissom said as he moved to the doorway and glanced at her then looked away again. "I'm home. Greg, if you have things to do. . ."

"Well," Greg said uneasily. "I wasn't "really" expecting to stay this long. I–um–sort of had plans for before I went to work."

"I'm–sorry. I was detained. Please, feel free to leave. I can take over now." He turned and went back out of the room and Sara wondered if he was even aware of what he had just said. He seemed so far removed.

"Well, I guess that's my sign to get outta here," Greg gave Sara a small smile as he walked closer to her with Abby. "Are you up to holding her?"

"Actually–I am." She reached for Abby and he placed her in her arms but when he released her the baby started to pout and fuss. "Uh-oh. Looks like you're stealing someone's heart. She doesn't want you to leave."

"That's what they all say," he teased. "Too bad it's only the little ones. I could use that outlook from a few of the "older" females in my life."

"Ah, you know I love ya, Greggo." She smiled up at him and he gave her a wink as he turned and walked out of the room.

"I'll talk to you later. Give me a call in the morning."

"Goodnight, Greg," she called after him as she maneuvered Abby on her lap so the baby was leaning against her bent legs. She held onto her hands and proceeded with a game of patty-cake as she chanted to her. "Who's all bright-eyed this time of night? Hmm? Who's got my heart all tied up with a bow with those beautiful blue eyes?"

Sara chuckled at the way Abby was looking back at her with wonder, then actually smiled at her.

"It used to be these blue eyes that had your heart all tied up in a bow," Grissom said softly as he stood in the doorway again.

Sara's smile faded as she looked up at him, then went back to talking to Abby as if he hadn't interrupted. "Look whose sooo-big! Sooo-big!" She said as she extended the child's arms wide open. "Did you grow three inches since this morning?"

Grissom slowly moved to the chair closer to the bed as he inspected the "trapeze." He inched the chair closer. "Nice set-up. It's a wonder the hospital didn't send this home with you in the first place."

"Greg said Caitlin suggested it." She glanced from him back to the baby as she continued to play with Abby.

"Is it working? Does it help?"

"It seems to be."

He nodded his head once then reached over to where Sara was holding onto Abby's hand and covered both of them with his own. Her eyes lifted from Abby to him. She nearly flinched at the emptiness in his expression.

"I'm–sorry," he whispered.

She stared at him a moment, then slowly pulled her hand from his, allowing him to continue his hold on Abby before she gently shook the baby's other hand in play. "Are you? What for this time? Surely not for your latest trip to Heather's aid." She looked back at him again. "Really? I'm actually getting used to it. So–no big deal. Oh? Didn't think I knew where you were going this afternoon?"

"I "thought" you probably were aware of where I was going. But I wasn't going to aid "Heather."

"No?" She looked back at Abby who was now pulling her father's hand up to suck on his knuckle. "Well, little miss Abigail, what are you doing on Mommy's lap? I think Daddy's going to have to take you on a little trip to the changing table. Which–by the way–Daddy said he was going to get while Greg was here."

He reached for Abigail and lifted her from Sara's lap but remained standing there as he looked down at her. She glanced back up after a moment but he turned and left the room. She reached for her laptop that had been lying on the other side of the mattress, partially hidden by the pillow she had been using under her knees before Greg hooked up the trapeze. She opened it and listened as the first notes sounded through the room.

"Jesus Christ," came Grissom's uncharacteristic whispered curse and soon he was coming back through the doorway with a freshly diapered daughter. He took hurried steps toward the bed and his whole body language alerted Sara that something was wrong. "Give me that."

Sara looked from him to the laptop he was reaching for and quickly pulled it away from him. She glared at him in a silent challenge to try to get it again. This time he reached more slowly but again, she pulled it away.

"Something new and exciting for me to see?" She asked sarcastically.

"You don't need to see them," he said so weakly that she barely heard him. "You don't have to look."

His words only intensified her curiosity, a curiosity that twisted her stomach in knots, but still she clicked on her email. Envelope after envelope popped up but instead of being labeled from "Hadley" as they had been so many weeks before, they were quite clearly from Heather Kessler. She glanced back up at her husband and saw the anguish in his eyes, then she clicked on the first envelope.

The sight of Heather and Grissom on the sofa as he slid his hand up the woman's dress only served to turn Sara's emotions off. She had no more interest in seeing whatever else Heather had sent her and she had no interest in seeing the rest of this email. If anything, it showed her that her husband had been with that woman on more than one occasion. Sara clicked out of it, then deleted it. One by one, she deleted the emails without looking at them.

"You're right," she said dully. "I don't have to look anymore."

He watched her and although both felt completely void of energy and emotion, they both could feel the electricity in the room while at the same time, feeling the emptiness.

"It really wasn't what it looked like," he said quietly.

She didn't respond. The statement was so completely absurd that she didn't want to waste what little amount of energy she had left dealing with it. Instead she shut down her computer, pushed it to the other side of the mattress again, then maneuvered herself with the trapeze until she was lying again. She closed her eyes and could hear him whispering to Abby as he finished changing her clothing. She knew he would take the child to the rocking chair and rock her to sleep before putting her in her bassinet for the first portion of the night. After that, she didn't know what he was going to do. She wasn't very concerned as she knew she was going to force herself to sleep through the rest of the night until she was capable of getting up without the muscle spasms in her back. She thought briefly about the papers she had printed out earlier–papers that she hadn't retrieved from the printer in his office, but she didn't have the will to deal with that either. She just wanted to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom rocked Abigail as his mind raced while at the same time stood still. He would either pull the baby up to gently kiss her hair or he'd hold her and stroke her arms amd legs–sometimes touching her fingers and toes. She seemed to take great pleasure in reaching up to touch his beard and on occasion would grasp onto his nose for a sense of security.

"I don't deserve you, little girl," he whispered to her as she looked back at him through eyes so much like his own. "You are such an angel and I certainly am undeserving of anything remotely angelic."

He rocked more in silence then lay his head back and closed his eyes. Images of Sara with nothing but pain surrounding her heart–pain that he had put there and continued to do so, even when he felt he was completely devoted to her. He lifted Abigail against his shoulder and he started to hum to her and soon he could feel that she was sleeping. How often had he gone running back to Heather, knowing it was going to harm his relationship with Sara but feeling that her reasoning was completely unfounded. He was good at that–turning the blame onto Sara. And still, she put up with him–over and over again, she took him back and exposed her generous heart to his negligence.

He didn't deserve Sara. He didn't deserve anyone. He should have just stayed hidden behind that microscope and never come out. But he didn't. He created a love like he had never thought possible then created life through that love. But then he destroyed every aspect of Sara's love for him. He destroyed his son. He nearly destroyed his daughter. And now, with this new child coming, he nearly destroyed it, as well.

For what? What the hell did Heather possess that made him choose her wishes over Sara's time and again? What was it about her that made him believe every single thing she told him, while doubting the integrity of the woman he loved?

It came blaringly clear to him. It was her job–her profession. She made her living convincing men that she knew them better than their wives. Her livelihood depended on her ability to manipulate men into believing in whatever they were looking for in her. He–was looking for a side of her that she was too frightened to show other people. He was searching for her vulnerability, only to have her grasp onto "his" vulnerability and never let go–and his vulnerability was Sara. How did he let her take what was most precious to him and twist it into something negative? "It's what she does! It's her profession! And she's damned good at it!" Screamed the voice in his head.

He didn't deserve to be forgiven. He didn't deserve this life he needed as much as the air that he was breathing. He couldn't bear to release his wife–and yet he could see no plausible reason for her to stay. But the thought of her walking away cut his breath short–restricting that air that he so craved. He couldn't live without her.

He took a shaky breath then got to his feet and went in to the bassinet where he pulled the blanket back then lay Abigail on her side. He looked around for a stuffed animal of some kind to put in with her but saw none. He walked to the little basket on the dresser where he had put some of her little toys and lifted out a puppy dog that traveled all the way from France. He allowed himself a tiny smile as he imagined Jim picking it out for Abigail and purchasing it for her. He pulled it up from the other toys but in so doing, it caught on a neighboring animal and tugged it out onto the top of the dresser. Desert Palms was written across the front of the scrubs that covered the little teddy bear and he felt sickened by it. Heather's gift to his "little dark-haired beauty," she had said after she learned of Abigail's middle name and its meaning.

The puppy dog was placed in the bassinet next to Abigail and he walked out of the bedroom with the teddy bear. He didn't think twice as he dropped it into a plastic grocery bag, then tossed it into his garbage. He had the sudden urge to wash his hands but when he went to the sink, the urge turned into something stronger and he went into his bathroom where he turned on the shower. He closed the door between the bedroom where Sara and Abigail were sleeping and the bathroom and soon he was standing under the steaming water. He let it pound down on him until the heat started to diminish, then he scrubbed his body until the diminished heat turned to near cool.

The lounge pants and tee-shirt went on and he went back to the bedroom where he saw that they were both still sleeping, then he went out to the sofa and spread his length across it. His fingers rubbed his eyes then pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on. He just hoped he could escape into the world of slumber as easily as Sara had.

He listened to the truck that was pulling out of the parking lot below them, then he listened to the air conditioning unit and when he listened even more closely, he could hear the ticking of the clock. Tick, tick, tick, tick. . .and soon he was lulled to sleep.

Jon Bon Jovi was singing in the background as the lights swirled above him. He was in his black tux and he felt exhilarated. He knew what to look for as "Make a Memory" played around him. The hand that slid up his jacket–just the slightest of touches but making his whole body tingle. He turned his head and there she was, looking so young and beautiful and exciting and everything he ever wanted in a woman as she stood before him in her red dress. His heart started beating so hard he was sure she could feel it as he took her in his arms and started swaying with her, stroking her back as the music filled him and he wanted nothing more than to make this memory come alive and stay with him forever. He looked at her face, so close to his and his breath caught in his throat at her beauty. Those chocolate eyes that could draw him into their depths. Those lips that could turn his world into a place worth living, and then she smiled at him and he knew his life was never going to be the same again. He inhaled deeply, elation flowing through his chest as he pulled her against him and hugged her, never wanting to let go. He could feel the music throbbing through his heart and he couldn't imagine it getting any more full than it was with Sara in his arms. He dipped his head until he was pressing his lips against her temple, then he whispered, "Let's go home and get Abigail."

The coldness seeped into his body and he stiffened. His eyes went to Sara immediately, looking for an explanation but she was looking at the hands on her arms, hands that were pulling her away from him and he could see Terri Miller flashing before his eyes, then in another flash, Sophia Curtis appeared, and then it was Heather Kessler's face that was between him and his happiness.

Grissom woke with a start and couldn't seem to battle the cold that invaded his body. He was shaking so badly he could barely move into a sitting position. The emptiness in his chest was overpowering him. What had been filled only moments before with warmth and brightness, was gone now. He tried to grit his teeth together but was shaking so much they chattered. God! Was it really so cold in here?

He rushed into the bedroom and looked at Sara and Abigail, but both were sleeping soundly. He reached into the bassinet and touched Abigail until he was reassured that she was safe and warm. When he looked at Sara he noticed that she had the sheet kicked off of her legs, indicating that she was comfortable with the temperature as well. It was clearly not too cold in the apartment, but he couldn't seem to stop shivering. He looked at Sara and could still feel the barren void of his dream when she was pulled away from him and he craved her nearness more than he had ever craved anything in his life. He needed to touch her; needed to absorb some of her warmth into the cold, frigid hole in his body. Gently, he slid onto the bed and moved over until he was on his side, facing her. All he needed was some warmth as he buried his face against her hair and put his arm over her stomach, holding onto her hip as he pulled her gently against him. His thigh moved over top of her leg in an attempt to wrap himself around the burning embers she held within. His shaking continued as he clung to her but the stiffness of her body seemed unnatural to him. He opened his eyes and looked at the face who was now looking back and he sobbed his horror as he saw it was Heather.

Grissom sat up from the sofa and searched the living room for signs that he was, indeed, awake this time. He ran his hand over his bearded face, still feeling the dull ache of a headache that was threatening to come on full force. He knew he had better take something to curb it now or he would be suffering so badly by morning that he wouldn't be able to get up and provide care of Sara or Abigail. Imitrex–Imitrex. Where did he leave his Imitrex? He tried to remember the last time he used it and recalled one of the nights he was alone in his apartment before Abigail became ill. He had been cleaning out his office when he felt a headache approaching. He slowly made his way into the office and turned on the light, then took his seat at his desk and opened the medicine bottle. He dropped a tablet into his palm when his eyes lifted slightly to take in the papers that were sitting in the tray of his printer. He knew he hadn't left anything there so quickly decided it must be something of Sara's and considered that she couldn't make it all the way across the apartment to the printer, so he decided he'd take the documents to her.

He lifted the pages and started back to the kitchen where he stopped for a drink of water to wash down the pill. This time when he lifted the papers, he glanced down more closely to see what they might be. Petition for Divorce jumped out at him and he felt as if he had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. He grabbed his reading glasses and went to a lamp in the livingroom and sat heavily on the rocking chair next to it. He read his name and Sara's. He read their personal information then went on to the reason for request and found "Irreconcilable Differences" listed. He flipped to the next page and saw a Petition for Change of Name of a Minor and in the blanks provided were typed Abigail Lela Grissom. In its place was Abigail Charlotte Grissom. He moved on to the third page and saw it was a repeat of the Petition for Change of Name of a Minor which had been printed out five minutes after the first one. This time Abigail Lela Grissom was changed to Abigail Charlotte Sidle.


	194. Chapter 194

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Four

His first instinct was to crumble the papers into a ball. His second instinct was confrontational. He was in his bedroom in an instant as he towered above Sara. He watched her getting some real sleep for the first time in days, possibly weeks, and he looked back at the papers he held in his hand. He couldn't force himself to rant and rave at this point. He had already put her through too much. Instead, he sat in the chair facing the bed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. He watched her sleep, wondering for the thousandth time that night how he could have put her through so much torment.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, just watching her, but when she started to stir, he decided he didn't want to wake her yet. He needed this time to think so he went back to the living room and sat in the rocking chair. He looked at the papers in his hand again. Would they be better off if they cut all ties and walked away? He had no doubt that Sara would–but Abigail? She was his–despite what he had put them through. He grew up without a father in the forefront and he understood how, if you had a wonderful mother, you can survive and move forward with your life. But the emptiness is always there, he thought sadly. He didn't want that for Abigail. He didn't want that for this new baby that was on its way.

He got to his feet and started pacing the floor. They were Grissoms, goddammit! They had his blood flowing through their veins–no matter how much Sara may want to deny it at the moment. He went to the cabinet and got down the bottle of JD and took a shot, hoping the heat of it would soothe him then he went back to the chair and sat staring out the window at the night sky.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara's back ached and was stiff from lying in bed. She could feel the weight shift on the mattress and then the large body that was moving up behind her. She had a moment of indecision. She didn't want him here! Then she felt his coldness as it pressed against her back. She felt his hand move around her and grasp onto her hip and pull her back against him. The coolness of his body started to ease the heat that radiated from the injured area in her back and she leaned more fully into him. It was the first complete relief she had felt since her topple over the bannister in the stairwell. She reached behind herself and touched his beard as he slid his legs up beneath hers and spooned perfectly with her.

"Do you want me to go?" He whispered into her ear.

"You're making my back feel better," she whispered in return.

"I always make you feel better," he chuckled as he pulled her closer.

She smiled as his hand playfully moved upward from her hip and cupped her breast. "Is that supposed to help my back?"

"Hmm? I don't know about yours, but it's helping mine immensely," he teased.

"Really?" She asked as she began turning around to face him. "And just what's wrong with your back, Dr. Grissom?"

She turned from her side and onto her back and felt the sudden emptiness of the bed as she opened her eyes. The morning sun was shining through the window and she actually felt rather good. She turned onto her other side and noticed that she did so easily. She used the handle to the trapeze to hoist herself into a sitting position, more out of precaution than the actual need, then she placed her feet on the floor. She glanced around, noticing the quiet, and wondered why she hadn't heard Abigail all night. She checked the clock and saw that it was just after 8 o'clock. As she approached the bassinet she noticed the puppy Brass had given to them in Paris was inside with her, although it was now lopsided as Abigail was repeatedly batting at it and cooing.

"Hey, pretty girl," Sara smiled down at her. "You're all awake and didn't bother waking me or Daddy?"

Sara reached into the bassinet and lifted Abby, chuckling slightly when she watched how the little girl reached for the puppy but when it was no longer within eyesight, she turned her attention to her mother's necklace. Sara took a tentative step toward the doorway and upon finding that although she was still a little stiff and sore, she had full function of her lumbosacral muscles, she moved forward into the kitchen where she prepared a bottle to be heated. She then moved into the livingroom where she knew she could find a supply of fresh diapers but she stopped upon sight of Grissom as he sat in the rocking chair with his head leaning against its back. She started to quietly walk past him, hoping to grab a few diapers to take back to the bedroom with her, but as luck would have it, Abby chose to let out with a startled cry just as she was standing next to her father.

"Where are you going?" Grissom's voice was absent of any emotion.

Sara turned and looked down at him, noticing how his eyes were red rimmed and he looked tired–so tired.

"I–wasn't going anywhere. I'm just getting some diapers for Abby."

"But–where are you taking her?"

This time she glanced down at the papers he still clutched in his hand and she realized he wasn't talking about her journey across the livingroom. She lowered Abby until he took her and the little girl quickly showed her excitement by reaching up to touch her father's beard. She took the papers from his hand and looked through them.

"I'm not–taking her anywhere." She took the paper requesting the change of Abby's middle and surname, and ripped it in half. "I was angry. I over-reacted. This–" Sara spread her hands out in a gesture to envelop them. ". . .problem is between us–not Abby. But we "will" be changing her middle name. You will not name "my" daughter something that your mistress instructed you to name her."

Grissom squinted as he looked at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I won't argue about this, Grissom. You tried to make me think I was either so doped up on pain killers that I was hallucinating–or perhaps your aim was to make me look so paranoid that I was insane–but either way, it was made extremely clear that you definitely called Heather the night I gave birth to Abby; the night I battled preeclampsia to give life to your child."

"No! Sara! I didn't!"

"Stop it!" She demanded. "I will not discuss this any farther! I will not allow my daughter to carry a name that constantly reminds me of Heather Kessler! You do what you feel you need to do, but I'm through with it and want nothing more to remind me of this disaster." She sighed as she started back toward the bedroom.

He was on his feet in an instant and followed her. "You've got to believe me–I never discussed Abigail's name with Heather! Not until I came back to the states with her, and then it was just in passing. There was nothing to it."

"I don't believe you." She went to the bag of clothes Nick had brought for her and pulled out a clean set of clothes then started for the bathroom. "I'm changing her middle name to Charlotte. At least I know you didn't have an affair with Charlie while we were in the jungle–she was too much in love with Ted to go to bed with you."

"Stop it!" He grabbed her arm before she went through the doorway. "I don't care what the hell you call her! As long as she keeps "my" name."

"I already told you I wasn't going to change it." She tried to turn but he kept hold of her arm.

"And what about the divorce?"

"That's not negotiable."

"I'll contest it."

"Why?" She felt her throat tighten as she stared at him. "Why would you ever want to do that! You've made it abundantly clear that you prefer someone else. I–I don't want to go on like this! I "can't" go on like this!"

"And I, " he dropped his gaze from hers. "I "can't" let you go."

"You already let go–the moment you turned to that woman." She pulled her arm away and went into the bathroom where she closed the door.

When Sara came out of from her shower she found Grissom making breakfast as Abby sat in her seat that was perched on the kitchen table. She took note that her favorite breakfast was being prepared, even though it wasn't one that Grissom preferred. She saw the empty bottle sitting on counter which indicated he had fed Abby. He turned and looked at her then turned off the stove, slid the omelet onto two plates then brought them back to the table. He poured some orange juice and got some toast from the toaster, then looked at her as she stood, leaning against the counter.

"Are you going to sit down and eat?" He asked.

"You have to sign the papers."

He shrugged his shoulders as he took a seat and proceeded to start eating. "I'm not sure I like the idea of changing Abigail's name to Charlotte. It does, after all, mean diminutive and womanly. For all I know, in three months, you won't like what that means either and want to change it again."

"Do you think this is a joke? You may have thought it was funny to name your dog after my ex-boyfriend–but at least there was no honor in it. And I certainly didn't carry on an affair with Hank after we broke up, and especially after I started sleeping with you."

"And what if I find no honor in naming my daughter after someone because you think I "didn't" have sex with them?"

"So," Sara crossed her arms over her chest in a very defensive manner. "You won't sign the paper to have her name changed."

"I didn't say that. I said I wasn't sure I liked the name Abigail Charlotte. After all, I didn't even know Charlie very long."

"Oh? Is that the criteria? It has to be someone you've had an affair with? Would it be better if we named her Terri?"

"I didn't have sex with Terri."

"I'm NOT naming her after Heather!"

"I didn't ask you to," he said calmly enough as he looked at his meal and continued eating. "I would think that by now, you'd realize that "I" don't want to name her after Heather either. I never did. You're the one whose turning this into such a fiasco. Did it ever occur to you that I named her Lela – the dark-haired beauty – because of you? You, my dear, also have dark hair, as does Abigail."

"Of course it occurred to me! But I was quickly corrected of that ridiculous idea when Brandy Costello informed us otherwise!"

"Brandy Costello was full of shit. She was half crazy–why take her word for it?"

"She said Heather. . ."

"So Heather was full of shit too!" He barked then looked back at his food. "I don't care what you call Abigail! Change her goddamned name to Daisy Mae Klampett if you want to! It wont change who she is. But don't accuse me of running off to call Heather while you were recovering from the Caesarean section because it didn't happen! Give me the damned paper. I'll sign it. Whatever you want. You want to name her Sidle? I'll sign it. You want to. . ." He stopped and looked back at her and he raised a brow as he looked at her, clearly reading her reaction. "Don't! Don't stand there thinking "I" want to change her name to Sidle! You're the one who wanted it! Not me!"

Sara went into the livingroom and picked up the papers then brought them back and placed them on the table in front of him. She reached for a pen and placed that in front of him too.

"You need to sign both pages."

He looked from the papers, then to her, then back to the papers where he signed only one, then pushed it toward her as he looked at her again and sat back in his seat. "I'm not signing that one."

"I don't need you to agree to a divorce. You know that. It will just take longer if you contest it."

"Then it's going to take longer because I am not in any condition to make such decisions right now."

He got up from the table and started scraping his food into the garbage then tossed his dishes onto the counter. He went to the livingroom and brought out a small bath tub and proceeded to put water into it, then started gathering Abby's toiletries. Sara watched in silence as he went about bathing the baby. She remained quiet. She didn't have anything farther to say. What was the point. She went to the tot's clothes and picked out a onsie and some shorts and socks, then brought them back and when he lifted the baby from the tub he handed her to Sara who then went about drying her and getting her re-dressed.

The telephone rang and since the only call either was expecting was a check-in from Greg, Sara answered it.

"Sara," Jim greeted her.

"Hi, Jim."

"Uh–Sara. I've got a bit of news–and I know you're not going to want to hear it–but at this point–legally, it has to go through Grissom."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Do you want me to get him to the telephone?"

"No. That won't be necessary. You can give him the message. Jerome Kessler's mother didn't make it. She died this morning at around five o'clock."

"I'm sorry, Jim. She didn't deserve this."

"No–no, I don't suppose she did. But that's not all. It doesn't look good for Kessler either. He went into cardiac arrest about an hour ago. They don't expect him to make it either." He paused a moment. "The thing is, all custody rights of Kessler's granddaughter are turned over to Heather upon his death and his mother's."

"So–I suppose that means she'll be in foster care until Heather can re-establish custody."

"Well, that's where you and Grissom come into the picture. As soon as Jerome Kessler dies, Heather's turning her granddaughter over to Grissom. She's assigning him as her guardian until she can resume care of her."

Sara turned and looked at her husband who was watching her as well. She felt as if the room was spinning as she handed the phone to Grissom. When he took it, she went back to the sofa and dropped onto its cushions, holding her head in hopes that it would stop her dizziness.

"Yeah, Jim?" Grissom spoke into the phone then remained quiet as Brass evidently went through the whole story again. Finally, Grissom turned and looked at Sara and she could see disbelief in his eyes. "I'm assigned Allison Kessler as my ward?"

Sara couldn't stop herself from covering her mouth with her hand as she watched him. "Griss?"

He kept looking at her as he finished his conversation with Brass. "We'll be right there."

As he hung up the telephone Sara slowly managed to get to her feet but lost her balance as the room began spinning again. He caught her beneath the arms and pulled her up against him.

"I'm–I'm sorry," she breathed as she pressed her hand to her forehead. "I'm just a little dizzy."

"It's alright," he whispered as he held onto her. "Come on, you can lie down while I get dressed."

"I'm fine," she whispered.

He kept his arm around her waist as she leaned on his shoulder and walked next to him, then he lowered her onto the bed but when he would have normally stood back up, he remained bent over her with a hand on either side of her. She blinked her eyes several times, then noticed he was still there, watching her.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he looked into her eyes and she slowly nodded her head yes. "Do you feel sick or anything?" She shook her head no. "I'll be right here getting dressed, okay?"

She watched as he slowly stood erect while still watching her, then almost reluctantly turned toward his dresser. He quickly changed into a pair of brown trousers and a tan top then grabbed some socks and put on his shoes. He picked up a jacket then came back to the bed and looked down at her.

"I guess I should call Greg and let him know he can take this contraption back to the hospital," Sara told him in an attempt to avoid discussing Grissom's trip to gain custody of Allison Kessler.

"He can come and pick it up after we get home again. We've got to go down to the station and take care of this. Are you up to it?"

"I–really don't want to be involved in this, Griss. I think now would be an excellent time to go back to Nick's," she tried to explain. "I don't want to interfere with your plans and I don't think you'll have time to deal with me and Abby anyway."

He looked at her a bit strangely. "I've got plenty of time."

He gently urged her to get up again as he allowed her to slowly maneuver herself into a sitting position then gradually stand next to him. He continued to pull her hand in the direction of the front of the apartment where he grabbed Abby's infant seat and tossed two bottles into the diaper bag.

"Let's go," he said as he stood at the door and waited for her to open it. "As you can see, I can't managed this on my own."

Sara watched him a moment. Okay, so he needs help getting set up with Heather's granddaughter. She supposed she owed him that much. By the time he got the little girl back home again, Sara and Abby would be back at Nick's until she could find a place of their own.

Silence prevailed on the ride and even as Sara glanced over at Grissom, he seemed lost in thought. He parked the car and came around to the other side where he unhooked the car seat then opened the door for Sara.

"Do I have to go inside?" Sara asked.

"I don't think I can take care of Abigail and this situation by myself. Are you coming?"

"You can leave Abby out here in the car with me."

"Sara," he admonished quietly. "Come on. I want to get this taken care of." He stood back and allowed her to slowly get to her feet. "Are you okay?"

She looked at him and gave a slight nod, then closed the door and started to walk next to him. She wanted to turn around and get back into the car but decided to push her way through this. It would be one of the last times she would have to pick up the pieces of Grissom's affair with Heather. She might as well do it with as much dignity as possible, for Abby's sake, if not her own. The touch of his hand on the small of her back urged her forward until they were heading down a nearly empty hallway with a well-lit room at its end. They approached the doorway and Sara slowed significantly when she saw Heather sitting behind one table in the large room. Along the wall were wooden benches where Allison Kessler was seated with a woman whose appearance screamed she worked in the foster care system. Next to Heather was her attorney, as well as another man and they both were deep in discussion with one another.

"Griss," Brass's voice came from behind and turned their attention to him as he walked up to them. "I see you brought your family."

Sara glanced at Brass and felt his supportive glance as he looked at her, then reached into the infant seat and gently tapped Abby's nose before turning and starting into the room with the others.

Sara looked at the other people and noted how quiet everyone was. The only noise was coming from the two attorneys who seemed a bit rushed in their conversation. Heather simply sat in her chair and looked up at Grissom but when Sara looked at him, she noted that his attention was on the little girl who was watching them from the bench. After a moment, Allison tugged on the woman's sleeve, bringing her down to her level as she whispered into her ear then received an answering whisper. Much to Sara's surprise, Allison got to her feet and approached Grissom but instead of stopping at him, she went on until she was standing next to Sara where she grabbed onto her leg with one hand and stuck her thumb in her mouth with her other. Sara's shock was evident as she looked down at the little girl who responded by holding her hands out to Sara. Sara's first instinct was to pick the girl up and chase away the look of fear that was in her eyes but she quickly remembered who the child was. It made her stare at her a moment longer, not wanting to be remotely connected to her. Then pity took control and she knelt down and lifted the girl into her arms.

"I member you," Allison whispered into Sara's ear. "You helped Gram stop Heather."

Sara looked at the girl again, seeing how she seemed satisfied with being with someone she recognized as she stuck her thumb back in her mouth and leaned her head on Sara's shoulder.

"Hello," the attorney who was with Heather's attorney finally spoke up. "I'm Mr. Kessler's attorney. I'm here to assist in the transition of custody of his granddaughter. Hopefully it will go as smoothly as possible. Since his death. . ."

"His death?" Grissom asked as he looked at Brass.

"Yeah. He expired when I was talking to you about coming down here."

They looked back to the attorney and he continued. "In the event of his death, custody was to be granted to his mother, but since her expiration earlier today, its to go to the child's grandmother, Heather Kessler. I've accomplished the paperwork for that transition so will now turn it over to Mrs. Kessler's attorney."

The first man looked at the other as he started putting his files back together and into his brief case.

"It's Mrs. Kessler's wishes that in her absence, you will be the legal guardian of Allison, which she will resume when she is once again available." The attorney looked from Grissom to Sara and back again. "She feels the child will get the best possible care under your guardianship. All I need is for you to sign this paper to begin the process."

"Excuse me, Attorney. . ." Grissom said as he looked at the man.

"Jenkins. Bruce Jenkins." The man held out his hand but Grissom ignored it.

"Attorney Jenkins, I came down here to sign any papers that need to be signed that will stop this process."

"Your what?" Attorney Jenkins jaw dropped open as he looked at him.

"I "do" have the right to refuse this situation–do I not?"

"Well–yes–of course. But. . ."

"Gil!" Heather blurted.

"Do you have the paperwork needed?" Grissom asked the attorney, clearly ignoring Heather. "I don't want to waste anyone's time. I'm not willing to take this child into my care. If nothing else, her presence would be detrimental to my own family and if that were to occur it would cause significant stress in any relationship the child might have with us. My concerns lie with my own family, and I have no desire to subject our lives to a situation that would be both unsuitable and possibly destructive to all parties involved. Now–do you have the forms for refusal?"


	195. Chapter 195

A/N: For continuity, I am continuing with the spelling of Leyla for Abigail's middle name–I was spelling it at least three different ways, so I'm sticking with this one from now on.

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Five

"You "are" aware that if you refuse care of this child, she'll be put into the foster system," Attorney Jenkins said coldly.

Grissom glanced at Sara and the child she was holding, then he looked back at the attorney. "I know at least one person who came out of the foster system to shine above all the rest."

"Gil," Sara said quietly as she took a step forward with the child still in her arms. "No. It isn't as easy as that. Foster care can be traumatic to a child. I can't put a child through that."

"Sara," he said gently as he put Abby's infant seat on top of the table near him, then he reached out and took Allison from his wife. "You're just recovering from a back injury–you shouldn't be holding her. And–"you're" not putting her through it. "I" am. We're not responsible for this child."

"But, Gil. . ." Sara started quietly, but stopped speaking when Heather surged to her feet and stepped toward Abby.

"You won't help my granddaughter but you'll drop everything for "her" daughter! Allison's in desperate need of your help, Gil! How can you walk away from her!"

Grissom spun around upon Heather's movement and Sara took a step toward her but stopped when she saw how her husband was looking at the other woman.

"You'll stay away from my daughter," he said in a low voice as he stepped closer to the table.

"Grissom! You can't seriously believe I'd hurt your baby!" Heather looked at him through large eyes.

"I said–you'll stay away from my daughter." Grissom stepped up to Brass without looking at him and absently put Allison in his arms then reached out and pulled Abby and her infant seat back to him. He turned and looked at Sara as he handed her the seat. "Are you up to holding her? She's not quite so heavy."

Sara nodded as she took the baby then watched how Grissom looked back at Heather. Heather lifted her chin defiantly with a new coolness to her eyes. Out of the corner of Sara's vision she could see how uncomfortable Brass was as he held Allison Kessler and within moments the woman in charge of the case was taking her.

"I don't want to go back with you!" Allison cried. "I want my Gram!"

"I'm right here, Allison," Heather said while keeping her eyes on Grissom.

"No! I want my "Gram!"

Heather's face took on an added coolness as she realized the child wanted Jerome's mother–not her. "Isn't it bad enough she has to lose her grandfather and great-grandmother in a single day–now you're going to send her back into the care of strangers."

"Gil," Sara said gently as she put her hand on his upper arm, turning his attention to her and she could see his expression soften as he looked back. "She's all alone."

Grissom turned more fully toward her and placed his hands on both sides of her face to make absolutely sure she was listening to him and focused only on him.

"Sara," he said gently. "I want you to stop and think. I don't want you to be guided only by your heart on this." His comment brought an irritated sigh from Heather, making Sara glance at her but Grissom turned her focus back to him. "Think about what this would mean. I don't "care" if she's all alone. There are thousands of children who go through this every day and are "all alone." And as far as putting her in the care of strangers–that's all we'd be–strangers. We don't know this child. She doesn't know us. If you want to save someone from that kind of life–save someone whose family didn't try to ruin us. Save someone who won't be a constant reminder of what we've been through; someone who won't keep us connected with her biological family for the rest of her life."

"But. . ."

"Sara! If you want to save someone–save us!"

"You're only doing this out of vindictiveness, Gil!" Heather tried again. "Sara's right–Allison's all alone! And I promise, it will only be temporary–I'll take her again as soon as I can! I'll see that you're well compensated!"

Sara glanced past Grissom again and saw the hope flickering in Heather's eyes. She watched her a moment longer, seeing that instead of actually looking at her granddaughter, she kept her gaze on Grissom. Sara handed Abby back to Grissom then approached the woman now holding Allison.

"I want my Gram," Allison told Sara. "Can you take me to my Gram's house now?"

"No, honey, I can't. But this nice lady can take you to another house–a very nice house–and maybe there will be other little children that you can play with. Would you like to have other children to play with?"

Allison nodded her head slowly, watching Sara as if she wasn't quite sure of everything going on around her.

"If she gets sent into the system–there's no guarantee she's going to be kept in suitable conditions," Heather said with disdain.

"Well, Heather," Brass told her. "If you'd invest the money into seeing that she's going into a good home, instead of trying to buy Grissom off–I think you could be sure of "suitable conditions."

"You mean buy "someone else" off!" Heather said snidely to Brass.

"Yeah–why not? You're used to that–a little cash here, a few secrets there–and you're riding with the high rollers." He turned to look at Attorney Jenkins. "You have those papers for Grissom to sign? Or would it be better if he came back another time?"

"No–no, actually, there's a line here that he can sign to refuse the guardianship–it's just that I've never used this option before."

"Well, ya learn something new everyday, don't ya?" Brass said then looked at Grissom as he took the pen and bent over the papers, applying his signature in three places. "Now, if you're finished here, we'll be taking our leave."

"This is your copy," Attorney Jenkins said as he handed Grissom some pages then went about putting his other papers into a file and then into his briefcase.

Grissom folded his papers and put them in his jacket pocket then picked up Abby again. He walked over to Sara and took her hand in his.

"Let's go home," he told her.

Sara looked at him, then at Allison who was now watching the woman holding her.

"I don't want to go home with Heather," Allison whispered.

"You don't have to go home with her," the woman said gently. "It will be alright if we go someplace where you can play with some children–won't it?"

Allison nodded then lay her head on the woman's shoulder. Satisfied that the little girl had made no real connection with her, other than having seen her in her great-grandmother's home, Sara knew that Grissom was right. If Grissom would take her into his home, everyone would lose, especially Allison and eventually Abby. No, Allison would be much better off going to a family, fresh from any baggage that Heather could possibly send along.

Sara and Grissom started for the door.

"Grissom," Heather continued. "I know you think the worst of me–how could you not? But you've got to believe in me." When he didn't stop, she called with more determination. "Grissom! You've got to believe in me! You're the only one who's always believed in me!"

Sara continued on her way, not pausing to see what Grissom was saying to the other woman. When she felt him slip his arm around her waist and step along with her she looked over at him in surprise. He looked back and slowed them until they were standing near the doorway to the garage. Her eyes opened a little farther when she watched him lean in toward her and begin lowering his head but the sound of Brass stopped him and they looked at the man approaching them.

"Hey! You're not leaving without giving me the chance to officially say hello to my little biscotti!"

Sara smiled brightly at Brass's reference to his "little cookie" then turned out of Grissom's grasp. "I thought you'd still be busy back there."

"She'll still be here when I'm finished. I'm taking my break and I thought I'd spend it with my best girl." He stuck his hand down to Abby and allowed her to wrap her fingers around his index finger. "What do ya say, Abby? How about lunch at Frank's?" He looked up at Grissom. "My treat?"

Grissom looked at Sara and saw how she was chuckling at the way Abby was trying to pull Brass's finger toward her mouth.

"Do you want to ride with us? I'll bring you back when we're through eating."

"No. I better meet you there. Never know when I might have to run out on an emergency."

Sara nodded and waited until Brass retrieved his finger then went to the car with Grissom. In a matter of minutes they were sitting across from one another at a booth in Frank's Diner with Abby in her seat, on the table, between them. Sara busied herself by wiping the formula from Abby's chin that she had just finished drinking.

"Are you going to remain quiet all through lunch?" Grissom asked softly.

She looked over at him. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say that when we go home you're going to rip up the petition of divorce and . . ."

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting," Brass said as he approached the table and sat next to Sara, then reached in and grabbed Abby's foot which he gave a little shake. "Hey, beautiful! You pretending to sleep just so you don't have to listen to your old man lecturing about his latest insect infatuation?"

"I can always wait until she wakes up. She isn't going to get out of her entomology lesson that easily," Grissom told him, bringing a chuckle from the other man.

"What can I get for you guys?" The waitress approached their table with tablet in hand.

"I'll take a double with fries and a large coffee," Brass told her.

"BLT, fries and coffee," Grissom told her then they all looked at Sara who was taking her time about ordering.

Finally she looked at the other woman. "What do you have with coconut?"

This comment brought an amused snort from Brass and a raised brow from Grissom.

"Coconut? Um–we've got coconut cream pie, white cake with coconut frosting, any type of ice cream, we could put coconut on top, we can even crush up a Mounds bar or Almond Joy into a milk shake for ya."

"Ohh," Sara moaned her satisfaction. "I want the white cake with coconut frosting. Oh–and some milk."

"Is that all?" Grissom asked.

"You don't think that's enough?"

"I was thinking maybe that would be dessert. Wouldn't you like to get something more substantial than that?"

Sara looked at him a moment, knowing he was only concerned about the welfare of the new baby. "Um–add a cheese danish to that and a coffee."

"Coffee? Should you be drinking coffee?"

"Grissom!" She warned, then looked back at the waitress. "Make it a decaf."

The soft chuckling next to her turned their attention to Brass. "What? You both sound like some old married couple."

"We "are" an old married couple," Grissom said as he leaned back in his seat.

"Do we have to talk about this subject right now?" Sara looked at Grissom with stern eyes. "Our marital status isn't something I want to talk about in public at the moment." She turned and looked at Brass again. "So, what's the story on Brandy Costello? The last I heard, she was in Intensive Care at Desert Palms."

"Yeah, same floor that Jerome Kessler and his mother were on. She's actually doing better than I expected. They say she's probably going to come out of it in time to go to prison."

"What were her injuries?"

"Not sure. Some internal injuries from the crash. Head injuries. I don't know what condition she's going to be in once she's released from the hospital. I mean, she wasn't in top shape before the crash–I don't know what her mentality's going to be after it."

"Do you think there was permanent brain damage?" Sara asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. She's still out of it from her surgery. They'll know more later."

They all turned quiet for a moment, then Sara asked what they were all wondering about. "So, do they know who they're going to charge for the deaths of Jerome Kessler and his mother?"

"We're waiting to see what happens when Brandy becomes more aware, but it's looking like she's solely responsible for what happened to Jerome. I know you're no fan of Heather's and I most certainly couldn't give a rat's ass if she'd be put away for the rest of her natural life–but I don't think she had it in her to kill her ex-husband. She actually seems a bit upset by the news that he died–as upset as she can become." He looked over at Grissom who was sitting quietly and absently playing with the utensils and napkin that was on the table before him. "I guess you think I'm being harsh on her."

"I've–seen her being very emotional," he said quietly.

Sara simply closed her eyes and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"Well, I guess you always did see a side of her that you chose to see," Sara said very quietly, then turned back to look at Brass. "What about Mrs. Kessler? Will there be charges brought against her for her death?"

"DA figures it's going to be considered an accident in the heat of passion. She claims now that she didn't mean to kick her. It was completely accidental and she doesn't even remember doing it."

They all watched as the waitress brought the coffee and poured it for them.

"Well then, that leaves only her part in abducting Abby, doesn't it?" Sara sighed.

"It looks that way." Brass looked out the window and smiled. "Looks like we're getting company."

Sara looked out to see Catherine and Lindsey walking across the parking lot and after a moment they entered the restaurant where upon Brass's wave, they joined them.

"Hey, aren't you two the lucky ones?" Catherine asked as she sat down next to Grissom. "Out with two good-looking girls and now your luck just doubled and you've got four of us."

"Oh, Sara," Lindsey said as she sat on the other side of her mother. "She's beautiful!"

"Thank you, Lindsey," Sara smiled gently at her.

"Look at all that hair! Did I have hair like that when I was small, Mom?"

"Not hardly. You were born with dark hair, then lost it all within the first month and were bald as a cue ball until you were about a year old. Then it came back blonde."

"Mom!" Lindsey moaned.

"Well, maybe not as bald as a cue ball. I guess you had some peach fuzz growing there by the time you were six months old."

"Cue balls and peaches–how attractive," Lindsey said then looked back at Sara. "May I hold her?"

"Yes. Of course." Sara reached into the seat and handed her to the girl, watching as she enjoyed her daughter.

"Oh, look, Mom. Doesn't it make you want to. . ."

"Don't say it!" Catherine interrupted.

"Say what?" Lindsey laughed at her. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were either going to say–doesn't it make me want to have another one of my own–which I'm stating emphatically–no! Or you were going to say, doesn't it make me want to you to have one of "your" own–which again, I'm stating emphatically–no!"

"Not looking forward to those grandmother years?" Brass asked.

"Silence! I won't listen to such foul language," Catherine teased, then looked at the cheese danish, slice of cake and glass of milk that were being placed in front of Sara.

"That has got to be the strangest cravings I've seen in a while. What was it? The sweetness of the cake and the creamed cheese in the danish?"

"Coconut," Brass told her.

"Ahh," Catherine nodded her head in understanding.

"Cravings? Are you pregnant again?" Lindsey asked and upon Sara's nod, went on. "How far?"

"Ten weeks, they think."

"Quarter of the way finished already," Catherine said as she nodded to the waitress, indicating that she would like a cup of coffee also.

"I'll take a Diet Sprite," Lindsey told the woman then looked back at Sara again. "I hope you're planning on having this one closer to home. I can't imagine being stuck in New York City, not knowing anyone but Gil, and having your baby."

"I didn't realize you knew where I had Abby," Sara gave her another small smile.

"Of course I did. I answered the phone the night Gil called mom. They talked about half an hour, then he said he had to go check on you and the baby."

"Grissom called you?" Sara tried to sound nonchalant as she asked Catherine.

"Yes. He was upset. He was afraid he was going to lose the baby and said he wanted to talk to someone who knew what it was like to almost lose a child. I don't know how much assistance I gave him–but it wasn't too much later he called back and told me Abigail was doing fine and you were gaining ground too."

"You were a big help that night, Catherine. Thank you." Grissom told her as he glanced up at Sara.

Memories of Grissom on the phone with someone the night she gave birth to Abby came to Sara and she couldn't help but doubt her earlier suspicions that he had been talking to Heather. It made a little more sense to her now that she was reminded that Catherine had almost lost Lindsey–several times, in fact.

"He was so cute," Catherine teased. "He was talking about names–he said he wanted to get the perfect name."

"Names?" Sara looked up at her.

"Mm-hmm. He said she was so beautiful–and of course looked just her mother. He wanted it to be perfect. As a matter of fact," Catherine puffed up with some pride. "I even made the suggestion of Leyla. Remember?"

"Actually, I wasn't quite sure who suggested it. There was a nurse there making suggestions and I was going through a book of names while I was waiting for Sara to wake up," he said quietly as he looked over at Sara and watched her. "But now that you mention it–yeah–I remember. You also recommended Letitia and Frances."

"Well, Letitia would have suited her–it means joyful. And Frances refers to France–so considering you were going to France, I thought that was a good one too. But I like Leyla. I forget what that one means though."

"Dark-haired beauty," Sara said quietly.

"Oh! That's right. I remember now–because he said how perfect it fit both you and the baby. But where did you get Abigail?"

"That nurse I was telling you about–and before you ask–it means exalted father," Grissom explained.

"Ahh, Uncle Gil!" Lindsey spoke up dreamily. "That's so romantic! I hope my husband is that romantic when I have my children."

"Uh–let's concentrate on college first! Then a career!" Catherine told her, making her giggle as she played with Abby's hair.

"We'll see."

"What can I get you ladies?" The waitress asked as she delivered two plates of food in front of Brass and Grissom.

"Coffee's enough for me," Catherine told her.

"I want the bar-b-qued chicken chunks and mozzarella sticks," Lindsey told her and received a quick nod.

The rest of the lunch was taken up with conversation between Brass, Catherine and Lindsey, who held Abby while Sara ate, then handed her back to her mother so she could work on her bar-b-qued chicken chunks. Sara noticed the glances she kept receiving from across the table but she wasn't up to dealing with them yet. Yes, he evidently was telling the truth about the phone call the night of Abby's delivery–and yes, he clearly chose not to take over guardianship of Heather's granddaughter. And yes–he was even telling the truth about naming their daughter Leyla. But if he thought this could change everything they've been through in the past weeks, he's severely misguided. Even if nothing else had happened since their return to the states–it didn't change the fact that he had cheated on her, emotionally as well as physically. Her trust in him was, at minimal, severely damaged and it wouldn't matter how much she wanted it to be otherwise, it haunted her.

When their meals were finished, they all got up and started out the door.

"Mom, you have any gum?" Lindsey asked as she carried her leftover mozzarella sticks with her.

"You're eating–what do you need gum for?" Catherine asked in exasperation.

"I'm going to need it when I'm finished eating–do you have any?"

"I don't know," Catherine sighed as she started to go through her purse.

"Uh–Mom–you might want to look out before that truck hits you," Lindsey said, her words stopping her mother from stepping out in front of a large Toyota Tundra.

"Oh, my God!" Catherine breathed, then after the truck passed, they started on their way toward Catherine's car again as Brass, Grissom and Sara watched.

"Ya know," Lindsey chuckled. "I could've grabbed your arm so you wouldn't have gotten hit by the truck–but I was holding onto my cheese stick."

This earned Lindsey a look from her mother that only made her giggle more as she went around to the passenger's side of the car and got inside. Catherine turned and looked back at Sara before getting inside the car as well.

"See? See what you've got to put up with in about twenty years?"


	196. Chapter 196

A/N: Since I cannot respond to some of my reviews privately because for whatever reason the review wasn't officially logged in, I'm going to take this opportunity to clear up a problem that has been identified with a scene in chapter 163 and the last chapter. Yes, Sara heard Grissom on the telephone and the end of his conversation, he said, ". . .you're the only friend I have that has lost a child. . ." and it is stated as ". . .he wanted to talk to someone who knew what it was like to almost lose a child. . ." by Catherine. By no means am I trying to lessen the fact that Grissom was physical with Heather in this story–nor am I trying to lessen any emotional connections they have had–but I am asking those of you who are reading this to consider that four months had passed since the telephone conversation and Catherine may not have remembered exactly how he put it. I know I would never remember anything as insignificant as a single word in a whole conversation four months later. I would also like to point out that Grissom did "not" lose Abigail, but was afraid of losing her, which would be an indication that what he said and what Sara heard may have been a little off kilter (just like Catherine didn't actually lose Lindsey). Or, you may read the explanation provided below. Either way, please forgive me if it seems out of sorts, I just thought I'd try to clear up any disappointments in the story. Sorry for any confusion or inconvenience.

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Six

Sara leaned her head against the car seat on their way back to the apartment. She had too many things reeling through her mind. She needed to decide what she was going to do and where she was going to do it. But as she felt the car pull to a stop and she opened her eyes, a wave of nausea hit and she knew her options were limited until she got past this morning sickness. Granted, the extremely sweet cake and cheese danish hadn't helped matters.

She put her hand to her mouth and swallowed with difficulty, barely noticing as Grissom came around to her side of the car and opened her door for her. She turned to get out but stopped when she saw he was squatting there, looking at her with concern.

"Too much cake?" He asked.

"I think so."

"Will you be alright to get inside or do you think you need to sit here a minute?"

"I'm fine." She watched him raise a brow as he looked at her. "Okay, maybe not fine–but I can at least make it inside."

He nodded then got up and took Abby out of the rear of the car, then walked next to Sara as they went inside. She really wasn't sure what to do or what to say. She didn't know what "he" expected her to do or say. She watched Grissom lift Abby out of her infant seat and start to nuzzle her neck as she giggled and grasped onto his cheeks. She looked at the way his eyes crinkled and brightened as he pulled back and watched his daughter's laugh, then would drop his head and nuzzle her again. Abby certainly seemed to be adjusting just fine to being back with her father.

"Look, hon!" Grissom said between nuzzles. "She's got the exact same ticklish spot as you!"

Sara walked over to them and couldn't help but laugh at the sounds her husband and daughter were making.

"I don't know that I laugh quite as hard as that, though," she told him.

"Wanna bet?" He asked as he went back and made Abby laugh again. "What do you think, Abigail? Think I could make Mommy laugh as hard as you?"

"I think you should work on keeping one female happy at a time."

Sara continued to watch him play with the baby then went to the diaper bag and started to sort through it. Dirty diapers were disposed of, dirty bottles taken to the sink, and dirty clothing into the laundry room. She grabbed clean clothes from the dryer and took them into Grissom's bedroom where she began folding them but paused when she looked at the trapeze attached to the bed. She went about unhooking the contraption and put its parts to the side of the room to be picked up by Greg later. She went back to folding Abby's clothes and heard Grissom coming in as he carried an excited Abigail. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Sara and she continuously glanced over at her daughter's blue eyes that were dancing as much as her father's.

"Look, Sara," Grissom said enthusiastically. "I thought if she had the same ticklish spot on her neck, maybe she'd have another similar spot." Sara looked at him with a raised brow and he laughed at her. "No–not "that" ticklish spot–but look!"

He gently tickled Abby beneath the knees and received an eager laugh which he repeated several times. Then he moved to just above her hip on her waist and this one received a shrill screech followed by a hearty laugh as the child pumped her arms and legs. Sara couldn't suppress her laugh over this.

"What about here?" Sara asked as she ran the tips of her nails over Abby's stomach and the baby gave an immediate shiver and opened her eyes very wide as she looked at her mother, then giggled. "Oh my God! She acts just like you when I do that! Watch, I'll do it again!"

Another two or three times and both Sara and Grissom were laughing at their daughter's reactions.

"Works every time," Grissom told her.

"Do you think we ought to be doing this? I mean, what kind of parents are we, sitting here constantly poking her?" She looked over at him with a bright smile. "I mean–in some states that may be considered child abuse!"

She should have known better. She really should have. But she never could resist that "look" he always got when he had something on his mind. Her smile dimmed as she watched him looking at her and before she realized it, he had his hand on the back of her neck and was holding her to him as his lips met hers. At first, she pushed against his chest, but he pulled her closer and his tongue slid out across her lips. She kept her hands between them, pressed against his chest as she still held onto one of Abby's nightgowns she had been about to fold. Then he started to lean into her and push her back onto the bed. She automatically reached one hand to hold onto Abby as together they leaned back onto the mattress until the baby was lying on top of her with Grissom holding onto her as well. Sara's other hand started to betray her as she clutched onto Grissom's shirtfront and her lips softened beneath his. When he pushed her onto her back and he leaned partially over her, holding her head still as he repeatedly gave gentle, yet increasingly eager kisses to her lips, she lifted her head toward his to return the intoxicating gesture. The flicks of his tongue turned into gentle nips as he tugged at her bottom lip then would press his tongue inside. God! She loved the taste of him–always had! Her hand went to the back of his neck as she tugged him even more tightly against her and she pulled his tongue inside to taste and play with as she wanted.

With the sound of Abby's disgruntled cry, Sara plunged back to reality and turned her head away from Grissom.

"No," she whispered. "Don't."

"Shh." He continued his assault on her senses. "Just a little longer–just a little more."

"No. I can't."

"Please, baby–I need more."

"I said, don't."

This time she twisted herself until she was out from beneath him, yet holding onto Abby. She slid her body more toward the edge of the bed as Grissom turned onto his back in exasperation.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." He rubbed his eyes in frustration, then got up from the bed and lifted Abby, who by now was showing the beginnings of her temper.

After a few moments in her father's arms, she settled again, but Sara remained tensed to the point of nearly being in tears as she stayed in the bedroom and watched him go to the front of the apartment. It took another half hour of extremely slow clothes-folding before she went out to find the room empty. She glanced around and finally heard some sounds coming from his office. She slowly approached the doorway and paused upon sight of Abby sitting in her infant seat on the center of his desk. She looked to where Grissom was taking books from his shelves and putting them in boxes.

"What are you doing?" She asked quietly.

"I'm putting some things away. I'm looking for a more family-friendly place to live."

"Why? You have to go back and finish your contract in Paris." She asked but he remained silent as he continued clearing off a shelf. "Griss?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Are you going back with me?"

She hesitated as he continued to watch her. "No."

He turned back to the shelf. "Then I'm having our things packed and shipped back here. The furniture will be given to a local daycare center. I thought we might go shopping this evening for the essential nursery furniture that we'll use here."

"But what about the Sorbonne?"

"I–resigned. I'm not going back without you and Abigail."

"Grissom," Sara said tiredly. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Yes. I should have."

"But you don't even know. . ."

"That's right. I don't know. And neither do you." He turned to look at her fully. "So we'll wait and we'll find out."

"You're rushing things!" Sara blurted.

He nodded his head thoughtfully. "Well, at least you're willing to admit that there's something to be rushed."

"No! I'm not! There isn't!" She closed her eyes in frustration. "You're confusing me."

He moved until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her and he leaned his head in close to her ear. "Good. I'm glad. Then I'm not the only one confused around here. In the meantime, we're going to set up a nursery in this room and you're going to be staying here with me and Abigail, then we'll find a house to live in. Do we agree?"

"How can I agree to that?" She asked as he walked over to Abby and picked up her infant seat then started out of the room with her. "We can't even carry on a simple conversation without things getting out of hand."

He shrugged his shoulders in indifference. "So they got out of hand. We'll lay down rules. We won't be in the bedroom at the same time anymore."

"You're willing to sleep on the sofa for the next week?"

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her, making her almost bump into him. "For the next week? No, my dear, I'm not talking about merely a week."

"That's all we agreed to."

"I didn't agree to it." He turned and started for the bedroom again with her following him. "You came up with that idea. No. I'm talking about much longer than a week."

"But we're separated! How can we be separated when we're staying in the same house?" She watched as he got out a yellow pair of footed slacks then started rummaging through Abby's tops until she took the slacks from him. "The top's still in the dryer."

She picked up a green pair and it's matching top and handed them to him and he looked back at her before lifting Abby from the infant seat and putting her in the bassinet to begin changing her clothes. "Then we'll call it a "trial integration" instead of a "trial separation."

"Just this morning I was asking you to sign divorce papers!"

"And this afternoon you heard that I didn't do all the things you were accusing me of while you were in the hospital."

"Oh, no I didn't! Evidently you got the name from Catherine–okay–I'll accept that. But I'm not even 100% sure you were talking to her on the phone that night!" She took the dirty clothes and diaper as he removed them from Abigail.

"Of course I was talking to her–you heard her–you heard Lindsey. I needed to talk to a friend and she had lost Lindsey those two times–granted, she got her back, but then I wasn't planning on losing Abigail completely either. But I needed to talk to someone who went through the same fright that I was facing. Just because you imagined I was speaking to someone else right away–isn't my fault. I didn't do anything to instigate your thoughts that night."

"No! You–you did it several months before! When I–when I was on my way to Costa Rica! Ya know what?" She asked, already having worked herself to near anxiety level. "You do what you want to do! And–and–and I'll do what "I" want to do! And we'll both be really happy about it! And you can just sleep on the damned couch for the next year for all I care!"

"Fine!" He picked up Abby and started out the door. "I'll sleep on the damn couch for the next year!"

"You do that!" She slammed the door closed after him.

"Sara! You're supposed to be coming with us!"

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"I'll get the ugliest crib in the damned store! You know I will. You hate my taste! I'll pick out something with Disney princesses and Barbie dolls!"

"You wouldn't dare!" She growled.

"Don't bet on it!" He paused a moment. "You know I'll do it."

"I'll send it back when you're not home! And I'll–and I'll–I'll get the Rolling Stones and Kiss!" She looked at the door and grimaced, not believing what just came out of her mouth, then after a moment she heard his chuckle from the other side of the door.

"I don't think they make crib sheets with Mick Jagger and Gene Simmons on them."

Sara grabbed her jacket and swung the door open, storming past him to the front of the apartment. "Don't push my buttons Grissom! Just don't push my buttons!"


	197. Chapter 197

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Seven

"Are you sure you want to get two of these?" Sara asked Grissom as he put two large boxes, each containing a stroller with infant car seat, onto a pushcart in the baby specialty store.

"This way we won't have to keep changing them from my car to your car. We'll have one in each of them."

"But how are we supposed to get all of this stuff back to your apartment?" She looked at the tickets she had collected for the items they had decided upon.

"We're not. Not yet, at least. There won't be enough room there. I'm hoping to find a house quickly and get moved in as soon as possible." He started pushing the cart to the front of the store with her following as she pushed a regular shopping cart with Abby in. "We can take this stuff with us and have the rest delivered when we have the house."

"Aren't you being a bit optimistic? I mean–finding a house, making an offer, going through all the legalities of actually purchasing it and then maybe even waiting for the owners to move out. This may take months–even years."

"We don't have years. I'm not going to waste any time. We'll begin looking tomorrow." He lifted the first crib bedding set from Sara's cart and put it up to the register, then saw how she was looking at him. "Fine. But even if we "don't" stay together–I'd think you'd have some interest in what kind of house your children will be living in when they're with me." He looked more closely at the set. "Are you sure two sets are going to be enough? I mean–what happens if they both get dirty at the same time?"

Sara looked at the first set that he wanted which had ladybugs on and then at the lavender one she also okayed which was covered in butterflies. "We wash one if it gets dirty, while we have the other one on. We only need two, Gil."

Together they loaded the car with many of the things they hadn't already gotten since their arrival back to the states and by the time they put Abby into her car seat, Sara was wondering if she would actually fit. But with a repositioning of a few bags, they managed to work their way back to his apartment. She was thankful that it was getting rather late by the time they arrived and she had hoped on bathing Abby, feeding her and then putting her to bed. After that she wanted to do the same for herself but as she came from putting a fresh-smelling Abigail Grissom into her bassinet, she found her husband sitting at the table in the kitchen with a bottle of scotch in front of him and a glass. She looked at him oddly as she went to the refrigerator and got herself a container of yogurt. When she was about to head back toward the bedroom and eventually to the bathroom for a shower, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She stopped, but didn't look at him right away.

"Sit with me," he said quietly.

"I hardly think we have time to just sit here. We've got two strollers to assemble and a lot of bedding to wash. I won't even think about the amount of clothing we got for her tonight that needs to be washed."

"I need you to sit with me–at least until you eat your yogurt."

She looked down at the plastic container then reached for a spoon before turning back toward the table. He released her hand and allowed her to move to the chair on the same side as he was sitting. She still didn't look at him as she opened her light dinner, but she could hear him pouring himself a shot of scotch. She was on her second spoonful of strawberry creaminess when she listened to him swallow the shot in one gulp.

"It must be something nearly impossible for you to get out, or you wouldn't feel the need to inebriate yourself before even starting."

When she finally looked at him she saw how he was watching her and she couldn't hold his gaze so instead looked back at her plastic cup as she spooned more of the food into her mouth.

"Sara. Look at me." He reached over and placed his hand on her jean-clad thigh. "Please."

She stiffened upon his touch and her eyes slowly rose to meet his. She swallowed with difficulty although she tried to present the picture of pure coolness.

"Alright. I'm looking. Now what?"

"I–need–to–talk to you. I–have to explain some things to you."

"Some" things?" She looked away from him. "I don't think I'm up to listening to your "explanations" tonight."

"But you need to know."

"No!" She said quickly as she tried to stand up but his hand gripped onto her thigh and held her in place. "No, Grissom! I don't want to hear explanations! And the only thing I "need" tonight is a way to escape. The last thing I "need" is to hear why you chose to. . .to. . ."

"Sara. I'm sorry." He placed both hands on both of her thighs now as he leaned forward and looked at her. "I am so sorry for "everything" I've done to you over the past years. I was so blind, honey. I don't know why I couldn't see the truth. Maybe it was just some form of self-denial–a way for me to always doubt that I could have something so good–so perfect–so pure–with you. I certainly didn't ever feel like I "deserved" you. And when the opportunity presented itself for me to destroy what I felt for you–I always took it."

"Well, that's just lovely!" she said snidely. "So you wanted to destroy your feelings for me–by hurting me–by humiliating me–all the while you crawled back to her feet like she was some goddamned queen–a damned goddess! Well, good for you Grissom. I'm glad you got that off your chest. I hope you feel much better now."

"I am so sorry, honey. If I could turn back the clock and make all the right decisions–you know I would."

"No," she said quietly. "You wouldn't. You'd still believe every word she told you. You'd still believe she was the dark saint who everyone misunderstood. And I'm the bitch who's nothing but an overbearing girlfriend–and then wife. Well, we certainly don't have to continue with that charade any more, do we?"

She pushed past him and retreated back into the bedroom where she closed the door behind her. She put the yogurt on the top of the dresser, having lost her appetite, then went into the bathroom for her shower. When she came out she found Grissom sitting on the edge of the bed holding Abby. He looked up at her surprised gaze.

"She woke up while you were taking your shower," he told her.

"Alright. But she's sleeping again. You can leave now. Remember? You "did" say we wouldn't be spending any time in the bedroom together anymore."

"I remember." He continued to sit there as she ran the towel through her hair, then got up and put the baby back in the bassinet. "How could I ever forget something as monumental as that."

She watched him leave the room, then went over and picked Abby up again. She carried her back to the bed and lay her on its center as she lay on her side. It seemed to take forever for her to fall asleep that night, but thankfully, Abby allowed her to sleep for nearly six hours before waking and demanding a diaper change and bottle.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom was sleeping on the sofa but could hear Sara moving about the room. Just the thought that she was near sent his senses on high alert. He turned his head slightly and saw her putting Abby into the bassinet that for some reason was now sitting across the livingroom from them. He remained where he was as he looked at her, bent over with her short pajamas riding up over her magnificent thighs. When she stood up, her tank top slid slightly above her waistband of those shorts, revealing an umbilicus that always managed to make him salivate.

He thought back to one of the first days he had actually met her, back in San Francisco. She had come to one of his later lectures wearing a low-riding pair of jeans and a tank top that, very much like this one, had a tendency to ride up to reveal the most tantalizing tummy he had ever seen. They had already managed to become acquainted during his previous lectures, and he already was an avid fan of her. . .mind. But this day, as she bent to pick up her backpack, showing him the perfect set of thighs and buttocks, then turned and revealed the tummy with it's teasing navel, all of his ideas, thoughts and intellect had flown out of the window and in their places was this electrical energy that went straight to his groin. He had never been affected by anyone so quickly and from such an innocent gesture before in his life. That was the day he realized bellybuttons could be extremely sexy, if they had just the perfect amount of roundness that they were seated upon. He wasn't an avid fan of extremely flat tummies. Hell, he hadn't realized he was a fan of tummies at all, until that moment. It was just the slight roundness that confirmed it was a soft, beautiful woman.

His reaction today was much the same as it had been all those years ago and when she turned around and looked at him, he knew that she knew it too. She moved over to stand at the edge of the sofa where she gazed down at him, then slowly started lifting her tank top, inch-by-inch until the bottoms of her perfect breasts could be seen. He moaned with his need as he reached out and pulled her to him, allowing her to catch herself as she held herself up with a hand on either side of him. His kiss went immediately to her stomach as his hands went around to her rounded cheeks and he squeezed them. He could hear her gasp then her breathing increase in its pace as she lifted her top higher, releasing her globes for his enjoyment. He wasted no time lifting his attention to nuzzle on them, savoring their flavor as he pulled her nipple into his mouth and bit down with just enough force to make her groan with pleasure. He felt her hand cover his and slide it around to the front of her before dipping it inside of her pajama bottoms.

"There, Gil–right there," she breathed as his fingers immediately slid between her folds and began stroking over her throbbing pebble.

He thought he was going to burst with anticipation as she lowered herself onto the sofa with him, rolling her hips in response to his fingers as she cradled his head against her, encouraging his attention he was giving her breasts. She began kissing the top of his head as he suckled her. He was about to turn her over onto her back but realized there wouldn't be enough room on the sofa, but still he was seeking relief, so he pulled her leg between his and thrust against her thigh.

"Right there, baby. Keep your leg right there."

"Mmm, you are soooo big," came out of Sara's mouth, but there was something about the tone that made him pause a moment. "Soooo big. . . I love your eyes. . . I love your nose. . . I love your mouth. . . I love your hands. . .Mommy loves your toes. . ."

Her last comment made him pull his head back from her and in so doing he hit it on something hard and his eyes popped open in surprise.

"Ow!" Sara exclaimed as she sat on the floor next to the sofa, playing with Abby who was lying on a blanket. He quickly noted she was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. "You hit my head!"

Grissom looked at her through irritated eyes. Damn! That seemed so real! He could almost still taste her on his tongue!

"Sorry," he mumbled as he attempted to sit up.

She turned to look at him as she continued to rub her head and she held her own irritation. "What the hell were you dreaming about? You were moving around so much I thought you were going to drop off the sofa!"

"Nothing," he grumbled and he got to his feet, but in so doing, he noticed Sara staring at the tent he was now trying to conceal in his pajama bottoms.

"Oh," she said simply then looked back to Abby and began singing to her again. "Abby's soooo big! Soooo big! And Mommy loves Abby's beautiful eyes, and I love Abby's little nose, I love her mouth, " she went on, tapping the baby near each body part as she went. "Mommy loves your hands, and Mommy loves your toes!"

Grissom moved into the bathroom and out of his wife's sight.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara couldn't believe it as she stood in the "parlor" of the third house they had looked at so far that day. If she didn't know better she'd think it was a replica of Heather Kessler's whore house! She didn't know if Grissom had actually done this on purpose or not, but after a quick walk through the first floor, he quickly got the message that this was a definite "NO!" She remained quiet as they drove to the next house, only speaking to Abby who was beginning to try to enlighten them on her views of the world with her nearly constant cooing and shrieking. She was hardly paying attention as he pulled up a driveway into the next residence, but when he parked the car she looked up to see a lawn with a large tree in its center. There was a brick walkway going from the street up to the front porch, as well as another coming from where they were parked in front of a garage that lead to the porch from the adjoining direction. She looked at the house and although it, too, was a large house, it more closely resembled an old farmhouse that had somehow gotten transferred into the suburbs. It was white and showed a brightness that was almost cheerful. She looked at the porch and was already enchanted by the swing on the one side and the patio chairs and table on the other.

Grissom opened the door and took her hand, assisting her to her feet as her eyes scanned the property. She noticed the picket fence separating the front lawn from the back but when she took a few steps toward the large gate, the realtor called her to the porch instead.

"We'll go in through the front and you can see the rear lawn when we're on the back patio, alright?"

Sara nodded and waited until Grissom picked up Abby then they went inside. Immediately upon entering there was a small foyer with stairs leading to the second floor. On either side of the stairs was a large room and on the right of the stairs was a hallway leading to the rear of the house. Sara went into each of the front rooms, noticing the window seat at the front window and its largeness. She could easily envision putting the essentials inside that would usually occupy a family room, but having just enough space for Abby to romp around and learn to crawl and walk without constantly running into furniture. She liked the openness of it. She went to the other side of the stairs and found a room that was almost a duplicate of the first one with the only difference being a door which, when she opened it, she found lead to another room at the rear of the house. This, according to the realtor, was used as the dining room by the previous owners.

Sara and Grissom followed the realtor through the building, finding the large kitchen and half a bath coming directly off the hallway that ran past the stairs. Beyond the kitchen was a nice-sized pantry and mud room. The back porch ran about half the length of the house before you would take the wooden stairs down to the lawn that had a kidney-shaped pool at its end and an expanse of grass up closer to the porch. Sara looked at the realtor and her thought that the pool looked completely out of place with the ambiance of the rest of the house must have seeped through because the realtor quickly explained that the pool was added by the adult children of the elderly couple who had lived here. Evidently after raising six children and watching them grow, the children didn't feel the need to move far from home and often returned to their parent's abode. In their early adulthood they all decided it would be beneficial for them to add an in-ground pool, where they continued to enjoy it until the deaths of their parents these past few years.

"Why don't they want to live here? I mean if they were that close to their parents? Why would they want to sell their family home?" Sara asked as she followed the realtor up the back stairs to the second floor.

"Well, they say they can't face coming here and not finding their parents here waiting for them. It seems empty without them. I wish I could say that much for most of the properties I sell. The family was a very loving family and adored each other. They took great care of the property through their lives as it was their roosting place. But, without their mother and father here to greet them, they all felt it just wasn't the same."

The second floor housed a bathroom with a claw-foot tub and shower as well as the other normal fixtures of an older bathroom, and four reasonably large bedrooms with a hall leading around the front stairs where another flight took you into the attic. Once there, the one side could be used as a large bedroom area and the opposite side for storage.

Grissom had asked various questions regarding the structure and heating and cooling systems. He seemed to know all the right questions to ask about everything an owner should know when purchasing a home and while he got his answers, Sara seemed to absorb the aura of the place. She knew that it was too large for Grissom, even if he were to live there and have Abby and the new baby grow to adulthood as they would visit him for weekends or however they would eventually determine visitations. But there was something about the home that called to her. She could imagine one room being turned into a play room, another an office, another a nursery, and on and on.

"Sara?" Grissom's voice broke through to her.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like to discuss this?"

Sara looked at the expectant expression on the realtor's face, probably being tired of taking them from home-to-home for the day. She looked around the room she was standing in again.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Do you like it?" He asked with a tolerant smile.

"Yes. Of course I do. It's everything I never had as I was growing up. But it isn't really up to me–is it?"

She was too involved with looking at her surroundings to actually see him approach until she heard him excuse himself from the realtor. She looked at him as he placed his hand on her upper arm and pulled her into the kitchen, behind the swinging door.

"I asked you a question, Sara. This is an important decision and I believe your input should be seriously considered."

"Alright," she said slowly. "It's a beautiful house. I just think it's too large for only you."

He nodded his head in understanding then took her hand and pulled her along to where the realtor was now kneeling in front of Abby's stroller, shaking a rattler in front of the distressed child.

"She got upset when she saw you leave the room," the woman said nervously.

"Shh," Sara soothed as she went back to Abby and picked up the crying child. "Mommy's right here."

She rocked her back and forth until the crying subsided, only hearing the tail end of the conversation between the other woman and Grissom.

". . .we'll let you know by tomorrow morning, I'm sure."

Sara sat in the rear of the vehicle on the way back to Grissom's apartment, feeding Abby a bottle that she had been rather late in receiving. By the time they settled into the apartment and bathed Abby and put her down for the night, they both were tired and hungry. A quick delivery from the nearby pizzeria gave them sustenance as they sat on the sofa and Sara turned on the television to watch the weather. She managed to get through a full days worth of predicted weather before Grissom took the remote and turned it off again.

"I was watching that."

"I want to talk to you about the house. I'm giving her our decision tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"We both liked it–very much by the looks of it. I like the location. The neighborhood seems safe for the children."

"Yes," she agreed. "But it's really too big for only you. . ."

"It won't only be me, Sara," he sighed. "If I invest in this home, you will be living there with me."

"No. . ."

"No, stop and listen. I know we're facing the worst possible circumstances right now. I know you want your space–but can't you see that with a house this size, it would mean we both have our space–and get to share Abigail and the new baby? And they will have both of us right there, as well."

"And what happens when we decide to move on with our lives and start seeing other people? What happens when Heather gets out of prison? Believe me, I'm not going to live in a little commune-type atmosphere with the princess of darkness and I certainly won't allow my children to live with her either."

She almost regretted saying those words as soon as they escaped her mouth as she could see the anger and frustration mounting in his face. He got to his feet and stared down at her with the most menacing manner she had ever witnessed in him as he towered over her.

"She took my daughter! She aided me in the killing of my son! She tried to kill my new child! She tried to ruin the only thing I ever had good in my life! Don't you sit there and accuse me of ever allowing her back into my life!"

She got a smug smile on her face as she stood up and faced him. "Why not? You've done it before–and before–and before. What's another little slap and tickle here and there?"

Oh, God! She didn't know how some things come out of her mouth sometimes. She looked at how his eyes widened as he looked back at her, then he swung around and started for the door. She dropped her head, not feeling the slightest bit proud of herself. He was just about to put his hand on the doorknob when she stopped him by grasping onto him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I–I shouldn't have said that."

"Why do we do this?" He asked just as quietly as he refused to look at her, but she didn't answer him. "I can't keep. . ."

"I know," she spoke up. "I know you can't. Don't you see? That's why we can't stay together?"

"No! I don't see that at all." He spun around and pulled her up against him in a tight embrace, an embrace that seemed almost frantic as he leaned his head on her shoulder and pulled her into his. "I see us having a lot of trouble–and I'll blame myself for it. But I'm going to see that we get through it. I'm going to do everything humanly possible to make sure we survive this."

"But sometimes people don't survive, Gris. You should know that. Sometimes they just die horrible, tragic deaths."

"I won't let that happen. Just give me the chance to try to revive this, Sara. Give me that much."

She took a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She allowed him to hold onto her for several more moments, then she pushed herself away as she walked back toward the bedroom.

"Put in your bid for the damned house," she said tiredly. "It's big enough for us to get lost in–we should be able to avoid one another adequately."


	198. Chapter 198

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Eight

Through the next few days Grissom not only put a bid on the house, but was approved and even given permission to start moving his belongings in since it had been empty for the better part of a year. By the beginning of the following week, utilities were connected and a moving van was rented. Ex-co-workers were recruited and even though some still were icy around Grissom, they helped with the move for Sara's sake. Sara noticed that even Nick's behavior had thawed some toward him, but she suspected that he was also doing it to alleviate some of the stress the whole situation had caused.

Sara stood with Grissom as they watched the last car pull away from the front of the house. She glanced over at him as he held Abby.

"When are you taking the truck back?" She asked as she stuck her hands in her back pockets and looked at her front porch–her very own front porch.

She slowly walked a few feet away and sat on the wooden swing that hung from the ceiling and looked at him as he leaned back against the bannister.

"Tomorrow morning. Did you want it for anything before I take it back?"

"No–no. I was just curious." She swung back and forth a few times. "I–I saw that the store delivered everything today while I was at the apartment loading up my car. Are you going to be putting the crib together soon?"

"I need to know which room you want to put her in, first. Then I thought maybe you'd want to have it painted or papered."

"I haven't even really decided on which room "I" want, yet. Have you?"

He looked at her a moment before answering. "Um–no. Not really. Should we go up and look at where the guys put all the stuff? For all I know, they might've put the bed up in the attic."

She smiled briefly as she got to her feet and he followed her inside. They went to the second floor and came around to the front of the house where they went into the first room they came to. They turned on the ceiling light and saw pieces of bed scattered around, leaning against the wall and lying on the floor. The bed springs were propped up against the windows but the mattress was nowhere to be found.

"Jeez," Sara started. "I hope the guys didn't forget to bring the mattress."

They left that room and walked across the hall, past the doorway to the attic and into the other front bedroom where they found the mattress lying across the floor. Other pieces of furniture were scattered around as were boxes marked bed linens, bath towels, Abby's clothes and Abby's toys.

"It looks like you'll be sleeping in this room tonight," Grissom told her, then started toward the back of the house again where he looked into one of the rooms back there. "This room's empty. What about that one?"

"Abby's dresser, but no signs of her bassinet," Sara called from the other back room. "Looks like Abby's sleeping up front with me tonight."

"You sure you don't mind sleeping on the mattress on the floor tonight? It might get to be a little hard to get up and down."

"No–I'll be fine. But I think we better make sure everything's in the refrigerator for Abby's bottles."

They turned and started downstairs where Sara went into the kitchen and opened the door, relieved to see what she was looking for. She went back to the counter where the remainder of the lasagna sat that Mandy had brought with her for their dinner. She was just putting some onto two plates when she heard Grissom's moan from the front of the house.

"Sara!" He called to her.

"What?" She went about putting garlic bread on the plates for them, then moved it to the kitchen table and poured herself a glass of milk and a glass of wine for Grissom.

"Where are the cushions to the sofa?"

"They should be right there–"on" the sofa. Oh–that's right–they fell off when Nick and Greg were carrying it to the truck. They forgot to pick them up until the truck was full, so Greg put them in his trunk," she called back to him.

"And where is his car?" Grissom asked as he came through the swinging door and into the kitchen with her.

"Um–I don't know. He said something about going to Caitlin's house to see if she wanted to go play miniature golf–or something."

"Or something?" He asked as he carried Abby in one hand and the infant seat in the other then sat her in it as he took a seat at the table close to where Sara was sitting. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means. . ." She bit her lip in thought. "It means that I don't know "where" he is exactly–or how to reach him. I mean–we could always call his cell and see if he'll run them back."

She picked up her cell and did exactly that but after a full minute of ringing she was sent to his voice mail. She looked at Grissom as she hung up her cell.

"He didn't answer," Grissom said solemnly as he ate his dinner. "How am I supposed to sleep on a sofa without the cushions?"

"You knew we were going to be staying here tonight," she told him as she picked up the rattle that Abby was trying to put into her mouth but dropped onto the tabletop. "You should've had the foresight to have already gotten the extra bed and not worry about sleeping on a sofa."

"Well, I took the other route–I thought it would be a much more intelligent choice if, instead of worrying about buying another bed and mattress on the day we were moving–I opted to sleep on the sofa and get the bed on a day when I wasn't quite so busy."

She looked at him through amused eyes as she put a fork full of lasagna into her mouth. "Not flin' so ry-gent now, ra?"

He stared at her in complete confusion. "Would you like to try saying that without a mouth full of cheese and noodle?"

"Oh, and don't forget the mushroom sauce," Sara said after swallowing. "I really have to get Mandy's recipe for this–it's exceptional." She glanced up at him as she sliced into the lasagna with her fork again. "I said–you're not feeling quite so intelligent "now," are ya?"

He raised a brow and gave her his best offended look. "Maybe not. But there's always the mattress upstairs."

"Mm-hmm," she said absently. "You might not be able to fit all of your body onto Abby's crib mattress, but at least it will be better than the sofa without cushions or the floor."

She got up and took her dish to the dishwasher, then looked back to where he was staring at her. "I was "not" talking about the crib mattress."

"Hmmm? Oh, well, the other one is being used by Abby and me." She came back to the table and picked up the infant carrier and started through the swinging door. "Lock up before you go to bed, alright?"

Sara went upstairs and lay Abby on the mattress as she started moving things around so she could start to get the bed sat up the next day. She was only going to be working for a few more minutes then planned on turning in for the night, but the sight of the door leading into her closet opening sent a chill down her spine that nearly paralyzed her. Before she realized it she had a small lamp in her hand and was rushing toward the intruder that was coming out of her closet. She could only see the image of someone large coming toward her and she swung her makeshift weapon.

"Ouch! Dammit, Sara!" Grissom's voice stopped her as he blocked the swing with his arm. "What are you doing?"

"How did you get in there? I left you downstairs!" She said breathlessly as the light from her room fell upon him as he stepped farther out of the closet.

"Yeah–and I came "upstairs!" Jesus!"

"But how did you get into the closet? I've been in this room the whole time!"

"Didn't you look at the closets yet?" He asked and she looked at him blankly, prompting him to open the door fully and allow her to look into the room at the back of the house where the crib mattress was leaning against the wall. "They have connecting closets. I suppose it's also a faster way to get to the children's bedroom from the front of the house."

"Oh," she said with interest as she looked more closely. "That's so cool. I've never seen that before. Are the rooms on the other side of the house the same way?"

"Yes."

"Now I won't feel quite so bad when I eventually move Abby into her own room." She looked up at him. "What did you want?"

"I'm not sleeping on the crib mattress. We all three can fit on the bed mattress tonight. By tomorrow we'll get everything sorted through–but for tonight–I'm tired and want to go to bed."

Sara thought about objecting. After all it was only their first night in this new house and already he was "breaking the rules," but the more she thought about it, the more she realized it wasn't his fault that his bedding hadn't arrived safely and she couldn't really force him to sleep on the floor or a mattress that only fit half of his body.

"Fine, but I get the pillows."

"Those, I have," he said as he picked up the extra pillows he had evidently dropped when she swung the lamp. "Are there any blankets around?"

"Over there. In that box."

Sara went to a bag in the corner and pulled out a set of boxer shorts and tank top that she had just purchased in an attempt to start rebuilding her wardrobe again. She turned around and looked at her husband and daughter, noticing how he was spreading the blanket over the two of them as he lay next to the baby and watched as she pumped her arms and legs and grunted her excitement at lying in bed with her father. She felt a little self-conscious about changing from her jeans and tee-shirt but since he wasn't watching, she peeled off both articles and stood with her back to him as she removed her bra as well.

"Honey! Look!" Grissom called to her and she stood erect with her back to him as she held her clothes against her bare chest. "Sara! Look!"

She sighed and looked over her shoulder but the sight of her daughter now on her stomach and pushing until she turned onto her back, turned Sara completely as she came over and knelt on the mattress next to them.

"She turned over!"

"Yeah," he said as held himself up on his elbow and glanced up at her. "But the strange thing is she turned over from her back to her stomach first! Then she turned onto her back again!"

"She isn't supposed to do that!" Sara said, as she smiled brightly at Grissom then looked back to Abby. "She's supposed to roll from her tummy to her back first! It's harder to go from your back to your tummy!"

"Well," Grissom started and chuckled as he watched Abby turn onto her stomach again. "Evidently she doesn't feel that way."

"Hey, little toughy!" Sara smiled as she reached down and started to rub Abby's back. "What do you think you're doing? Before we know it, you're going to be crawling right off this mattress!"

She watched as Abby pulled her legs up beneath her and rested on the mattress with her face turned toward her father as she watched him intently. Grissom lowered himself back down so he was eye level with the little girl.

"Hey, sweetpea, do you know how beautiful you are? You look just like your mommy right now."

Sara felt the compliment as she watched them but tried not to take it too much to heart. "Now which part of her would that be, I suppose? You couldn't be talking about the big, padded butt that's sticking up in the air, could you?"

Grissom merely chuckled again as he reached down and patted Abby's diapered bottom twice then put his hand up next to Sara's as she rubbed the baby's back. Sara leaned back on her heels and fully realized that she was only partially covered so she quickly turned away from them again and pulled her tank top over her head and arms then slipped into her boxer shorts.

"You look so sleepy," Grissom whispered to Abby as he continued rubbing her back. "Look at those eyes–big as they are–they're certainly getting heavy, aren't they?"

Sara turned off the ceiling light, leaving on the hall light that provided them with enough illumination to keep the room from becoming completely dark, then she got onto the mattress and lay on her side, watching the two other people. She had the advantage of having the light coming from over her shoulder and shining on the other two, providing her a view of them that they were denied as she was in shadow but when Grissom looked up at her she knew he didn't have to make out her features. Sara closed her eyes and listened to the other two and after a few moments of silence she opened her eyes to see Grissom with his eyes closed and Abby fast asleep as she held her hand to her father's beard. Sara closed her eyes again and soon drifted off to sleep as well.

The man was of average height with the curliest hair Sara had seen in a long time. There was something so very familiar about him as he stood with his back to her. She approached him slowly and tentatively placed her hand on the navy blue shirt covering his back. He looked over his shoulder at her first, giving her that bright smile that she loved, then he turned completely and took her hand in his.

"Hey, Sara."

"Christopher," Sara smiled back at him as her heart seemed to expand upon realization that it was truly him. It didn't matter that he seemed to be almost as old as she now. She knew who it was and even if she couldn't "see" it–she could "feel" it. "You look–absolutely beautiful."

"Beautiful?" He chuckled at her. "Don't tell pop that. I don't know that he'd approve of it put exactly that way." He tucked her hand in his arm as he walked with her and they stepped onto the front porch where he took her to sit on the porch swing with him. "Maybe overpoweringly handsome–maybe godlike–maybe something like Atlas."

"God of heavy burdens," Sara said as she looked into his incredibly blue eyes. "I'd rather just think of you as Christopher."

"I like that, too," he smiled at her and they swung for a few minutes in silence.

"Christopher?" Sara asked.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you here today? Is everything alright? Are you okay?"

"I'm feeling better, Sara. I'm feeling . . . stronger . . . more secure. How are you feeling? That's the real question, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," came her immediately standard answer, making him raise a brow at her and give her half a smile. That smile that looked so familiar to her but placing it right now seemed unimportant. "Okay, so maybe I'm not 100% fine. But, I'm working my way there. Sometimes, I don't know what to do. I feel lost. I have part of me that's so afraid–and another part that urges me to go forward."

"It's never a good thing to go forward in fear, Sara. Wouldn't it be so much more enjoyable if you could proceed with confidence?"

"Yes!" She turned to look at him as she held onto his hand. "Yes! Why is it that you are the only one who seems to understand?"

He laughed softly as he patted her hand with his other one. "Just lucky, I guess."

"You're always so good to me, Christopher. I don't think there's ever been another person whose ever treated me as well as you have."

"Ah," he teased as he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. "That takes us back to the god, doesn't it–or is it a saint? That's a thought worth contemplating, isn't it?"

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "I've got a little girl now, Christopher."

"I know," he beamed at her. "I've met her. She's going to be quite the spitfire in about sixteen years–so you better prepare yourself for the ride." When she looked at him through concerned eyes, he laughed again. "She's going to be fine. She's bright, beautiful, funny and charming. How can you lose with a personality like that?"

"She brightens my days."

"And what about "his" days? Have they been bright lately?"

She didn't have to ask. She already knew whom he was talking about. "I–don't think so. But he gets great pleasure in Abby, just as I do."

"He's hurting."

"I know."

"He's sorry."

"That–I don't know," she sighed again.

"I know. But you will–when the time is right."

"So I'm supposed to go into this with open arms?"

"Absolutely not," Christopher teased her again. "What lessons will be learned if life were that easy?"

"You want me to teach him a lesson?" Sara looked at him through confusion.

"You, my dear, already have. Now, he's got to learn the lessons on his own. Just watch him and you'll know when it's the right time. But until then–relax–take it easy–but don't force yourself to do anything you're not ready to do. It will all come to you eventually."

"I don't feel like it will ever come together for me, Christopher."

"Then if it doesn't feel that way–wait until it does. You can't force life. It just–happens. . ."

Sara turned to look at Christopher but even before she turned her head, her heart felt his absence again. The absence was a hole so deep inside her heart that she felt as if she were falling into it and never would come out. Sobs caught in her throat as she held her hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong, darling?" Grissom's sleepy voice sounded next to her, tugging her from her sleep but not completely reviving her.

"He's gone. He's gone."

She felt herself being lifted partially off the mattress and then pulled back into Grissom's arms. "It's okay, my love. It's okay."

"It hurts," she quietly half gasped-half sobbed.

"I've got you. It will be alright."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The sun woke Sara as it shone through windows that still had no curtains hung at them. She blinked her eyes, confused at where she was and whose arms she was lying within. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at the man who was sleeping soundly as he faced her. His arms were around her and held her securely as her arms rested on his chest and his waist. She was confused, not realizing how they had gotten in that position. The last she had remembered, she was on this edge of the mattress, Abby was in the middle and Grissom was on the other side. She turned her head quickly, afraid that something had happened to Abby but found her lying securely in the center of the bed with pillows lined up along the edge, guarding her from rolling off the mattress. This only intensified her confusion. If she and Abby were taking up the complete mattress–what was Grissom sleeping on. She slowly maneuvered herself back, out of his arms but remained with her head on her pillow as she looked at him and he rolled onto his back. This was when she noticed that he had brought the crib mattress into the room and slid it up next to the larger sleeping apparatus. She looked at how he only fit from his head down to his rump. His legs were lying on the floor. She continued to watch him, feeling a giggle rising in her throat at the sight of him in such an awkward position, then without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed onto her thigh.

"Why are you watching me sleep?" He asked with his eyes still closed.

"Because you look extremely uncomfortable. What are you doing here? And why didn't you stay on your own side of the bed?"

He rolled toward her again and grimaced against the pain and stiffness he had obtained throughout the night. "You were having a nightmare. I brought the mattress over so I could sleep next to you and keep you calm."

"I don't remember having a nightmare." She raised her brow as she looked at him.

"Believe me, I had no other motives that could have convinced me to lie on this piece of garbage all night long. I was quite comfortable on the other side of "that" mattress." He groaned as he tried to lift himself onto his elbow and look down at her. "I don't know if I want to let Abigail sleep on this. It's a back-breaker. She might end up with a disability because of this thing."

"That "thing" is one of the best mattresses available for a 14-pound baby girl, Dr. Grissom. Not so good for a 200-pound man."

"I'm not 200 pounds. . .anymore," he said with an indignant expression as he slowly made his way onto his knees, in a crawling position, then moved until he was partially above her. "It's been years since I've been that weight."

"Alright–a 180-pound man. Is that better?"

"It's. . .closer. I'll say that." He grunted as he slowly got to his feet.

"Do we need to get that trapeze from Greg and Caitlin again?" She called after him as she watched him walk out of the room then listened as he went in the direction of the bathroom.

"Another night on that thing and I'll need more than the trapeze. We might want to throw a wheelchair into the deal as well," he called back to her then after a few moments he returned and stood in the doorway looking in at her. "Are you getting up, my dear?"

"No. I'm still sleepy."

"But you woke me up."

"I didn't wake you. You woke up on your own."

"You liar! You distinctly yanked yourself out from beneath me and let me fall on that trap you're calling a crib mattress."

"I did not," she smiled sleepily. "If that were true–would you like to explain to me what you were doing "on top" of me?"

"Oh," he said as he glanced at the floor then back to her. "It was a dream, huh?"

"Yeah, well," she sighed as she turned over, facing away from him as she yawned and settled back into position next to Abby. "You can just keep dreaming."


	199. Chapter 199

Chapter One-Hundred-Ninety-Nine

Decoupage. Who would have ever imagined Sara Sidle decroupaging the walls of a room just to make a little girl happy? She would've been seen more as a person who hands the kid a box of crayons and says, "Here, go decorate to your heart's content!" But she was decorating the room, making it resemble something out of Good Housekeeping or maybe Martha Stewart? Nah! She thought as she took a step back from her work. This is so much better than Martha Stewart! This is personalized!

She listened to the telephone ring for the fifth time that morning, each time letting Grissom pick it up downstairs as she and Abby worked upstairs. Sara turned and smiled at Abby as she sat in her bouncer, occasionally pushing up with her legs and dropping back down. The array of toys circling her on the bouncer's ledge was keeping her quite busy at the moment. She went back to putting the final lightning bug up against the night sky that cast moonlight down over a tranquil pond, then she looked over at the other wall that showed the same scene during the day with dragonflies and butterflies fluttering about. It really was rather impressive, if she said so herself as she wiped off a drop of the decoupage that had dripped onto her stomach. She was suddenly glad she was wearing only half a tee-shirt with her sweat shorts. She wasn't exactly the messiest painter–but she is definitely saving clothes that would otherwise have been splattered with the clear gel.

"Honey?" Grissom's tentative voice came from the doorway and she turned to look at him with caution. First of all, even though he refused to give up on his tender means of addressing her, it was never said with quite so much apprehension before. Second, add the fact that he came all the way up to the second floor instead of calling up the stairs to her, informed her that whatever it was, it was serious.

She put her sponge down on the table she was using to hold her supplies then looked back at him again. He gave her a half smile as he walked up to her and picked up a paper towel which he used to wipe some of the gel from her forehead. She took the towel from him and wiped it herself as she looked at him.

"What is it? It has to be more important than the fact that I have decoupage gel on my face."

"It's–well–Jim's been calling all morning. Evidently things aren't turning out quite as expected. Brandy Costello. . ."

"Is recovering. Yeah? So?" She wiped the towel over her forehead again in a frustrated yet expectant gesture.

"So, they've questioned her and she's admitted to everything."

"Everything? What do you mean everything? She killed Jerome–okay. We figured that. And she was an accomplice in Abby's abduction. . ." Something in Grissom's expression made her stop her sentence and think. "Oh. . .no. . .don't tell me that."

"Sit down, darling," Grissom grasped onto her hands and ushered her into the chair that was sitting close by as he kneeled in front of her, then after a moment, he explained. "Brandy is stating that Heather had nothing to do with the abduction. She's telling the police and her attorney that Heather only promised her that she could have her baby back if she'd help harass you by dressing up as Natalie. But she says Heather never actually said "what" baby. She says she only assumed it was to be Abigail."

"But what about the videos? With Jerome!"

"Jim says it's not strong enough. It's only hearsay on Jerome's part and the rantings of an unmedicated schizophrenic. It will never hold up in court."

"Especially a court that's seen over by one of Heather's "friends." Her word made Grissom flinch, but he remained where he was as he looked at her. "What about finding Heather at Jerome's mother's house? Surely that's evidence enough that she was involved in her kidnaping!"

Grissom slowly shook his head negatively. "Brandy's saying Heather came to get Abigail–to bring her back to us. Anything Heather said to the contrary to either of us was said in anger and was misconstrued."

"And this is going to hold up?" Sara asked as she sat stiffly in front of Grissom.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But if she gets the right judge–the right jury–anything's possible."

"So it's all politics."

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Sara nodded her head and stood up, beginning to gather her tools to put away. That was an ending to a perfectly productive morning. Somehow the room didn't seem quite so bright anymore.

"Griss, could you take Abby downstairs with you? I'm just going to clean up a bit then I think I need some air."

He watched her a moment then picked up his daughter but received an angry protest as she was busily playing with the cookie monster as she made him twirl on the ledge to her bouncer. Grissom picked up a rattle that sat nearby and handed that to her.

"Here, this will do, sweetheart." He started for the door but paused next to Sara where he reached his hand up to her face until she looked at him through depressed eyes. "We're going to make it through this–no matter what happens to her–you realize that, don't you?"

She gave him a tiny shrug then turned back to collecting the things she had used on Abby's walls. It took nearly half an hour to get everything put away to her satisfaction and then she took a long shower, which suited her fine because she found a lot more gel on her torso than she had realized. By the time she made it downstairs she found Grissom in the front room on the left side of the house that he had designated as his office. She stood in the doorway as she watched him putting books on shelves from the boxes they had been moved in. Abby was now sleeping in a play yard that had been given to them as a moving-in-present by Catherine and Lindsay. She turned and walked out the front door and started walking down the street, taking in the surroundings as she went. She supposed she hadn't realized that she was so close to being rural as she actually was. There were only four blocks of houses before the houses started becoming farther and farther apart (which was a good distance considering that her closest neighbor's house was at least twenty yards from the house they were living in now).

Sara continued to walk, even after the last of suburbia disappeared behind her. She noticed some houses that were very similar to her own, but these houses had other buildings attached to them with a variety of animals residing within them. By the time she turned around and came home she saw that Grissom was no longer in his office although the unpacked books remained. Curiosity made her wander through the first floor where she found dinner in the oven and as she made her way to the second floor she could hear Abby talking up a storm with her father throwing encouraging comments at her. She moved toward the sound and found them in the front room on the right side of the house, the room that connected with Abby's room. But instead of seeing Grissom's bed in place against the wall as it had been for the past few days, there was another bed there along with a matching desk, dresser, armoire and bureau. Grissom was just spreading the comforter across it when she took several steps inside.

"What's this?" She asked in wonder.

"It's the bedroom set you seemed to admire when I went looking for a new one last week. They delivered it while you were gone."

"But you were supposed to get one for "you" not me."

He shrugged his shoulders as he moved back to her. "I figured I'd just take mine back and let you have the new one. No problem."

"You didn't have to do this," she said quietly. "You know that."

Another shrug. "So you owe me one. No big deal."

"What do I owe you?"

He gave her a sheepish smile then moved over to pick up Abby and brought her back to her. "Oh, I don't know. How about one week of no diaper duty?"

She chuckled at him as she took their daughter from him. "That sounds like a deal to me."

"And. . ."

"Oh–there's an "and" involved in this transaction." She raised a brow at him as he leaned down and kissed Abby on the cheek then stood up to look at her with one of his impish smiles.

"Dinner."

"We have dinner every night."

"Dinner–out. The three of us. Tonight, we can go someplace nice but not too formal."

She eyes him suspiciously. "How–nice?"

"You pick."

"Burger King."

"Not quite."

"Original Italian Cuisine."

"Getting closer."

"BJ's."

"I'm thinking Brezzi's."

She smiled as she walked past him and sat on the edge of the bed and bounced several times to test the mattress.. "Why didn't you just suggest that to begin with. What are we supposed to wear? Ohhhh, this is nice, Gil. Have you tried it?"

He moved to sit next to her and wiggled on the bed. "Mm-hmm. Nice."

"It's so. . . .comfortable." She dropped back with her legs draped over the edge as she held Abby on her stomach. "Look, Abby. Mommy's got a new bed!"

Grissom looked over at her, then dropped back as well as he held his hands over his stomach with his fingers intertwined. He looked at her then back up at the ceiling.

"I'll–um–wear whatever you want me to wear tonight. Do you want a suit? Tie? Dress pants and jacket? Whatever you want."

She nodded her head but was actually getting more enjoyment out of her daughter who was now holding her arms out toward her father. "Baby, look! She's reaching for you!"

Her term of endearment slipped out before she realized it and caused him to look at her with another impish smile although he didn't comment on it. Instead, he held his hands out to see if the baby would continue to reach for him.

"What do "you" want?" He asked, using false irritation but when she surged forward into his hands, he laughed at her. "Oh, I guess you want me."

He pulled her over until she was straddling his stomach but she looked back at Sara and held her hands out for her. Sara chuckled and reached back and Abby leaned forward until she was again sitting on her mother's lap.

"Are you playing with us?" Sara asked the baby then glanced at Grissom. "I do believe she's playing us against one another."

"Well, then we'll fix that." He moved up onto the bed until his head was on the pillows then reached down and pulled Abby up with him. "Come up here."

Sara looked at him a moment then watched how Abby tried to turn around in search of her and she started to reach for her mother again. Sara had no alternative but to move up onto the pillows with them and take Abby back again. Grissom turned onto his side facing them and allowed Abby to move forward toward him again, this time leaning on his chest until he took her hands and lifted as she pushed herself up onto her wobbly legs. She looked around the room and suddenly let out with a string of syllables that by the look of her face, should have been well understood by both of her parents. When they only reacted with laughter, her insistence turned into full gear and she swung her arms in determination as she ranted again.

"Okay! Okay!" Sara chuckled and Abby looked over her shoulder at her mother as she held onto her father's hand. With her knees wobbling she took an unsteady step toward her other parent and Sara caught her as the baby dove forward to her. "What are you doing, Abby?"

Aby was now on her knees as she rested against her mother's chest and peeked at her. She pulled and pulled until with Sara's help, she was standing again, this time facing Sara as her little bottom swivelled as she tried to maintain her balance and strength. The baby turned and looked at her father and reached one hand toward him, which he took and they both held onto her as she stood between them and started to ramble on as if she were telling them a very important story.

"I wonder what she's saying," Grissom asked.

"I think she' giving a lecture on the eating habits of the common house termite," Sara told him seriously then smiled as he raised a brow at her. "I don't know! Maybe she's just rambling like her mother."

Abby let out with a loud yell then went on with her one-sided conversation before promptly plopping down on her butt and tipping backward then letting her interest stray to the buttons on her father's shirt.

"It must've been the termite story," Grissom told her then they watched as she reached for and grasped onto her father's cheeks. He picked her up and held her on his chest so she was looking down at him, eye-to-eye. His eyes widened as the little girl she stared at him then promptly opened her mouth and brought it down on top of his nose.

Sara couldn't stop her laugh as she watched the face he made as the little girl slobbered on him. She reached over and pulled Abby back until the girl was lying on her side, between her parents but facing her father. Sara turned onto her side and gently stroked Abby's tummy as she glanced up at her husband. He promptly wiped his nose with his hand and looked back at her.

"That was disgusting," he mumbled as he turned onto his side again, facing them and allowing Abby's focus to turn to his shirt buttons again.

"It was adorable," Sara chuckled. "You should've seen the look on your face."

"That" was adorable?"

"No–"that" was funny. "Abby" was adorable," she said as she smiled at him.

"Really?" He reached down and took Sara's hand in his then brought it up to touch his nose. "Feel it–it's all slobbery!"

"But that's "your" daughter's slobber," Sara chuckled again. "You helped to make that baby, thus, you helped to make that slobber."

She pulled her hand back and began stroking Abby's back as the baby tugged on her father's shirt. She bent down to kiss Abby's head and moved her stroking to the girl's thick hair. A large yawn ensued and soon the baby's eyes started to get heavy. Sara watched as she slowly fell asleep, waking occasionally as she held onto her father's collar but quickly falling back to sleep. When she heard her breathing deepen she knew she was napping and she slowly tried to get up but her movement woke Abby with a start. Grissom reached over and put his hand on Sara's waist.

"Shhh. Just stay here awhile," he whispered then moved his hand back to stroke Abby's back to sooth her to sleep again.

Sara looked at Grissom and saw that he, too, was joining their daughter in slumber. She had to stifle a yawn of her very own, then decided that a few moments of resting her eyes wouldn't harm anything before sleep overtook her as well.

When Sara woke she had her head resting on Grissom's shoulder as he lay with his arm around her. She lifted her head and found Abby lying on top of her father as she snuggled against his chest. Sara glanced around and noted that the sun was beginning to dim. They must have slept over two hours. Stifling another yawn, she got off the bed and went into Abby's room where she started putting her clean clothing into her drawers and hanging her dresses in her armoire. When she finished putting the clothing away, she remade the crib and took her laundry downstairs to be done. She emptied the dishwasher and filled it again, then went to the refrigerator where she started a shopping list. By the time she went outside to retrieve the mail, she heard her husband coming down the stairs. He stopped midway down and looked at her as she flipped through the mail. When she looked up at him, she noticed that he was now in his tee-shirt and dress slacks.

"Aren't you getting ready?" Grissom asked as he looked at her. She had to stop a moment and think of what he was talking about.

"Oh! Dinner!" She put the mail on the table in the foyer. "I didn't realize you meant tonight."

"Well–we don't "have" to go tonight if you'd rather not."

"No! No! I don't mind. Actually, I haven't gotten anything out for dinner yet. I don't know what you want me to wear, though. What are you wearing?"

"I told you, it's up to you. Whatever you want."

"Oh–right." She paused on the stairs next to him and inhaled the cologne he was wearing and thought for a moment her knees were going to buckle just as easily as Abby's had earlier that day. "Um–I'll just run up and get dressed."

Sara sprinted up the steps and went into her room where she stood and looked into her closet. She quickly grabbed a pair of black slacks, a white top and a black jacket. She went into the bathroom and started to put light make-up on and do something with her hair. A quick fix here and a quick fix there and she was on her way to Abby's room where she went to her armoire and got out a dress she had just hung in there. After a few more minutes a still drowsy Abigail was in a blue lacy dress with white socks and black MaryJanes. She heard Grissom's approach and looked as he stood in the doorway, wearing his slacks and blue button-down. She paused as she held Abby and looked down at her clothes to see what it was that he was staring at so. Surely, she must have spilled baby powder or something over the front of her, otherwise he wouldn't be looking at her so closely.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You look–you both look absolutely lovely."

"Oh," she said quietly then walked up to him and gave him Abigail. "Do you want to drive or should I?"

"I'll drive."

Sara locked the doors as they went to the car and she watched as Grissom strapped Abby into her car seat. She was about to get in but his hand got to the handle before hers and he opened the door and held it for her. She glanced at him, feeling a bit unnerved, but she sat in the seat and allowed him to close the door for her anyway. She watched as they traveled nearly ten miles out the highway into a much less populated area where in the center of homes was a small restaurant with dimmed lights. Although some patrons were dressed in suits and dresses, other couples were in much more semi-formal wear and there were even those who came in jeans.

Grissom put his hand on the small of Sara's back as he carried Abby's infant seat with his other hand. Together they were escorted to a table with candles and an adapter chair was brought for Abby. They ordered their meals, each finding the pre-meal salad absolutely astonishing as they went for seconds. Their meal was eaten more slowly as they took in the ambiance and listened to couples around there. There were a few families situated throughout and they both got a chuckle out of interactions of young siblings as they would quietly argue about anything they could imagine, then be cut short by their parents and instructed to quiet themselves. The dessert was about to be offered when an older gentleman in the process of leaving, walked up to their table on the way. Sara saw how Grissom took a second look at the man, then seemed to try to ignore him but the man stopped with whom Sara presumed was his wife.

"Dr. Grissom," the man said somewhat distantly as he gazed down at Abby as she played with a cookie monster-shaped rattle. "You're daughter is absolutely lovely."

Grissom looked up at the man and Sara could see the tension in his posture. "Thank you."

"I notice the dark hair." The man looked at Grissom with a smug expression. "There is something about dark hair that is just mesmerizing, isn't there? It can unman a fellow so that he doesn't know if he's coming or going–living or dying."

"Gerard, please." The man's wife put her hand on his arm in a humiliated gesture to stop him but he shook it off before looking back to Grissom.

"What I don't understand is why you felt the need to condemn Mrs. Kessler simply because she decided to continue with her therapies. She could give a man so much pleasure that he's absolutely positive he'll never find happiness again–and most probably will not."

Sara looked at Grissom and watched as he reached for his glass of wine and took a slow drink before moving his gaze up to the man.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Senator. Perhaps if a man were to look for his happiness in his own home and not feel he has to look farther than that–he could have everything he needs in life." He sat back in his chair.

"Come now, Dr. Grissom. Your sermon sounded a bit too rehearsed to be genuine," the man chuckled. "Tell me, is it something the good Mrs. Grissom has scripted for you?"

Sara instinctively pulled Abby's seat closer to her. Her interest no longer was held by her husband as he dealt with this avid fan of Heather Kessler. She was more concerned with getting her daughter out of harm's way.

Grissom wiped his mouth with his napkin and slowly got to his feet. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Senator Bridges. If you find your life so devastated simply by Mrs. Kessler's interment in Clark County Prison, then I suggest you go down and find yourself a cell next to hers. Because if you continue with this game you're determined to play with me, I'd be happy to bring up charges of harassment."

"Do you really think it would do you any good, Doctor?" Senator Bridges laughed callously. "You can't succeed in caging an exotic beauty like Heather, what makes you think you could possibly bring charges against "me?" I–am–untouchable."

Grissom nodded his head as he looked at the other man and Sara wasn't sure if he even realized he was standing in the center of a semi-formal dining room anymore. She wasn't even sure if he realized that she and Abby were still in his presence.

"You're probably right, Senator. But, if I cannot have charges brought up against you, let me promise you this. . .if you "ever" come within fifty feet of either my wife or my daughter again, I'll do everything within my power to see that your pathetic life without Heather is shortened. Then you won't have to worry about whether or not a sociopath is in prison for the laws she has ignored and felt herself above." Grissom took a step closer to the senator and whispered. "In short, Senator Bridges, leave me and my family alone or I'll kill you with my bare fucking hands and have your twisted mind and body ground up into fertilizer. Do I make myself clear, Senator?"

"You think you're so holier than though, Grissom!" The senator sneered. "But you're no better than any of the men who would pay thousands just to sit at her feet!" The senator turned and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving his wife behind as she looked at Sara through sympathetic eyes.

"She's destroyed all of our lives, you know. He tells me that she did this to "help" the couples she worked with. It ruined us–destroyed us. And we'll never be the same."

Sara watched as the woman turned and went in the direction her husband had disappeared.


	200. Chapter 200

A/N: A quick note to everyone for their support through these past 200 chapters. Believe me, I never intended it to go this far, but since they did, I appreciate everyone's wonderful comments and encouragement.

Chapter Two-Hundred

Sara didn't look at Grissom as she stood and picked up Abby. She carried her daughter to the car, letting Grissom take care of the bill inside. She didn't say anything as he got into the front seat next to her. He looked out the windshield a moment then started the car and turned them back to the house. She cast occasional glances at him as the dashboard lights illuminated his profile, but he seemed in no mood to chat and by the time they arrived home, neither had spoken a word. Sara glanced at him again before getting out of the car then again as he opened the front door of the house and disappeared inside.

Sara didn't know how to approach him so when she entered the house with a sleeping Abigail, she noted that her husband was in his office and when she paused at the doorway, he raised his eyes and noticed her. She stood there, waiting for a word, a gesture, that she was to come in, but he simply looked at her a long moment before dropping his gaze. She closed her eyes in frustration then turned with a sigh and went up to the nursery. She took off Abby's Mary Janes, her white socks and her blue dress, remembering the much lighter mood that had been flowing through the house, only hours before, when she had put these clothes on her daughter. She wanted to think that it was amazing how a conversation about a particular person could turn everyone's mood into such disarray, but the truth was that it was becoming such a habit that it was no longer a surprise to her.

She was tired: tired of dealing with this obsession with a woman that apparently was seen as some sort of goddess by so many men; tired of constantly wondering if she could get through a single day without the mention of that woman's name. And now, it seems, she has something new to be wary about. . .how often will she and her daughter be witness to her husband being confronted about his fascination with this woman? Part of her wanted to simply go to bed after putting Abby into her crib but she knew she had to at least "try" to open the communication that had been cut short this evening, so after going to her own bedroom, she stripped off her semi-formal attire and replaced it with a pair of pajama shorts and a nightshirt that closely resembled a man's button-down.

She didn't stop to consider that the whiteness of the blouse showed off her skin tone to perfection as she kept the top three buttons undone. Nor did she take into consideration the collar that was turned up and showcased her slim neck as her curly hair framed her face in a most attractive way. She was more concerned with seeing if it was worth her effort, at all, to put energy into staying with a man who can't even look at her after the mention of his mistress's name.

She was about to go out her bedroom door when she saw him coming down the hall to his own room. His shirt was opened and hanging out of his pants as he carried his shoes with him. He glanced at her a moment then did a second take as he slowed his step.

"Did you–want something?" He asked as he looked at her.

"I thought. . .well, I just thought that since we. . .didn't get to. . ."

"Didn't get to. . .what?" He looked at her through confused eyes. "Get dessert? I'm sorry, my dear, but I thought after what had transpired, and the way you rushed out of the restaurant, dinner was finished."

"No," she said absently as she waved her hand in dismissal of his comment. "No, not that. I meant since we didn't get to. . .talk. . .but if you're too tired. . ."

"What would you like to talk about, Sara?" He asked with close inspection. "What happened at the restaurant? I don't think it's a good time to talk about any of that."

"You don't think. . .why?"

"Because I–definitely don't know what to say to you about it." He turned and started toward his bedroom door again.

"You don't know what to say to me about it?" She asked with raised brows. "Is it really that hard to voice your thoughts to me? Can you explain to me why I should be staying here if you "don't know what to say to me about it?" She stared at him through wide eyes, then closed them in defeat as she turned to go back to her room. "You're right. Nothing is different, really, is it? You've never known what to say to me about it."

She heard the sound of his shoes being tossed into his room and still she didn't expect him to grab her from behind and pull her back against him. His arms went around her waist as he hugged her to him.

"What do you want me to say, Sara?" He whispered into her ear. "That I feel violated? I feel desperate and yet I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do? I feel petrified that from this moment on, I won't be able to do simple things such as take my family out for dinner without being accosted by someone who. . ."

Sara waited, but he remained silent and she knew he was trying to find the right words and could not.

"Someone who hired Heather for sex," she said through grit teeth.

"By someone who is so enamored with her that they believe she's some type of omnipotent being that I've desecrated by putting her where she can't do my family any more harm."

"But you haven't, have you?" She asked. "Her tentacles still reach out and thrash at Abby and me. But then, if she's as goddess-like as you just claimed, something like that shouldn't surprise you."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course not," she said quietly.

"Sara, you come out here looking more angelic, more celestial, than Heather could ever come close to. You're so goddamned beautiful that half of me wants to take you into your bedroom and show you just how amazingly appealing I'm finding you; but the other half makes me want to run into my own room and hide, just so I don't tarnish you anymore with all the corrosion and filth I've accumulated at her doorstep." He released her and stepped back. "Goodnight, Sara."

She listened as he stepped away from her then closed the door between them. She walked into her own room and went to bed.

Sara slept late the next morning and when she glanced at her bedside alarm clock and saw that it was nearly ten, she jumped up and hurried to the nursery. With no signs of her daughter, she went toward the front of the house again and toward Grissom's room but found that empty as well. She went downstairs and worked her through the house until she made her way out to the front porch and found him sitting on the swing as he held a grumpy Abigail.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked as she stroked Abby's cheek.

"I don't know," he said as she gnawed on the knuckle of his forefinger. "She's been like this ever since I gave her her bottle."

"How much did she drink?"

"All of it."

"Hmm. Bring her back in. Maybe she's still hungry." Sara went to the kitchen and got a box from the cupboard and within minutes she was sitting at the table with a small bowl and spoon.

"When did you get that?" Grissom asked as he looked at the box of baby cereal.

"Last visit to the doctor–and then the grocery store." She watched as Grissom put a very excited baby girl into her infant seat in front of Sara. "You just wanted your cereal, didn't you, baby?"

"When did you start feeding her cereal?"

"About two weeks ago. Usually at night, before bedtime."

"When? I haven't seen it."

"That's because you're watching the Discovery Channel during that half hour. Then she comes in to say goodnight and you've been putting her to bed."

"Well, I'd like to know about these things. I mean–I missed her first feeding," he complained.

"Okay–how about if you give her, her first fruit?" Sara glanced up at him as she spooned some rice cereal into a very anxious Abby, then she nodded toward the cupboard. "Up there. You choose what kind."

Grissom went to the assigned place and looked at several containers then returned with some bananas. Sara continued feeding Abby until she only gave her about half of the cereal, then she stood up and motioned for Grissom to take her chair. His first attempt to feed Abby was met with an expression of confusion before she promptly pushed the food back out with her tongue. Another attempt had much the same result but by the third attempt Abby worked the concoction around her small mouth then swallowed and opened her mouth for the next spoonful. Sara watched as Grissom continued feeding her, then stopped him when he had given her about a third of the container. It was quickly decided that she was in need of a bath as she had smeared the food over her face, chest and arms as she would alternately attempt to shove her fist into her mouth and slide it over as much of herself as she could reach, and since it was "Daddy" who had given her the messiest portion of her breakfast, he was the designated bather. As he cleaned Abby downstairs, Sara took her leave and went to shower upstairs. Within half an hour, they were all seated on the front porch again as Grissom held Abby up to his shoulder and swung her to sleep and Sara sat next to them. The only sounds coming from him was a gentle humming as he soothed the little girl. After several minutes Sara stopped the swing and started to rise, but Grissom put his hand on hers and placed them both on her thigh.

"No. Don't leave yet."

"I was going inside to get something out for dinner."

"Not yet. I. . .wanted to tell you how sorry I am for shutting you out last night. I shouldn't have done that."

She shrugged her shoulders as she looked across the lawn. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. I'm quite positive you were left with the wrong impression and I did next to nothing to alleviate it. I just wanted you to know that I'm so sorry for what happened. The thought of someone like that approaching you when I wasn't there is nearly driving me into a panic and I can't help but keep wondering what would have happened."

"If you hadn't been there, I doubt I would have been approached at all. I probably wouldn't have been recognized, and likely, nothing would have happened."

"But we don't know that. Senator Bridges . . ."

"Senator Bridges is a bully, and like most bullies, all it's going to take is for someone to stand up to him and he'll fold like the sniveling little freak that he is." She looked over at him, not appreciating the fact that her morning had to be ruined by bringing up the Heather Kessler Fan Club alumni.

The sound of a car slowing and then turning into their driveway turned their attention to the detective's car as he parked. They watched the man approach them and give a bright smile as he came up the porch steps.

"Hey! Well, would ya look at that! The picture of a perfect little American family." Jim leaned against the thick white bannister.

"Where do you get your criteria for perfection?" Sara muttered.

"Alright, alright. I'll take it back," he chuckled. "How about the picture of the perfect little dysfunctional family?"

"What do ya want, Jim?" Grissom asked, clearly not amused.

"Who says I want something? Can't I just come out to see my little ginger snap?"

"Oh, God!" Sara put her hand on her tummy. "That makes me hungry for ginger snaps."

"We don't have any," Grissom told her, a little baffled. "We don't particularly like ginger snaps."

"Well, now "we" do," she said quietly.

"Tell ya what," Jim offered. "I'll take ya out for some lunch and you can get all the ginger snaps ya want."

"I think I've had enough "dining out" experiences for a lifetime," Sara told him.

"Why? What happened? Bad food?"

"No. The food was rather good. Bad company."

At Brass's confused expression, Grissom elaborated. "Senator Bridges stopped by our table on his way out of the restaurant last night. Evidently he's finding it hard to accept that Heather's been incarcerated."

"Yeah," Brass snorted. "He would. It's said he should've bought stock in Heather's dominion for as much business as he brought in. And it didn't help that he practically rented one of her rooms for his preferred services." He shifted his feet nervously. "He's not the only one, ya know. They're bringing in attorneys, judges, politicians. . .anyone who desired the affection of a leather-clad zombie. . .owes her favors. She's not coming through this without a fight."

Grissom remained silent as he looked from Brass to the floor in front of him then back to Brass again.

"Well," Sara said with faux cheerfulness as she got to her feet. "It appears my husband is having a hard time wrapping his brain around that fact. So, in the meantime–can I get you something to drink, Jim? Iced tea? Coffee?"

"I have no trouble "wrapping my brain around that fact" at all, Sara. I'm just sitting here wondering who they can get to take this case without fearing that he's on Heather's payroll." He looked from Sara back to Brass, waited a moment, then accentuated Sara's previous offer. "Iced tea? Coffee?"

"No–no, Sara, don't go to any trouble."

"Would you rather speak to Jim alone?" Sara asked Grissom, considering his repeated offer which would send her into the house and away from them.

"Not particularly. Would you?" He asked with raised brow.

"No!" She blurted out as if the question didn't merit answering. "I just thought. . ."

"I know what you thought. Maybe you should just stop thinking for awhile and make the world a safer. . ." Grissom slowed his statement to a near stop when he realized what he said, ". . .place."

Sara froze as she slowly turned and looked at him more closely. "What–did–you–say?"

The smile that crossed Grissom's face showed he realized his mistake immediately and was quickly working at getting back on the better side of her temper. "Nothing, dear."

"You–said. . ." She stood before Grissom with her hands on her hips in a threatening manner. "Jim, take Abby!"

"No!" Grissom said as he held onto Abigail tighter and chuckled at her. "I'm not letting him take her!"

"Why–not?" She asked stiffly.

"I'm not stupid–that's why," He continued smiling at her.

"I wouldn't swear to that!" Sara snorted. "Now give Abby to Jim."

"No–you'll hit me."

"I'm not going to hit you!"

"No? Then why do you want me to give Abigail to Jim?"

"Don't say things like that in front of Jim! He'll think you're the poor little abused husband who's constantly getting beat by his wife!" She looked over at Brass with pleading eyes. "I don't hit him–really, Jim. Well, not much–and–I haven't hit him since we were in France."

"Well, if it was in France–that's out of my jurisdiction," Brass told her. "Nothing I can do about what you did while in France."

"But I wasn't going to hit him!" She turned and stormed into the house. "Jim, bring my husband and daughter in here where it's cooler. We can continue our discussion in the kitchen."

"What discussion?" Brass asked as he held the door for Grissom and Abby. "Whether or not she intended to hit you?"

"I think she was talking about Heather's case," Grissom said.

Grissom put Abigail into her playpen that was situated in the family room then turned on the baby monitor and took the receiving end with him. When he finally got to the kitchen he found Jim sitting at the table with a cold glass of iced tea in front of him. He looked around for a glass for himself but found none. He sighed as he went to the refrigerator and retrieved himself a drink then went to join Brass at the table. He gave a friendly little smile to Brass then kept his eyes on Sara as she went about retrieving food she was going to make for that night's dinner. When she finished, she poured herself a cup of coffee and brought over a package of vanilla cream cookies.

"Now, where were we?" Sara asked as she removed the first cookie from the package, but stopped when Grissom nodded toward her cup of coffee.

"You're not supposed to be drinking that," he said quietly but she guarded her cup with her free arm and went about dunking her cookie into the hot liquid with her other hand.

"I'm only dunking. There's nothing wrong with dunking." She looked back to Brass. "Do they even know when the case is going to come to trial?"

"I can't imagine it's going to be anytime soon," Grissom told her. "It's only been about five weeks since she's been arrested. These cases take time."

"Well," Brass coughed nervously. "They usually do. But it seems the facilities aren't exactly to Ms. Kessler's standards. They're pushing for it to start as soon as possible."

"And how successful have they been?" Sara asked as she dipped her second cookie.

"It officially started this morning. Frankly, I'm surprised your attorney hasn't gotten through to you about it. It's probably what had Bridges all riled up."

Sara got up from her chair and grabbed the telephone. After punching a few buttons they could hear the messages they had missed since the day before. After the first stages of the trial, Sara and Grissom were to be at court the following Monday morning. That gave them the weekend to prepare any testimony they wished to go over with their attorney.


	201. Chapter 201

A/N: I offer my gratitude to CSIfan for pointing out that my previous chapter was not plausible as Sara, Brass and Grissom wouldn't have been allowed in the courtroom while Brandy was giving her testimony. (I'm rather proud to say that I've never actually been in a courtroom, so I lacked that knowledge.) So, I removed them and veered off my normal writing style to give you the information Brandy offered in the previous version, but without Sara or Grissom there to witness it. Hopefully, this be more suitable. If you find any errors (such as Sara or Grissom being mentioned as being inside the courtroom), please let me know and I'll fix it. Once again, thank you CSIfan for your keen observation and helpful insight.

Chapter Two-Hundred-One - B

Heather Kessler's entrance can only be explained as regal. She walked into the room as if she owned it and when the gasps of the women in the room relayed their opinion that her costume of lacy white purity was a complete travesty, her normally statuesque face actually cracked the tiniest bit of a smile.

Within seconds, an elderly gentleman moved to the front row of spectator's seats and reached over to put his hand on Heather's shoulder. She turned slowly and without raising her eyes any farther than his ring-clad fingers, she expressed her sentiment.

"Remove your hand, Edmund. I haven't granted you permission to touch me in weeks."

Senator Bridges coughed nervously as he straightened and tried to save face while searching to keep Heather's approval. He nodded and went to the seat directly behind the small wall that separated Heather and her attorneys from the rest of the courtroom.

Another low rumble went through the room as they brought in Brandy Costello who was dressed in a very proper skirt and sweater with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Charge by charge was brought up against Heather, running through the list that consisted of Jerome Kessler's murder, Marguerite Kessler's murder, the abduction of Abigail Grissom, attempted murder of Sara Grissom and her unborn child, the harassment of Sara Grissom which caused the death of her unborn fetus, and the harassment of both Gilbert and Sara Grissom with the related offense of capturing the image of a private area and private activities with said Gilbert Grissom, then the transfer of such images without authorization.

The first witness called to the stand was Brandy Costello and it was quickly brought to everyone's attention that Brandy was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.

"Have you been receiving your proper dosages of medications since your incarceration, Miss Costello?" Heather's attorney asked.

"Yes."

"And has it made a difference in your. . .perception of the things going on around you?"

"I'm much more lucid than I was during. . .everything that had happened."

"What exactly does that mean, Miss Costello?"

"I–know what I'm doing and saying now. I know what is appropriate and what is not. I feel in control of my senses now. For the past year or more, I had lost my grasp on reality."

"But you were under the protection of Mrs. Heather Kessler, weren't you? How is it that you were not in touch with reality while in her care? Was she not seeing to your needs?"

"Heather always tried to do what was best for me. . . .for any of the girls who worked for her. She saw to our best interests. It's just. . .when she would give me my medication. . .well, in the beginning, I was taking it, but then, slowly, I started throwing the pills away."

"Are you saying that Mrs. Kessler was unaware that you had stopped taking your medication."

"Yes. That's right. She became very angry with me when she found out. That was when I started dressing up as Natalie Davis."

"I–I don't think your reasoning is quite clear, Miss Costello. Could you explain yourself further. How is this connected with your medication–or lack of medication?"

"I wanted to please Lady Heather. It hurt me to have her so angry with me. So, I knew the best way to make Heather feel better was to try to get Dr. Grissom to come back to her. You see, she was so happy when he was with her."

"When Dr. Grissom was with her? Was Dr. Grissom in a relationship with Mrs. Kessler?"

"Oh, yes!" Brandy said almost dreamily. "He was in love with her! And Lady Heather was in love with Dr. Grissom! They belong together. But. . .then he went back to the other woman–because he felt sorry for her–because Natalie tried to kill her."

"Natalie?"

"Natalie Davis. She. . .well, I knew Natalie. I met her in the hospital the last time I was admitted. She was admitted there, also."

"So you knew Natalie before she knew Mrs. Grissom?"

"Excuse me? Mrs. Grissom?"

"Sara–Dr. Grissom's wife."

"You mean Sara "Sidle." She isn't really Dr. Grissom's wife. He can't be married to Sara–because he's in love with Lady Heather and Lady Heather's in love with him." Brandy looked at Heather adoringly. "I know–I've seen them together. I've seen videos of them. They're very much in love."

"Um, let's get back to Natalie Davis, Brandy. You said that you started dressing as Natalie."

"Yes. I did. I knew it would upset Sara. I knew it would make her look crazy and Dr. Grissom wouldn't want to stay with her. He'd be able to come back to Lady Heather if he didn't have to worry about Sara anymore. And if he put Sara into the hospital–then she wouldn't be there for him to worry about anymore." Brandy added as if only speaking to the attorney. "You see, he felt sorry for Sara. I did too. Because she seemed nice–except she kept taking Dr. Grissom away from Lady Heather. And she's pretty. I like pretty ladies. Sara is very pretty."

"Are you saying that you began harassing Sara Sidle, after her abduction by Natalie Davis, by dressing up as her?"

"Yes."

"Did Mrs. Kessler have any knowledge of this happening?"

Brandy looked at the attorney then back to Heather for a moment. "No. Lady Heather didn't know, until . . . until . . . no–she didn't know."

"Could you tell me, were there any times you actually made contact with Mrs. Grissom? Er, Sara?"

"No," Brandy said thoughtfully. "Not really. But there was the time she made contact with me. We were in the mall and I was teasing her–she caught me, but then she saw me up close and knew I wasn't Natalie. And–and there was the time I almost came in contact with Dr. Grissom. But I wasn't dressed up as Natalie that day. I went with Lady Heather to see Dr. Grissom one day but as we got to his apartment, he was getting into his car and leaving so we followed him. She said she wanted to talk to him, but didn't get the chance. We followed him around. He went to a few stores and when he went into the last store, Heather said she was going to go inside to talk to him. But after she went in the store, I saw him taking his things up to pay for them. So I got out of the car and went to let the air out of his tires. That way he'd have to stay there and talk to her and she wouldn't miss her chance!" Brandy said, seeming rather proud of herself, then looked a bit deflated. "But before we could drive up to talk to him–some other man came and started talking to him. So we drove away."

"Did you ever accompany Mrs. Kessler when she tried to make physical contact with Dr. Grissom again?"

"No–not until she was in the hospital and he would come and visit her. She would make me hide in her bathroom when he would come." Brandy gave a small chuckle. "Good thing he never had to use her bathroom while he was there!"

"Yes. I see. Brandy. I'd like to move on to Jerome Kessler, if you don't mind."

"I don't want to talk about Jerome." Brandy said quietly then looked at Heather again. "But. . .I will if I have to."

"Brandy, can you tell us what happened the day of August twenty-fourth?" The attorney asked, but Brandy looked at him blankly, so he added. . . "The day Jerome died."

"He talked to me. He asked me all kinds of questions. He. . .said he was going to take my baby away from me, just like they took my last baby away from me."

"You had. . ." the attorney said as he flipped through some papers in his hand. "I believe two children, Miss Costello."

"Yes."

"And what happened to those children?"

"My boy, Samuel, was taken from me. . .when. . .Jasmine died."

"And Jasmine. . .how did she die?"

"I–became angry. She wouldn't stop crying, and I shook her to make her stop."

"How old was Jasmine, Miss Costello?"

"Three months," Brandy said quietly. "And Samuel was eighteen months when they took him away."

"Miss Costello, how old were you when they took Samuel away?"

"I was sixteen."

"That means you delivered Samuel when you were. . .fourteen? Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Miss Costello. How is it that you came to have the child, Abigail Grissom, in your care?"

"Lady Heather–she was so angry when she found out Dr. Grissom made that woman pregnant and had a baby. It made her upset. She cried and cried. So, I wanted to make her happy again. I thought if I'd take the baby away–she'd be happy again."

"So, you're saying Mrs. Kessler had no knowledge of your intent to abduct Abigail Grissom?"

"No. . ." Brandy said slowly. "I don't think so."

"Then why, Miss Costello, did you inform several people that Mrs. Kessler agreed to allow you to "have" the Grissom child as your own, if you'd dress up as Natalie Davis and follow Sara Grissom?"

"She was kidding! She was joking!" Brandy blurted out. "I didn't know it then! But I do now. Heather would never let me take Dr. Grissom's baby. She'd want it for herself–not let me have it!"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean. . .no–she wouldn't really want me to take the baby. That was all my fault. And Jerome's–he thought it would make her happy too–so he helped me take the baby." Brandy's face contorted in contempt. "And that's not all! Jerome–he–he even tried to make Sara Sidle hurt herself! He even pushed her down the steps at the hospital! I know he did! He told me! He was crying and said he was going to pay for his mistakes in hell!" Brandy's anger calmed as she looked at him. "I guess he's paying for it now, isn't he?"

"Is that when he tried to take the baby from you?"

"No–not right away. He kept talking and talking. . .then finally he tried to take her. I didn't let him. I "wouldn't" let him. So. . .I grabbed the nearest thing I could find and I made him stop. I ran downstairs with the baby and got into the car and me and Lady Heather went to Jerome's house."

"Lady Heather went with you as you were taking the baby?"

"Um. . .yes. . .she. . .tried to stop me! So she got into the car with me and I took her to see Allison! But Allison didn't want to see Heather. And then Sara Sidle came and I ran and ran! Then I crashed."

"So, where exactly were you during the altercation between Mrs. Grissom and Mrs. Kessler?" The attorney asked and when she looked blankly at him again, he added. . . "Sara and Heather?"

"I wasn't there. I left with the baby. I didn't even see Sara. I heard her talking to Marg, but I never actually saw her. Heather and I were in the kitchen when she came. We were going to feed the baby some of the bottles I made for her, but we didn't have time."

"Are you saying Mrs. Kessler had nothing to do with preparing the bottles for the infant at this time?"

"Objection!" Came the prosecuting attorney's cry. "Leading the witness."

"Attorney Reynolds, would you like to rephrase that?" Judge Laufler asked dryly.

"Brandy, did Mrs. Kessler help you prepare the bottles for Abigail Grissom on the evening you crashed in the car?"

"Um–no." Brandy looked down at her hands then back up at him. "I did that too. I knew if I gave the baby some medicine she'd stop crying–but she didn't get any of it. No. Heather didn't know about the extra medicine."

"I see." Attorney Reynolds walked back toward the table where Heather was seated then turned back to Brandy. "Miss Costello, could you tell me about the relationship between Heather Kessler and Marguerite Kessler?"

"Their relationship?" Brandy asked, looking at him oddly. "Heather didn't have a relationship with Marg. She was her mother-in-law for Christ's sake! That wouldda been like incest–wouldn't it?"

"No! Miss Costello! I wasn't referring to a sexual relationship. I was referring to their attitudes toward one another. Were they fond of each other? Did they dislike one another?"

"Oh. No. They didn't dislike each other. And I don't know that they liked each other, either. Heather said she was glad Marg took care of Allison because she didn't have the patience for the little girl. I did though. I wouldda taken care of Allison–but Heather said I couldn't."

"I'm sorry, are you saying Heather didn't want to take care of Allison?"

Brandy looked over at Heather, then back to the attorney. "No. I didn't say that. She was just glad Marg was there to take care of her–that's all. She loved Allison! Just like she loved Zoey!" Brandy paused and looked back at Heather again, then said in a low voice. "Zoey–right? It was Zoey?"

"Alright, Miss Costello. I'd like to get back to my original question. Were you, or were you not in the vicinity when Sara Grissom attacked Heather Kessler, and in the process Marguerite Kessler became injured?"

"No. No. I wasn't there. I didn't hear about what happened to poor old Marg until after I was in the hospital."

"Thank you, Miss Costello. That will be all at this time."

Judge Laufler looked at the prosecuting attorney. "Attorney Roberts, do you have any questions for our witness?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"Proceed."

They waited as Attorney Roberts went through his papers on the table in front of him and rechecked some notes he had taken during Brandy's previous testimony. "Miss Costello, I would like to ask you again about your involvement with Heather Kessler. Just how was she connected to you?"

"I'm–not sure I know what you mean," Brandy said hesitantly.

"Quite simply, Miss Costello, was she your friend?" He started as if he had lost patience. "Was she your mentor? Was she your lover?"

Brandy's eyes snapped back to the attorney. "I–I–yes, she loves me. But–but–she loves all of us, and, we love her–but–but. . ."

"Objection!" Attorney Reynolds nearly roared. "What possible connection would this have to this case? Heather Kessler's sexual preferences are of no significance!"

"Attorney Reynolds," Judge Laufler said rather calmly. "Considering your client's occupation and the nature of her "business," I think it's a reasonable assumption that, although Mrs. Kessler's "preference" is not the issue, her relationship with Miss Costello certainly is." She looked back to Attorney Roberts and then Brandy. "Answer the question, please, Miss Costello."

"I–I–" Brandy's eyes kept going back to Heather who remained very composed in her seat. "I–no–no–not unless we were instructing a special client."

"Are you saying that you did have sexual encounters with Heather Kessler?"

"Yes! No! We worked together!"

"And there were no occasions where you spent your private time with Mrs. Kessler in a "more than employer/employee status?"

"She loves me!" Brandy said with large eyes. "And I love her! And if you can't understand how someone as refined and magnificent as Lady Heather can show you her love and make you feel like you're important–then you can go to hell! I'd do anything for her! She's treated me better than "anyone" I've ever known in my life!"

"Even the father of your children?"

"ESPECIALLY the fathers of my children!"

"I have no further questions."

"That will be all, Miss Costello." Judge Laufler looked at Attorney Reynolds. "Have you any other witnesses you would like to call forth, Attorney Reynolds?"

"Yes, your Honor," Attorney Reynolds said stiffly.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara watched as witness after witness was taken into the courtroom as she sat in the hall with Grissom and Brass. Toward the end of the first four-hour segment of the hearing, they broke for recess at which point Sara was totally grateful. Her back was stiff, her legs were stiff, and her nerves were wearing thin.

"You look so tired, you could drop right here," Jim said quietly as they all rose from their seats and he stood behind her.

"I'm just stiff," she gave him a tiny smile, then stretched her muscles slightly.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Grissom's hand cover her abdomen. She really had thought he had forgotten her presence. The fact that he chose this time to notice and actually acknowledge the growing bump that was now exposed by her stretch surprised her and after her initial jerk of surprise, she stood looking at him with wide eyes. He faced her, looking so damned handsome in his blue suit, blue shirt and tie and the brightness that flowed from his eyes as he looked down at his hand only intensified his appeal.

"You better watch it," he whispered as he leaned in closer to her. "Junior will get cold, sticking out like that."

"Junior?" Brass chuckled. "You know it's a boy already?"

"Doesn't matter what it is," Grissom said as he continued to look at Sara's stomach and gently stroked it. "I'm completely in love with it."

"Yeah?" Jim asked in a teasing manner. "And what about Mamma?"

"That goes without saying. I've been in love with "Mamma" since the very first time she smiled at me." Grissom's eyes moved up until he was looking at Sara who was still staring at him but by now had moved her hand onto his.

"That's all really romantic, Romeo–but I "meant" is Mamma completely in love with it–and the morning sickness and the pressure on her back and bladder. . ."

There was no opportunity to answer as they heard a heavy thud come from inside the courtroom, turning their attention to see the doors were open and giving them a clear view of the people still inside. Voices were calling out to one person.

"Heather!"

"Mrs. Kessler!"

"Lady Heather!"

Numerous voices continued to call to her as three men held onto her limp body. As Sara watched the woman being fanned and slowly coming back to focus on them, then looked directly out the door at Grissom before dropping her gaze and turning away.

"I'm alright," Heather breathed. "I just felt faint for a moment."

Sara looked at Grissom who was watching Heather and by now had removed his hand from Sara's abdomen, then the chaos of the room was interrupted with the loud banging of Judge Laufler's gavel.

"Quiet!" She demanded. "Attorney Reynolds, is your client in need of emergency attention?"

The attorney mumbled a few words to Heather then looked back to at the judge. "No, your honor. But I do believe she should be seen by someone to ensure that she is alright."

"Attorney Roberts, will you approach the bench? Attorney Reynolds?"

The doors closed again but within minutes word was being sent to those who were still waiting in the hallway that they were to go home, due to the unforeseen illness of Mrs. Kessler, court was now being recessed until the following morning.


	202. Chapter 202

Chapter Two-Hundred-Two

"Greg?" Sara called as she entered the front of the house with Jim following close behind. "Are you here?"

"We're up here!" Greg called with a somewhat muffled voice, turning Sara's gaze to Jim before they both looked at the top of the stairs where Greg started descending toward them. "We had a little bit of an accident. God! Makes me reconsider creating anything that can produce something as vile as she produced!"

Sara had to smile at the sight of Greg carrying a newly diapered Abby. The sight of two tissues sticking out of his nostrils made Jim look twice before shaking his head negatively, then reaching up to take Abby out of the younger man's arms.

"Look at you," Jim said sympathetically.

"I know!" Greg said. "It was horrible!"

"I was talking to Abby, ya big goon! Look how you have her diaper on. It's practically on sideways."

"Yeah?" Greg said with raised brows. "You think you could do a better job?"

"I know I could. It's just a matter of precision and patience."

"Precision and patience my butt! She wiggles so much once you get her naked, you'd think Catherine's been giving her pole-dancing lessons."

Jim raised a brow at him. "That's kinda creepy, Greg."

"You know what I mean! She won't stay still long enough to tape her back up. I kept trying and this is the best I could get it."

"Look at the holes! What the hell did you do to her, Greg?"

"I told you! She won't stay still! So I kept trying to pull the tape back off and redo it. It kept pulling the top of the diaper off."

"So you taped it with. . ." Sara looked more closely at her daughter's damaged diaper. " . . .duct tape?"

"It's all I could find."

"Next time–get a fresh diaper, genius," Jim told him, then looked back at Abby who by now was reaching for his nose. "Isn't that right? It doesn't use an excessive amount of brain cells to realize all you've got to do is reach for a new diaper. Even you could've told him that much, couldn't you?"

"Greg?" Grissom approached the trio of adults and his daughter as they stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Why are you standing there with toilet paper hanging out of your nose?"

"Because your daughter has the ability to peel the paint off the walls when she needs a fresh diaper!" He explained.

"Get used to it," Grissom mumbled as he went toward the kitchen. "It comes with the territory." He looked back over his shoulder as he was about to push the swinging door open. "Does anyone else want a drink? I'll get some iced tea and glasses."

"No. Not for me," Greg called. "Since you guys are home early, I'm heading out. I've got a chance at taking in a double-feature tonight."

"Anyone we know?" Sara asked as she started to follow him toward the front door

"Ritz Brothers and Marx Brothers."

"I didn't mean "who was in the movie," she smiled.

"I know," he smiled back, then reached over to where Jim stood near the door and grabbed onto Abby's foot and shook it. "Next time, no pooping until your daddy gets home–okay? You're too stinky for me." Abby looked at him upon the sound of his voice then reached for him and whined pitifully, making Greg roll his eyes as he reached for her and took her again. "Okay, fine. We'll go for another walk and then I've gotta go. . .fine. . .you didn't smell funny. . .just strong."

Jim and Sara watched as Greg took Abby down to the lawn then proceeded walking around the house as he pointed out various bushes and flowers for her to look at.

"Do you think he's going to get to that movie tonight?" Brass asked Sara as he followed her to the porch swing and sat next to her.

"Not if Abby has anything to do with it. I think she's got him targeted as a future husband. Caitlin just may have some competition there."

"Ah, and here my heart was set on having her as my very own," Brass said with disappointment, bringing a small smile to Sara momentarily before she let her gaze move away from him and over the lawn.

"Do you think her theatrics were performed for Grissom's benefit?"

Jim looked at her closely, as if not quite sure whom she was referring to immediately. Then after a moment, he nodded his head in understanding as his distant gaze moved out over the lawn as well. "I have no doubt about it. I also have no doubts that Heather did her drama queen bit just to throw a wrench into your little moment of family unity."

"So you think she saw us, too?"

"I know she saw us. She had a perfect view, I mean, we "were" standing almost in front of the doorway. She saw Grissom paying you some quality attention and wanted it stopped."

"Well, it certainly worked. Didn't it?" Sara looked back at him with concern. "He couldn't have moved his hand away from me any faster without dislocating his shoulder."

Brass chuckled softly. "Don't let it bother you. She's a master at what she does and you know it. Grissom wasn't the only one who turned to see what the hell was going on. All three of us turned around to look. Unless he's got arms made of rubber, it would've been physically impossible for him to turn around while still holding onto you." He reached over and patted her hand. "For all you know, he might've thought something dangerous was coming from inside. His first instinct could've been to see what it was, then to move you out of the way. It's just that the "danger" was emotional–not physical. And that's a lot harder to protect you from."

"What's" harder to protect her from?" Grissom asked as he came onto the porch with them, carrying a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses.

Sara took them from him and sat them on a little table then began pouring the tea for them.

"Over-amorous boys in a few years who will be knocking your door down to date your daughter," Jim told him then nodded toward Greg as he carried Abby toward them with one arm while rubbing his eye with his other. "See, she's making them cry already."

"Not much different than her mother," Grissom said under his breath, then spoke up as Greg came up the steps toward them. "What's wrong with your eye, Greg?"

"She tried to grab my nose," Greg said sullenly as he looked at them through one eye only. "But she missed and she poked me in the eye. Everyone's gonna make fun of me tonight when I show up at work with a black eye!"

"Good for "you," Snicker-doodle!" Jim said as he took Abby from him. "You're getting your aim down perfect."

"Why do you always call her some kind of cookie? Next thing ya know you're gonna call her coconut macaroon or something," Greg complained as he leaned against the porch railing and watched how Abby started pumping her legs as she stood on Jim's thighs and chuckled every time she'd bounce on him.

"Because she's so sweet, that's why he calls her names of cookies," Sara smiled indulgently at Greg. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea, Greg?"

"No–no. I'm gonna go now." He turned and started down the stairs then down the sidewalk toward his car. "So–you gonna need someone to sit with Abby tomorrow?"

"Are you sure you're going to get enough sleep between now and then?" Grissom asked. "I don't want come home and find out you've been sleeping for hours."

"I'll bring help. How about that? We'll take turns. When one of us gets tired, the other one will be with her."

"Thanks, Greg," Sara waved to him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"He didn't say who he's bringing," Jim said as they watched Greg drive away. "For all you know it could be some stripper he meets while watching the double-feature tonight."

"I don't think strippers make a habit of going to Marx and Ritz Brother movies, Jim," Grissom told him.

"Don't bet on it," Brass looked over at him.

"I'm sure Greg will bring someone responsible, and probably very knowledgeable in how to take proper care of children," Sara assured him then got up and moved toward the door to the house, carrying her tea with her. "Now, if you two don't mind watching our little prize fighter over there, I'll go start dinner."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom fed the baby dinner that evening as Sara put their leftover dinner away and put the dishes in the dishwasher. It was his turn to give the baby a bath as Sara went to take her shower and as usually was the case on those nights, by the time she was stepping out of the bathroom, Grissom was usually stepping into Abby's bedroom to tuck her in for the night. Sara went straight from her shower to her bedroom and she could hear Grissom over the baby monitor as he put Abby in her crib.

She walked to her dresser and retrieved her underclothing and a nightshirt that she would be putting on but as she turned to go back toward her bed, her terry-robe got caught on the edge of the drawer and separated. She looked down at the bump that was starting to grow and decided now would be a great time to pamper herself. She pulled on her panties, then grabbed a small tub of cocoa butter cream before moving back where she sat on the edge of the mattress where after a second thought, decided that it wouldn't hurt to put the cream on her arms and legs as well, considering they were beginning to feel a little on the dry side.

He was so quiet that she didn't notice him standing there until he took a step into her room. Her eyes went up to take in the sight of him with what remained of the suit he had worn to court that day. His trousers were slightly rumpled but still hung off of his backside in a way that could only compliment the man. His shirt was opened to his tee-shirt-clad stomach with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, evidently in preparation of the baby bath that took place shortly before. But it was his eyes that held her captive as he approached her and seemed to almost paralyze her.

"Let me do it," he whispered so quietly and desperately that she had to swallow with difficulty. Without waiting for a reply, he gently took the tub of cream from her hand and knelt before her.

"No, I . . . really, I don't think . . ." she started to protest.

"Shhh." He looked at the cream then reached forward to separate her robe even farther. "You let me do this with Abigail. I want to have the chance to bond with this one, too."

"But we weren't. . ." She tried again.

"Don't deny me this opportunity," he said as he looked at her imploringly. "Please. . .don't deny me this."

She was completely torn as she watched him. She knew she wasn't ready for this–especially now. But she knew he was only doing what she had allowed him to do with her previous pregnancy. She was battling with herself as she closed her eyes in an attempt to ward off the sight of him.

"I. . ."

His breath was on her cheek as he whispered to her and she felt him take her hand in his. "Just lie back. You need to relax. It's better for the baby if you relax."

She opened her eyes and looked warily at him a moment before slowly getting to her feet with him and moving to the side of the bed where he held onto her fingers until she situated herself with her head on the pillows. He sat next to her hips and dipped his fingers into the cream then warmed it as he rubbed it between his palms. She watched as he pushed the sides of her robe apart again until her stomach and lower body was exposed, revealing the whiteness of her satin panties. When he pulled on the cloth of her robe and it started to separate over her breasts, she immediately reached up and held it closed.

He didn't seem to notice as he went about rubbing the ointment over her stomach in a gentle, butterfly caress. His eyes never left the flesh covering his child as he moved his hands in circular motions, extending out from her bellybutton until it covered her complete abdomen.

"Are you relaxing?" He asked gently and she gave a single nod but the truth was that she was becoming more and more tense with every second that passed. Whatever ease had passed between them while in her early pregnancy with Abby, was missing with this child. She closed her eyes and allowed him to anoint her as his fingers moved over her tummy and onto her sides. When his hands moved even higher and he held onto the sides of her rib cage and stroked his thumbs back and forth, lightly touching the sensitive area at the base of her breasts, her breath caught and she immediately grabbed onto his wrists. She opened her eyes as he continued stroking her and he looked at her with such intensity that her heart started to race. As if he could feel it through her chest, he kept his thumbs there and she knew she had to move. She knew she couldn't allow him to have a glmpse into the window of her heart like this. It was too dangerous. She watched as the edges of his lips turned upward slightly before he leaned down and pressed them against her forehead. "Sleep well, my dear."

Then she watched him turn and walk out of her room.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom was sitting at the table, feeding Abby her morning dose of cereal with pears as Sara darted around them, gathering everything Greg would need while they were gone that day. They had less than an hour until the proceedings opened for the day and were facing a half-hour drive.

"Did you tell him we have to leave – like five minutes ago?" Grissom asked as he spooned the concoction into his daughter's mouth.

"I told him yesterday that we've got to be there by around 8:45," she said, then opened her cell to call him again but she heard someone knock on her front door. "See–he's here."

She rushed through the swinging door and into the hall that lead to the front of the house, but paused as she looked through the doorway at the people standing on her porch; one looking extremely uncomfortable and the other one curious.

"Uh–Greg's still on a case in the field," David Hodges told her as he practically tugged at his collar as if he were choking.

"So he sent "you?" Sara asked with raised brows.

"Hey, I'm not a bad alternative compared to Greg Sanders, ya know. I've had. . .a lot of experience. . .with . . .young. . .things."

"We're not talking about gerbils and hamsters, David," Grissom said as he walked up behind Sara with Abby in his arms.

"I've come along to help him," Wendy said as she stepped through the doorway that Sara was holding for them. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of her. She'll be in good hands."

"I know I can trust you, Wendy," Grissom said as he continued to look at Hodges and seemed to hold Abby a little bit more tightly against him, but the sudden sound of a strange burp turned everyone's attention to the child. White vomit spilled down over the front of Grissom's clothes. Sara sighed deeply, then turned and rushed upstairs.

"You fed her too fast," Hodges said as he moved up to Grissom and took Abby from him and grabbed a tissue from the foyer table and began wiping the baby's face.

Grissom looked down at his clothing in disbelief then looked back at Hodges who was now holding Abby as Wendy stood with them and started cooing and playing with her.

"And just how would you know that?" Grissom asked as he stood with his arms held away from his soiled clothing.

"I told you I had experience with "young things." I have friends who have children. Just because I don't jump onto the baby-making bandwagon, doesn't mean I don't know how to take care of them for a few hours until someone else can come and take over the job."

"Someone else?"

"Nick and Mandy are coming at noon, and if it goes longer than four, Catherine and Lindsay are taking over for them," Wendy explained as she took Abby from Hodges and they watched as Sara came back down the stairs with other articles of clothing then immediately started stripping the soggy jacket, shirt and tie from her husband.

"Here, take these off. I'll drive and you can put the clean clothes on in the car." She looked up at Wendy. "I wish I would've had more time to talk to you about this, but I'm afraid we'll be late if we don't leave right away. I wrote everything down in the kitchen. If you have any questions, call Greg. He knows where everything is."

They rushed outside and Sara got into the driver's seat of Grissom's SUV but when he tried to get in the front passenger's side, she stopped him.

"What?" He asked as he carried the clean clothing with him.

"You'll have more room to change if you're in the back seat."

He nodded then hopped into the seat diagonally behind her and she pulled out of their driveway and started on their way. She could hear him going through various stages of de-robing as she listened to a zipper being undone and shoes being pulled off. She glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see him maneuvering himself so that he was pulling his slacks off and she felt a jolt of excitement rush through her that she hadn't anticipated. She looked again as he was lifting his hips to pull the fresh trousers over them and watched as he buttoned and zipped the pants. The sight of him, bare-chested as he wore his suit-pants sent another jolt through her and that was when she decided to keep her eyes on the road for the rest of their journey. She saw Jim standing on the street as she pulled up to the parking lot, then walked to where she stopped the car.

"Arguing already?" Brass asked as Grissom opened the door to step out. "Won't she let you even sit in the same area as her, now?"

"No," Grissom explained. "Abigail decided it would be beneficial for me if I came to court wearing her vomit. She threw up on me just as we were walking out the door."

"Oh," Brass chuckled as he watched Grissom sit part-way out of the SUV as he put his shoes back on.

"Jesus!" Grissom said with awe.

"What?" Sara asked as she came around and stood next to Brass.

"How did she manage to get it on my sock?"

"I don't know," Sara said without patience as she reached into the vehicle and grabbed a disposable towelette with Fabreeze on it, then she knelt down and wiped at the stain until she removed any evidence of the damage done. "Let's go."

Brass watched as they both stood erect and closed the door, took a step onto the sidewalk and straightened their clothes before starting toward the courthouse.

"Wait," Grissom said as he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back slightly, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the towelette she had just used on his sock and started to wipe at the back of her shoulder. "She got you too, somehow."

"Is it off?" Sara asked.

"Yeah," he crumbled the towelette and shoved it into his own pocket and started walking next to her again.

"Good as new," Brass commented as he walked behind them.


	203. Chapter 203

Chapter Two-Hundred-Three

They called Grissom in to testify first and Sara sat in the hallway waiting with Jim as she alternately wrung her hands and paced the length of the floor. She thought they were taking an inordinate amount of time–too much time for him to simply go in and tell them that Heather videoed him having sex with her without his permission, transferred that video over the internet without his permission, caused the miscarriage of their his first child, pushed Sara over the railing in the stairwell at Desert Palms, kidnaped Abby, killed Jerome and killed Marguerite Kessler. Too long. She realized it wasn't going as easily as they had anticipated and couldn't help but wonder if he was having difficulty turning on his "friend" like this.

"Hey–Cookie," Jim walked up behind her and put his hands on her upper arms. "It'll be over soon. We can go home, get Abby and. . ." he looked at his watch, then back to her, ". . .Nick and Mandy and go to Frank's and celebrate."

Sara looked at him with a sad smile. "I doubt Griss's going to feel like celebrating very much by the time Heather's sentenced."

"Mrs. Grissom, they're preparing for you next," said the gentleman who entered the hall with them.

Sara nodded and went with him then waited until he showed her inside.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Mrs. Grissom," District Attorney Roberts began. "As you know, we're here today to push for the trial and conviction of Mrs. Heather Kessler on numerous counts, beginning with the harassment and subsequent injury obtained by your first child. Could you verify that you had been in contact with Mrs. Kessler during your first pregnancy?"

"Yes," Sara coughed as she straightened in her chair and glanced at Heather, noticing the way her lips turned up at the edges just enough to warrant what could be suggested as a slight smile as she looked back at her. "I was–um–helping to investigate a case she was involved in."

"Involved? How was Mrs. Kessler involved?"

"I was collecting evidence at the scene and then sent to the hospital to photograph her and her injuries. She was the victim of an attack while performing one of her "services" for her clients."

"Objection!" Attorney Reynolds blurted. "It is of significance, what exactly Mrs. Kessler was doing at the time."

"Sustained."

"So, Mrs. Kessler was the victim and was hospitalized. Is it safe to say that this is when the communication began between Mrs. Kessler and your husband?"

Sara looked at Heather again and saw the knowing smile in her eyes as she continued to watch her. "Um, yes. Um, my husband went to her hospital room as soon as he found out she was in trouble again."

"Were there more interactions between them throughout this time?"

"Yes. He was with her almost constantly over the next few days."

"During this time, were you trying to contact your husband?"

"Several times. But she wouldn't get him to the telephone."

"And what were your intentions when you tried to phone him?"

"I–was–beginning to have trouble with the pregnancy and I thought he should be aware of it."

"And this is when she refused to allow him to come to the telephone?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Grissom, do you feel this, in any way, was harmful to your pregnancy?"

"Up until immediately before the case, I was told everything was fine and the baby was strong. I "know" this resulted in my miscarriage."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grissom. I have no further questions at this time."

"Attorney Reynolds?" Judge Laufler inquired.

"Yes, your Honor." Attorney Reynolds approached the stand. "Mrs. Grissom, you state that your husband, Dr. Gilbert Grissom, went to Mrs. Kessler's aid the moment he heard of her dilemma. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Is it also true that Mrs. Kessler "didn't" contact him? I believe he was alerted through the CSI lab and went of his own bidding, did he not?"

Sara paused and looked at her hands. "That's true."

"And, Mrs. Grissom. Did, at any time, you volunteer to my client that you were, indeed, pregnant?"

"I didn't have to," Sara said quietly. "She knew. She knew the day I took her pictures, the day Grissom walked into her hospital room and . . ." She looked away again. "She knew."

"Well, how was that? I mean, I know Mrs. Kessler is being accused of some extraordinary things, but as of yet, I have to learn that one of them is being telepathic." He turned and looked at Sara again. "Now, Mrs. Grissom, you also state that you tried several times to contact your husband. Did you get through to Mrs. Kessler each time you tried?"

"No. Not each time."

"On the occasion that she did answer the telephone, did she alert your husband that you called."

"Yes, after I hung up."

"I see–but not "before" you hung up."

"No."

"Then how is it that she could have refused to allow him to come to the telephone when he didn't even know you called? Wasn't her exact words that he was "unavailable?"

"Yes, but. . ."

"Could it be that he "was" unavailable?"

"No! I heard him in the room with her."

"I don't believe that was the kind of unavailability that Mrs. Kessler was talking about. Do you?"

"No," Sara said quietly.

"And, by this time, didn't you say that you had already "begun" to have complications with the pregnancy?"

"Yes."

"Was there anything, remotely possible, that your husband could have done to stop this miscarriage from occurring had he gotten your telephone call in time that day?"

Sara just stared at him and looked over at Heather.

"Answer the question, Mrs. Grissom," Judge Laufler encouraged.

"No. There was nothing to be done at that point."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grissom. I have no further questions, your Honor."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Mrs. Grissom, regarding your attack in the stairwell at Desert Palms Hospital, could you tell me if you were in contact with Mrs. Kessler at all that day?" Asked District Attorney Roberts.

"Yes. I saw her as she entered the elevator as I was on my way to search for my daughter. Jerome Kessler was pushing her in a wheelchair."

"So, she rode the elevator with you?"

"Yes, until I got off on the sixth floor, then went down the stairs, instead."

"And was she aware of where you were intending to go?"

"Yes. She knew I was going downstairs. The light for the ground floor was lit when she got onto the elevator with us."

"And did you go downstairs immediately?"

"Yes. I wanted to find my daughter."

"Do you believe that Mr. and Mrs. Kessler had sufficient time to ride down the elevator and wait for you to come down the stairs?"

"Objection! Mrs. Grissom is not an expert on the operation of hospital elevators. . ."

"I'm going to let this one go, Attorney Reynolds. I'm sure any one of us can judge how long an elevator ride is going to take." Judge Laufler looked back at Sara. "Go on, Mrs Grissom."

"Yes, more than enough time."

"And what happened when you tried to get out of the stairwell at the garage?"

"Jerome and Heather Kessler were waiting down there, on the other side of the door."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grissom. No further questions."

"Attorney Reynolds?" Judge Laufler looked at the defending attorney.

"Mrs. Grissom," Attorney Reynold sighed as he made his way to the stand again. "You stated that Mrs. Kessler was in a wheelchair when she entered the elevator with you. Was there anyone else with you at the time?"

"Yes. Dr. Grissom."

"Your husband."

"Yes."

"Then you exited the elevator on the sixth floor. Did he exit with you? Or did he remain on the elevator?"

"He got off with me."

"And yet, you're saying that Jerome and Heather Kessler rode down in the elevator, got out at the appropriate floor just in time to go into the stairwell and shove you over the rail–even knowing Dr. Grissom exited the elevator with you. Wouldn't they suspect that if "you" were coming down the stairs–that you would be with your husband?"

"Objection," District Attorney Roberts spoke up. "Mrs. Grissom has no way of knowing what Mr. and Mrs. Kessler "suspected."

"Sustained."

"Let me put it this way. Do "you" think it would be logical that if two people exited an elevator at the same time, while previously on their way downstairs, that they "both" would come down the stairs at the same time, especially considering that they are husband and wife?" Attorney Reynolds asked, then waved his hand in dismissal. "Never mind. Lets get back to the fact that Heather Kessler was in a wheelchair at the time you are accusing her of riding down an elevator six floors, exiting and crossing a foyer, opening the door and still have time to wait for you in the darkness before tossing you over the rails like a sack of potatoes, then rushing back to the elevator and going down the remaining flights of stairs where she then waited at the bottom of them and instructed her husband to assist you. And you agree, Mrs. Kessler "did" instruct him to go to your aid?"

"Yes," Sara said stiffly. "She did."

"Did she, in any way, try to impair any attempts to help you?"

Sara stared at him. "No."

"Didn't she, in fact, suggest that your injuries warranted medical attention?"

"I don't remember," Sara said stiffly.

"That will be all, Mrs. Grissom. I have no further questions."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Mrs. Grissom, did you receive the following emails while staying in your Paris home this past summer?" District Attorney Roberts asked but when she merely gave a quick nod of her head he added. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Grissom, I understand that this has to be very difficult for you but you must look at the screen and identify it as the email you received."

Sara looked at him a long moment, already hearing the sounds coming from the speakers; sounds that announced her husband making love to Heather Kessler. She couldn't seem to force herself to look as she gripped onto the arms of her chair with a fierceness that was turning her knuckles white.

"Mrs. Grissom," Judge Laufler said gently. "We need you to identify these as the emails."

Sara slowly turned her head and looked at the screen. She didn't actually remember the rest of this session. Email after email was shown to her, asking her to verify that this was her husband, or that was Heather Kessler, or was this what was sent to you, or any other array of questions that both the district attorney and Heather's attorney demanded she answer. She didn't know if it lasted five minutes or five hours, but she knew the humiliation and stabbing pain was becoming unbearable. Finally they were through with her and she was allowed to leave. She rushed out in anticipation of some fresh air and ran directly into Grissom's arms as he tried to stop her as she passed through the courtroom doors. She looked up at him and shuddered,, the sights she had just been forced to watch again reinforcing all the agony and suffering she had faced these past months.

"Oh, my God! Let me go!" She tried to pull away from him but he held her more tightly and started walking with her as he tried to usher her toward the outer doors, but she wanted no part of it as she finally succeeded in pushing his arms off her. "I said–let me go!"

Sara burst through the doors and went down the grand steps and started walking–she wasn't even sure where, just so she could put some space between herself and this whole bloody mess. She was breathing heavily and covered her mouth with her fingers as she tried to regain some composure. Finally, she came to a small coffee shop and stepped inside where she quickly ordered a large decaf. She just started to sip it when a hand touched her arm. It was batted away as she swung on the him, ready to tell him to not only leave her alone now but to let her walk out of his life and never return again. But when she looked at the dark hair, she recognized the man she had once shared some beers with. She had to stop to think just how long it had been and the closest she could recollect, it was well over a year, maybe even over a year and a half since that formal party she had attended with her husband and escaped onto a secluded balcony where she was treated with only kindness and respect from this man. Sara gave a tiny relieved smile to Don Rogers and recalled his interest in this case as she remembered his story of the suicide of his wife, Stephanie, as a result of his association with Heather Kessler.

"Sara. Are you alright?"

She looked down at her coffee. "I'm fine."

"I know you're not fine. I guess it was a stupid question. I was in the courtroom, I know what you were forced to see," Don told her then added when he saw her questioning expression. "Spectator. I have a vested interest, but nothing to offer as a witness, I'm afraid."

Sara nodded her understanding as she looked down at her coffee again. "I'm sorry, Don, but would you mind if we went outside and walked? I'm starting to feel a bit claustrophobic for some reason." She took her coffee with her as she started back outside, but when she would have started walking in the direction away from the courthouse, Don nodded in the other direction. "I'm sorry you had to see what everyone viewed back there."

"No. I'm sorry "you" had to see it. It can only bring everything back that had happened in Paris in vivid color." He watched as she dropped her gaze and nodded again as she started to follow him back toward the courthouse. "This is very similar to what Stephanie went through–before she committed suicide. I know how devastating it is. But you've got to stop and realize this is going to be the last time you'll ever have to see it. You have to get past this and move on–for yourself–for your daughter, and for your new baby."

Sara put her hand on her abdomen that was barely announcing her pregnancy as she looked at him. "Move on?"

"Sara, we all know what she put you through over two years ago when you lost your other child. Don't let her succeed with this one as well. I know it doesn't seem it right now, but you've got a life surrounding your children and Gil. Don't let Heather succeed and take away everything you've got." Don took hold of Sara's hand when she looked at him doubtfully then tried to turn away. "For Christ's sake, Sara! Do you realize how "happy" you'll make "her" if you walk away from Gil? Even sitting in prison, she'll be the victor, because she got what she wanted."

"I can't, Don."

"Don't say that. You can. I know "you" can. Steph couldn't fight against her. She allowed Heather to win–and Sara, when Heather wins–everyone else loses."

Sara only nodded again as they continued to walk in silence for several blocks before they heard Brass calling out to her. They looked at him as he came down the last few steps of the courthouse through the dusk that was beginning to fall around them.

"Don," Jim acknowledged as he approached Sara and put his hand on her upper arm. "Sara, it's time to go inside. The judge is about to make her decision."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"In view of everything we've covered these past two days, I'm finding this situation so flawed that if I were Mrs. Kessler, I would be careful every time I crossed the street." Judge Laufler leaned against the wooden structure before her as she looked out upon the people in the courtroom. "Serious charges were brought against you, Mrs. Kessler. But, for some incomprehensible reason, it appears that you have the allegiance of those who clearly, in one way or another, feel they have an obligation to you. So much so, that they are willing to put their lives on hold so you may remain free. We have witnessed a young woman who has confessed outright to the murder of your husband. Therefore charges have been dropped against you for the death of Jerome Kessler.

"She also freely admits to her part in the abduction of Abigail Grissom and denies you having part in any way. I find it very convenient for you, Mrs. Kessler, that your allies consist of a known paranoid schizophrenic who had been unmedicated during these past two years, therefore anything she may have declared previously can easily be discredited. Now that she's been under constant observation and a strict medical regime, her testimony is, albeit doubtful, much more–suitable; and a dead ex-husband who, to his dying breath, may have pointed his finger in your direction, but refused to actually accuse you of having any knowledge of the abduction. And–therefore the charges of unlawful abduction of a minor child have to be dropped, as well. I must say, it is amazing to me how you always seem to be in the proximity of these catastrophes that have brought charges against you–but never close enough to actually get your fingers dirty.

"The assault on Mrs. Grissom, although it has been proven that your husband did the actual deed of pushing her over the stair rail, cannot be proven that it was anything other than an overly devoted fool trying to give everything to a woman that he could manage–even if, as it is assumed, you were never aware of until after the fact. As all the evidence proves, your wheelchair never left the elevator that day as the assault was taking place. Again, no assault charges are going to be brought against you.

"Your episode in the Kessler house involving Marguerite Kessler and her subsequent death is a matter of Mrs. Grissom's word against yours. Evidence clearly shows that it was your shoe imprint found on the older Mrs. Kessler–you are not denying that. And, it was also admitted by Mrs. Grissom that she was in the process of apprehending you, and Mrs. Kessler was trying to assist her. Although it is inconceivable as to just "why" you would feel the necessity to kick an elderly woman with such force, the fact is that you were being restrained and in a heated act of passion, quite plausibly fearing for your own safety and – perhaps – your life. At this point, there has not been subsequent evidence brought forth to prove that you intentionally tried to hurt Marguerite Kessler as she was advancing on you, and with this lack of evidence I have no alternative but to drop these charges as well.

"The unauthorized collection and then transfer of images of what could, in my opinion, be construed as pornographic, cannot be blamed on you as your late husband freely admitted to sending the emails to Mrs. Grissom. Taking the videos, though, without the permission of Dr. Grissom, can be pointed to you as this was done with your equipment, which you had set up for the purpose of recording intimate acts of your clients, in your home–these charges will hold. But, these charges, being a first offense, are considered a misdemeanor.

"The final offense, which you freely admit to, was "not" the harassment of Mrs. Grissom, but the instigation of Mrs. Grissom, causing her previous miscarriage and even though, as a woman, I find this behavior detestable and completely immoral, there is no written law against being extremely irritating and deceitful." Judge Laufler took a deep breath as she shuffled her papers into a pile then looked back to Heather. "Therefore with all charges dropped, except the unlawful collection, transfer and distribution of the videos of yourself and Dr. Grissom, you are left with a fifteen thousand dollar fine and thirty days incarceration, which is eradicated due to time already served. Court adjourned."

A/N: Again, being no expert on court cases, please excuse any oversights on my behalf. (Oh, and I must tell you, Heather's retribution is still on its way! Don't give up hope–she's still got to face the piper!


	204. Chapter 204

Chapter Two-Hundred-Four

Sara walked next to Grissom with the nighttime darkness illuminated by streetlights and exterior lighting on the walls of the courthouse. There was a crowd waiting outside the building but still there was enough space between them that he had to reach behind himself to grasp onto her hand as he started down the stairs in an attempt to weave through the people so they could finally make their way home to relieve an overly tired Catherine and Lindsey. She walked more slowly than him, evidently not having the energy after hearing the outcome of the trial that he had.

"Hey, guys!" Jim approached them as they started down the grandiose steps leading out of the building. "I have to go back in and take care of some business down the hall. I don't think it will take long, so if you wait a few minutes, I'll drive home behind you."

"That's fine, Jim. We'll be over here waiting," Sara told him then watched as he turned and went back inside.

Grissom didn't seem overly enthusiastic about staying there, but Sara pulled her hand free of her husband's and went to the far side of the granite steps where she stood near a line of bushes and an iron bannister. There was a large flow of people milling about and Sara didn't want to be waiting in the center of them.

"Sara, wait," Grissom said a little irritably as he moved to stand next to her. Once there, he looked around them, noticing how a good amount of people were either looking in their direction or gesturing in one way or another toward them. "I really didn't want to wait out here. I wanted to go home."

"Then go home," she told him. "I'll ride home with Jim."

Grissom looked back at her but she refused to meet his gaze. "I think we need to talk on the way home–and not in front of Jim."

She shrugged her shoulders as she listened to several remarks from people passing by who were commenting on the fiasco that had just taken place. There were several others who were voicing their inability to stay with a man after he had disgraced himself enough to be subservient to someone like Heather Kessler. And, there were those comments that she tried to block out completely as their boisterous thoughts weren't nearly so gentle as merely abandoning one's husband over such an incident.

"Whatever. I'm waiting for him."

"Look–you knew this was coming. I wish you wouldn't let it take away anything we've gained in the past two months," he told her as he put his hand on her shoulder to try to turn her to face him more fully.

"Yes. I knew it was coming. It doesn't help though when you're watching your husband having sex with his lover. It doesn't help when you're forced to listen to him make noises and say things . . ."

"Sara, that's enough," he said quietly as he glanced around at the other people close to them.

"Afraid someone might hear–someone who hasn't already heard or seen it inside the courtroom?" She turned away from him then smiled when she saw her dark-haired friend coming out of the courthouse and approaching her. "Hello, Don."

He took her hand as he side-stepped another person, forcing her to take a step down from her husband in the process. He looked at the other person then back to Sara apologetically.

"Sorry. He almost knocked me down the steps." He covered her hand with his as he spoke to her. "Sara, I'm so sorry this turned out this way. There just doesn't seem to be any justice in this world regarding this woman. But then, somehow I never expected it to end differently. Is there anything I can do to help you make it through this?"

"Tell me, Don," Grissom broke in a bit sarcastically. "Just what would you happen to have in mind to assist my wife?"

Don looked up the two steps that separated Grissom from Sara and himself. "Actually, I was thinking of offering her the services of a very good therapist who happened to help me try to deal with my wife's death a few years ago. But I didn't think just blurting something like that out in the middle of a crowd was not only very beneficial, but very refined either."

"It's alright," Sara said as she turned more toward Don. "I want to thank you for all you've done today. And if I need to speak to anyone, I'll definitely keep your advice in mind."

"I told you, Sara. . .this is a no-win situation and when we're put in such a position as this, we need all the friends we can get. I want you to consider me a friend. I just wish. . .Steph had had more friends available that she could've trusted."

Sara looked at the deep sadness in this man's eyes as he looked away from her, then the voice from nearby froze her.

"Gil, I know you're probably in a hurry to leave, but I had to stop and thank you for all you said today," Heather's lowered voice turned all three of them to watch her walk with a small entourage behind her until she was standing on the same step as Grissom and placing her hand on his forearm. "I know it must have been difficult defending me when your first concern was your wife and children. But you are a man of truth, and no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, you know deep down that I'd never be capable of doing the things I was accused of."

Grissom looked at her in confusion. "I–I beg your pardon? I wasn't "defending" anything in there. I was only stating the facts. And the fact is that "I" was just as guilty as anyone in neglecting my wife during her time of need. I could only testify to the facts, Heather. My opinion wasn't solicited "or" desired, otherwise I would have freely offered more than I had the opportunity to say."

"Of course. I understand." She dropped her hand then her eyes before looking back up at him. "I wanted to let you know how glad I was that they explained that many of the things I said during those insane hours during this travesty was due to the medication they had given me prior to my release from the hospital. I mean, I guess they had no way of knowing the adverse side effects they would have on me."

"Heather, when you said those things about taking Abigail so we could be together, you seemed as lucid as I have ever seen you."

"You know I never admitted to any such thing. Even under the influence of my medication, I wouldn't have admitted to taking Abigail when I would have died before taking her from you. As for wanting to be with you–it was only wishful thinking, I suppose." Heather gave him a tight smile. "But as far as seeing me lucid–there were times when you sent my senses reeling."

"Good God, Heather," Don hissed as took several steps toward her. "Haven't you spread enough venom through this family's veins?"

Heather looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, then dropped her eyes demurely again. "Don. Yes–yes–of course. I apologize. But tell me," she said more quietly as she raised her eyes to look at him. "How is that lovely wife of yours? Stephanie–wasn't it? Have you had that child you both were trying for?"

Sara looked back at Don and saw how he seemed to pale instantaneously.

"Heather, darling," Senator Bridges walked up the steps and took Heather's hand in his. "Please, allow me to take you home where you won't be bothered anymore. I promise to protect you from all of this."

"Isn't that Senator Bridges?" Came from several different areas at once, turning Sara's attention to the cameras that were quickly drawn and snapping shots of the prominent politician who was aiding the local dominatrix.

"Edmund," Heather turned cold eyes on him. "Remove your hand."

"Edmund?" The woman's voice came from a few steps below as they turned to look at the white-haired woman holding her jacket over her arm, looking through painful eyes at her husband and Heather. "Edmund? Please?"

"I told you not to come here," he said coldly then turned back to Heather. "Go home, Lois. I'll speak to you later."

"Oh, Edmund," Lois aid sadly, then shot the gun she had been concealing in her hand.

The first shot hit the back of her husband's head as people watched the front portion of his skull splatter across the majestic whiteness of Heather's dress. Sara wasn't entirely sure where the second shot went, but she couldn't believe what was unfolding only four feet in front of her. She looked at the blank expression that covered Heather's face, then at Don and watched as he dropped to his knees as Senator Bridges body was forced against his. What she had first thought was simply a case of being thrown off balance changed in an instant as she saw the red area spreading from the younger man's chest as if someone had thrown a bucket of paint on him. He looked around his surroundings as if not understanding what was happening before his eyes went blank and he fell forward.

Sara looked back at Lois Bridges and watched as she pulled the gun up for a third time, evidently having missed her mark on her second shot as she started to point it toward Heather. Instinct took over as Sara grabbed the woman who was now standing in a stupor as she slowly tried to wipe Senator Bridges' brain matter from her face. Sara yanked Heather down the stairs in hopes of getting her out of the line of fire but instead, Lois simply followed her intended target and fired. The bullet hit Heather in the stomach and threw her back against Sara with such a force that it knocked them into the metal bannister behind them, sending intense pain through Sara's side. She looked at Heather as she held onto her and watched the other woman look at her in disbelief as she reached down and touched the blood that was now flowing from her mid-section. Sara pulled her back, ready to push her out of the line of any other bullets coming their way, but when she heard the agonized scream before her, she saw that Lois had simply dropped to her knees and began sobbing. Sara watched Jim run to them and quickly disarm the older woman before looking over at Sara and Heather.

Grissom was pushing past Senator Bridges' and Don's bodies, practically leaping over them as he grasped onto Sara and looked at her

"Gil?" Heather said weakly as she looked up at him and turned more toward him.

She reached out and touched his face, spreading her blood on his cheek before collapsing. Sara watched as he grabbed her before she hit the granite steps beneath them, then slowly lowered her until she was half-lying, half-leaning against him. He looked up at Sara with fear raging through his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

She watched as he looked back at Heather. "Heather! Heather!"

Sara watched as he tentatively placed his hands on the woman's face, then on to her neck where he checked for a pulse.

"Is she still alive?" Brass asked as two officers came and took Mrs. Bridges away.

"Yes, but she needs an ambulance. Her pulse is very weak."

"What about those two?" He nodded toward the two men lying haphazardly on the steps.

"There's nothing left to Bridges. It doesn't look good for Rogers. Dammit! We need an ambulance here!" Grissom yelled at the officers who were calling for assistance.

"Sara, are you alright?" Jim asked as he moved over to stand in front of her as she leaned back against the bannister, watching her husband and the carnage around them.

"I'm fine. Take care of Heather and Don." She put her hand to the pain she felt in her side, wondering just how hard she had been thrown against the metal rod behind her and felt the heat radiating from it.

"He's dead, Captain," said another officer who was checking Don for a pulse.

She watched as Grissom allowed two other officers to take over care of Heather as he got to his feet and wiped at the blood she had smeared on his face.

"Gil?" Heather said weakly as her eyes fluttered closed. "Gil?"

"We can take over now, sir," one of the officers said to Grissom and he nodded in agreement as he watched them applying pressure to her wound.

Grissom turned and took a step toward Sara but looked at her strangely, squinting his eyes as he looked at her so closely she felt as if she were under one of his microscopes. Suddenly she felt very tired and wanted to go home to Abby. Maybe she'd take a nice long bath when she got there, first. She could light some candles and put on some music. Then, she could go out and give Abby a soothing bath in some lavender-scented bath, dry her off with one of her softest towels, then put her in one of her warm sets of pajamas. It is October, not quite as warm as it had been when they first came back to Vegas, so the long pajamas would do nicely tonight. She'd then snuggle with Abby on her soft comforter before putting her to bed for the night. "I'm–uh–I think I'm gonna go home now. I'm sure Catherine and Lindsay are exhausted. Jim, you can drive Grissom home when he feels he's ready to go back to his house. No rush, really. Don't rush yourself, Griss. I've got everything under control. Um–I'll see you guys later."

"Sara?" Jim asked in bewilderment as she stepped away from the rail and grasped onto it to steady herself before taking a few more steps. The red smears on the iron railing turned Jim's eyes to the area she had been holding onto before she started walking away, revealing the area that was becoming saturated with blood. "Jesus! She's been shot!"

"No," came the moan from behind her and she was turned so quickly that she lost her footing and practically twirled into the arms of the man who dove after her. "Not you–not you!"

Sara tried to focus on the person whose arms were around her as she grabbed onto his arms for stabilization, but he was busy yanking her jacket from her body.

"What are you doing?" She asked irritably as she looked at Grissom, not quite fathoming why he would decide to strip her in the middle of a crowd of people. "Let go! Dammit, Grissom!"

"Ah, Jeez," he moaned again as his fingers went to the front of her blouse and he started lifting it, earning him a swift slap on the hands.

"Grissom! What is wrong with you!" She said quietly as she looked at the people around her who were now staring at the way her husband was trying to get her naked.

"Honey, I need to look at your. . ."

"Yeah," she smirked as he became even more fuzzy in front of her. "I know what you need to look at! The same thing you were trying to feel last night! Well, you can forget it!"

"Sara," Jim interceded as he moved up and turned her attention from her husband's wandering hands. "You've been injured. Grissom needs to see how badly."

"I hit my side against that banister. That's all." She turned to look at Grissom again as he lifted her blouse along her side, high enough to expose her bra. "Gil! Do–you–mind!"

"Baby," he looked at her as he grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her side. "You've been shot. We've got to get you to the hospital."

"Don't talk stupid, Gilbert," she said to him as she tried to push his hand away. It was, after all, pressing against the bruised area of her side where she had just been thrown against the banister. "I'm pregnant. I "couldn't" have been shot."

She couldn't quite understand why her knees started to go weak–stress, she supposed, but she gratefully accepted her husband's assistance as he lowered her to the steps beneath them and he sat with her across his lap. She could hear the sounds of sirens approaching and wondered if they would get Heather to the care she needed in time. She tried to get up again, not particularly caring to see if Grissom was going to accompany Heather to the hospital or not. She couldn't deal with any more trauma today. She just wanted to go home, and lie down. She was already beginning to feel too tired for that bath. When she attempted to get to her feet, she was held tightly in place by Grissom's arms and the pressure on her side was becoming unbearable.

"Grissom!" Sara threatened. "If you don't let me go right now, I'm gonna see that you're going to have diaper duty for the next three years!"

"Then I'll have diaper duty," he answered as he continued holding onto her.

"You'd change their diapers for three more years?" She asked, suddenly feeling even more tired than before as she leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"If that's what it takes to keep you still until we can get you to the hospital," he answered indulgently.

"You're only agreeing because you know they'll be potty trained before that."

"Then I'll potty train them."

"Gil?" She nuzzled her head against his neck. "Why are you taking me to the hospital?"

"Because you've been shot, my dear," he said in a strange voice, then almost sobbed audibly.

Even in her weakened state, her temper flared as he "once again" confused her with Heather. "No! "I" didn't get shot! "Heather" got shot!"

"So, did you, honey."

"That's ridiculous. I'm pregnant! No one shoots a pregnant woman," she said quietly. "No one would be that brutal. Would they?"

"No, my dear. No one would be that brutal," he said again in a pacifying tone.

She could hear various sounds of metal clanging, orders being given and even the silencing of the crowd around them. She became silent as she watched through lethargic eyes as the first stretcher was rushed toward them.

"There's another coming behind us–probably be here by the time we get the first one loaded," remarked a woman in paramedic wear as she rushed to Heather's aid, checking for her pulse and immediately adding oxygen. "We'll be loading this one first. Her injuries are more severe than that one."

"You'll be taking my wife first!" Grissom ordered. "She's got an entry wound to her torso."

"Any exit wounds?"

"Not that I can see. She's going first!"

"Sir, I understand your concern, but this patient is bleeding out. She clearly has severe internal injuries that need tended to."

"You don't know who has the more severe injuries from external appearances!"

"Excuse me, but I've been a paramedic for ten years–I think I can see that someone who has both an entry and exit wound that blew a hole in her back the size of a baseball is more severe than someone with only an entry wound." She continued attaching equipment to Heather as the other woman stirred and looked at Grissom with fearful eyes.

"My wife is pregnant. You're taking her first," he said, getting more and more forceful with each order.

This time the woman stopped and looked at him, then looked at her partner who had been working on the stretcher with his back to them. "It's your call–you're senior paramedic here."

The man turned and looked at them and Jim gasped, "Holy shit!"

Sara looked up at the man who appeared to be in his early fifties as he smiled gently at her. He moved forward and took her hand in his. She recognized him immediately and felt at peace. Funny, he could easily pass as Grissom's twin brother–not exactly the same, but close enough to know they were brothers. But, Sara knew Grissom had no brothers.

"Christopher," she breathed with a smile, then felt herself float into blackness, hearing only a few phrases as she went.

"Noooo!" Grissom moaned as he held onto her more tightly.

"We'll be taking Sara first," the other man informed his partner. "She's "our" priority."


	205. Chapter 205

Chapter Two-Hundred-Five

Grissom sat in the rear of the ambulance, holding onto Sara's hand as they sped through the streets of Las Vegas. The woman who had been so insistent on seeing that Heather was taken care of first was driving the vehicle as the other paramedic remained in the back where he monitored Sara's condition closely. Grissom was somewhat amazed at how the man could move about the vehicle as if he were walking on air; with the sharpest of turns or sudden stops, he always maintained perfect balance and never faltered. But Grissom "was" beginning to become a bit unnerved by the way this man was smiling at him as he was taking care of Sara. He would often glance up at Grissom and offer him a wink or simply smile kindly.

"Excuse me," Grissom finally said a bit hesitantly. "Do I know you?"

"Hmm," the other man said. "Probably not. But I've seen you around. No doubt you've seen me. We've run into some of the same cases before. You know–you get them "after" they pass over–I get them "before." Finally the man sat on the other side of the stretcher, satisfied with Sara's vitals at this point. He smiled briefly at Grissom again before looking back at Sara. "Hello, Sara! You gave everyone a fright back there! You lost consciousness for a few minutes. How are you feeling?"

Grissom watched as Sara's eyes opened and she looked at the source of the voice, then reluctantly looked at the person holding onto her hand. There was a moment's confusion before she weakly pulled her hand from Grissom's and reached for the paramedic's as her eyes brightened with what Grissom could almost take as joy, a joy he rarely sees anymore, only when she's playing with Abigail.

"I'm going to be alright," Sara said weakly, but with one hundred percent certainty as she continued to look into the other man's eyes.

"Yes," the paramedic chuckled softly as he looked back at her. "You are."

"Because you saved me."

"Eh. . ." he shrugged his shoulders almost as if embarrassed to admit his bravery, then chuckled again. "Ya do what ya gotta do, right?"

"And you're going to see that I'm alright."

"Mmm-hmm."

"And–"you're" going to be alright, too."

"Oh, I don't know how "alright" someone like me can be," he laughed at her in a self-depreciating way. "But, yeah, I'll survive."

"Aren't you coming along?"

"I "am" coming along."

"I mean. . ."

"I know what you mean. But, I'm needed right where I am."

Grissom watched as a bit of sadness touch her eyes again. "But "I" need you with me."

He smiled so brightly that Grissom could have sworn he lit up the whole ambulance.

"I know." He reached up and stroked his hand over her forehead. "Now, why don't you try to get some rest until we get you taken care of by a doctor?"

Grissom watched as Sara's eyes closed and she seemed to drift off again. "She trusts you."

"Yes. She does. She's a very trusting soul if you give her reason to be."

Grissom felt a slight gouge at this comment. "Is she alright?"

The paramedic looked at him and nodded affirmatively. "She's going to be fine. She's in shock. That's the major concern right now, but with these fluids going into her, and getting her to the hospital, she's gonna be fine."

"And yet, you instructed them to load Sara before Heather."

The man glanced at him. "Yes. I did."

Grissom waited for him to go on, but he didn't elaborate.

"Is that why Sara was saying those things to you? Because she's in shock?"

"I know Sara. We run into one another from time to time. It's always nice to talk to an old friend, don't you think?" He reached to the IV drip and adjusted it before looking back at Grissom. "How about you? No injuries tonight?"

"No. Nothing to be treated by a doctor."

"So, there "were" some injuries." He lifted the sheet covering Sara and checked the bandage covering her wound. He lifted it and looked as he reached over with his other hand to mop at the steady flow of blood with more gauze. But when he dropped the freshly bloodied gauze into the trash, Grissom could have sworn her heard something metalic. "That was some trial back there."

"It was a travesty," Grissom said quietly, not thinking he had actually said it aloud, then looking up at the man quickly when he realized he did.

"The trial? Or your testimony?" He asked and Grissom could only stare at him. "You didn't believe she should be on trial?"

"No–it wasn't that. It was only. . .I lied. . ." Grissom said slowly, not understanding where the freedom to speak to this stranger was coming from but feeling an easiness with him that was extremely rare.

"Surely not on the stand," the other man smiled knowingly at Grissom. "Gil Grissom would never lie on the stand."

"You "do" know me," Grissom said as he looked at him with great curiosity.

"I know you," the man admitted. "But then, with your reputation before all of this started, and then all your publicity since the kidnaping, you're name and picture is kind of hard to avoid. Actually, it gets to be kind of annoying."

"Annoying? How so?"

"People have come up to me more in the past two hours than you can imagine. They all want to know what it was like to be tied up by the notorious Lady Heather. They want to know other things as well, but I won't get into that."

"I–don't understand."

"No. I don't suppose you would. It doesn't matter. But, I asked when you lied. To who?"

"To whom," Grissom corrected without thinking, almost as if he were correcting a child's use of the English language. "I lied to Sara. I lied when I told her everything was going to turn out as it should. I knew it would end this way. I knew Heather would walk away from the trial unscathed."

"Ah, but she didn't walk away unscathed–did she?"

"No. She did not."

"And it bothers you–why? Because the court systems failed. . .or because the justice was handed out in such a brutal way?"

"I don't know. Maybe both. Maybe neither."

"It's a lot to wrap your mind around–isn't it?"

"Funny," Grissom said, not finding the situation funny at all. "Sara said something very similar to me the other day."

"What do you want to do? I mean, there's bound to be a time when this is going to come back on you–and it will come back on you very soon. You were designated her medical power of attorney at one time, weren't you?"

"Heather's?" Grissom asked. "How do you know this?"

"Gossip runs wild through the station," the man said. "Everyone was talking."

"I see." He looked down at Sara as she lay with her eyes closed and breathing evenly. "This is all I"m concerned about right now. I don't have the strength or will to deal with anything other than this."

The man watched Grissom a few moments longer then started preparing for their arrival at Desert Palms. He pulled up the bandage covering her wound one last time and mopped it with a fresh gauze again, but this time, Grissom didn't notice nearly as much blood on it as he tossed it into the trash–nothing near the amount that had been pouring out of her minutes before. Soon, they were ushered inside where Grissom was separated from Sara and she was examined by the staff. Grissom sat in the waiting room until Brass hurried inside and joined him.

"How's she doing?" Brass asked as he sat in the chair opposite him.

"She's being examined. The paramedic told me he felt she was going to be fine, though."

"Christopher?" Brass asked.

"What?" Grissom asked in confusion.

"The paramedic. Sara called him Christopher. I wouldn't doubt in the least that he was somehow related to that kid who took care of her after you found her on the desert. Remember him? He was her nurse for a while. He looked just like him, only about thirty years older. As a matter of fact, he looked a lot like you. You sure you don't have any brothers I don't know about?"

"He looked like me?" Grissom asked doubtfully. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, whatever you say. But I'm telling ya, he had to be related to you in some way."

Grissom snorted with amusement as he watched the two paramedics walking away from the coffee machine on their way to take their ambulance back to the station. He looked at the man and could see some similarities such as height, weight, curly hair and color of eyes. But when he smiled, it was the teeth that differed with the gap displayed there.

"It's good to see you again, Jim," Christopher said with a wave then walked out of the building and disappeared into the darkness.

Jim looked at Grissom for any kind of explanation but none was forthcoming as Grissom was already lost in thought about his wife and unborn child, so Jim just let it slide. He had run into more than his share of "miracles" while on the job over the years–he was beginning to think that "Christopher" was one of them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara recognized the beach as she walked along its length in her bare feet with her khaki's rolled up to her calves. She wore a tank top with an opened denim shirt that hung down around her hips as she shoved her hands into her pockets and strolled along. The beach was the one she and Grissom had walked along during one of their first "dates," if you could actually call it that. She was merely one of his students who was showing him the city as the heat of that day had them remove their shoes so they could casually wander along its waterfront. If she hadn't already fallen in love with him by then, it certainly was a turning point for her as she watched and listened to him that day. She remembered becoming completely absorbed in his eyes; eyes as blue as the ocean that was lapping at their toes, and when he would bestow her with one of his smiles, her heart seemed to skip a beat.

But as she looked around, Grissom wasn't within ready sight, but those children were. She didn't need to be told who they were. She could feel it as surely as she could feel it when she held them in her arms as babes. The dark-haired little girl ran ahead of the little boy whose hair was the color of sand, but both had curls that bounced as they ran and when they looked back at her, both had eyes so blue there was no denying who their father was.

"Abs! Wait for me," yelled the boy.

"Jamie, you're so slow," the girl criticized as she stopped and looked at him with her arms crossed over her chest in vexation but when he smiled at her, her demeanor changed and she rolled her eyes at her brother. "Oh, just come on. They're waiting for us."

"Abs" waited until "Jamie" caught up with her then put her hand on his shoulder as she encouraged him to move a bit faster as they started down the beach again.

"Abby! Don't be in such a rush!" Sara called after the little girl, making her turn again to look at her impatiently.

"But, Mom!"

"I said–not too fast." After another roll of the girl's eyes, Sara could help adding with an indulgent smile. "Okay. Fine! Run like the wind! But if I have to put another bandage on those knees of yours. . ."

She could hear her children's giggles as they ran off ahead of her.

"They love you very much," came the voice next to her and she recognized the voice as she turned to see him. He was older now, maybe in his late fifties, but she knew him.

"I know that. Just as I know that "you" love me very much."

"And "I" know that you love me." He smiled as he reached for and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm as he walked a little slower than he used to. "You've always loved me, Sara. Even in the very beginning when you weren't quite sure about me. I could feel your love. It's what made my heart beat. It's what made my spirit form and take shape. It's what made me. . .me."

"I, surely, can't take all the credit for that." She smiled shyly at him and he chuckled.

"Let's just say that "your" faith in me kept me growing. Without it, I wouldn't have been more than a glimpse in your memory."

"No. Never just a glimpse of memory. I've always had you in my heart. Sometimes I think you were there even before I met you. You're just an extension of what was already there–something I couldn't have survived without."

Again he chuckled as he patted her hand and they walked on after the children. She could see the area that the children were running toward. She could see two chairs, one with a body lounging on it, the other empty; two smaller chairs were empty next to them; a boxlike structure that she recognized as a common cooler, some beach paraphernalia, and something that she couldn't readily recognize as it sat between the two larger chairs. It had an odd shape to it, almost like a tiny tent.

"It looks like your family is waiting for you, Sara." The older man stopped walking when they were close enough that Sara could see Grissom lounging on the beach chair as he held his hand below the shelter of the tiny lean-to-type tent.

She looked back at the older man as he held onto her hand and rubbed it affectionately. "I'm not going to see you anymore, am I, Christopher?"

"Of course, you are. This is only a little preview of what's to come. I'm getting a reprieve, Sara! We don't always get it, ya know. But I'll be coming back and you won't be able to get rid of me," he chuckled, then nodded to the little tent Grissom was reaching into.

Sara watched as he pulled out a small baby, looking to be no more than three months old, then reached for the diaper bag but found he wasn't close enough.

"Jamie, get a diaper for your brother," Grissom instructed and the little boy brought back the whole diaper bag.

Sara watched in wonder, trying to believe what she thought Christopher was telling her. "You?"

She could hear his warm chuckle as she felt herself falling again.

"Mrs. Grissom?" Came the voice from above her bed and she slowly opened her eyes to see a woman bending over her. "Mrs. Grissom, do you know where you are?"

"I–I. . ." Sara looked around the room. "A hospital, I would presume."

The woman smiled at her. "You're at Desert Palms. There was a shooting. Do you remember what happened to you?"

"The trial. I was waiting for Jim after the trial." Sara's memory ran an instant replay of the events leading up to the shooting and her hand covered her mouth in extreme shock and sorrow as she recalled Don's fate. She even felt a wave of pity flow over her when she recalled seeing Heather standing there looking more vulnerable than Sara had ever seen her as she tried to rid herself of the remnants of Senator Bridges' head and face that was sprayed over her. Then she recalled trying to move the stunned Heather out of harm's way and how Mrs. Bridges turned and followed her target, shooting when Heather was directly in front of her. "I don't remember getting shot. I–remember everyone else, but not me."

The woman looked at the nurse, then back at Sara . "That's because you weren't shot, Mrs. Grissom. You were injured, but not by a bullet."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Mrs. Grissom, we went in and extracted what injured you. It was a piece of bone fragment. We retrieved it and you should be recovering with no problems. Thank goodness it hit high on your side, it missed all your organs and most importantly at this point, your uterus."

"The baby!" Sara gasped.

"I suggest you take it extremely easy over the next few days. But if you'd like to see your baby to see for yourself that it's fine, I can give you another ultrasound. We were watching it do some stretches while you were still asleep, just to make sure it was alright."

Sara put her hand over her abdomen in a protective manner and nodded her head. "Yes. Please."

She watched as they pulled the machine closer and turned it on. "Your records state you're sixteen weeks. The baby seems to be developing right on time. Nice length, good weight. I don't see any problems, other than a sore side for a little while. But then, I heard you've been through worse than this in the past few weeks."

"It's been very stressful." She watched as the doctor performed the ultrasound and she could feel her heart swell as she watched her child, alive and healthy, growing within her. When it was through, she looked at the doctor again. "You said it was bone fragment. Do we know from where?"

"Until we can do further testing, there's no way to know for sure. But it would be my guess that it was from one of the victims who was shot. Was there anyone who was shot directly in front of you?"

"Yes," Sara said hesitantly. "Heather Kessler. She was thrown into me when she was shot. I thought that was what the pain was from, being forced against the banister behind us."

"It probably was–but evidently the bullet struck Mrs. Kessler and went through, but deflected off the bone, chipping a portion of it off which was propelled into you. But at this point, it's only a theory." The doctor came back and lifted Sara's hospital gown away from her wound to show her. "I imagine it frightened your husband and friends who were with you. There was a lot of blood, but somehow, most of it wasn't even yours. You were very lucky that the bullet came in contact with that bone–otherwise it would have taken a straighter route and hit you in the center or your body, more than likely terminating your pregnancy in the very least."

"So, there's no reason for me to remain hospitalized?" Sara asked as she looked at the IVs still attached to her arms.

"None at all. Your injury is about equivalent to having had a splinter removed."

"That was enough to send me to the hospital in an ambulance?"

"I guess it was the amount of blood they saw, although how several trained professionals didn't recognize blood that had been splattered on you from blood that was actually coming from your body, is beyond me. But, considering they were so close to the situation, perhaps you weren't the only one in some form of shock. Oh, the fact that you were in shock, in itself, was reason to get you here so we could monitor you for a while–for the sake of the pregnancy."

"But, I'm alright now. And I can go home."

"We'll let your husband know he can come in now. Would you like me to explain your injury, or leave that to you?"

"No, I'd rather just go as quickly as I could so I can go home to my daughter. If you'll talk to him while I'm getting unhooked from all this, it would be best."

"I can do that," she gave her an encouraging smile then looked at the nurse again. "I'll sign her paperwork and she is officially discharged."


	206. Chapter 206

A/N: CSI thank you for your input. And I just want to let everyone know, it's going to be a long and tedious road for Grissom to gain Sara's trust. With the mixed reviews (and I value every one of you and every view point received) hold in there as they test the waters around each other. Oh, and could some of you please sign in so I can respond to you separately, that way I can give you the information you want. Thanks again, and keep reading. We've got a ways to go (is that my Pennsylvania Dutch speaking)? Just remember, nothing is certain in "dream-world" and sometimes dreams aren't remembered. I know I don't remember all of mine. Anyway I like to think of Sara's connection to Christopher to be mostly on a subconscious level–something so deeply ingrained that even she doesn't see it sometimes.

Chapter Two-Hundred-Six

Sara was gingerly pulling her slacks up over her hips when the door was thrust open so quickly it nearly banged off the wall. She spun around to find Grissom standing there staring at her, then after a moment, grabbing the door and closing it behind him.

"I told them they had to have the wrong patient!" He said as he grabbed the stool and rolled it to her in one fluid motion as he lowered himself onto it and grabbed her hospital gown that she was still wearing, and spread it wide open making her grasp onto the front of it to cover the breasts he exposed.

"Gris! What are you doing?"

"She said you weren't shot! That's impossible. I saw the wound. I saw the bleeding." He stared at the wound that had been glued closed.

"Yeah, well, evidently a piece of bone being blown through your skin closely resembles a bullet doing the same."

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close as he placed his lips against the still bruised and ugly skin surrounding the wound.

"Gris!" She said as she tried to pull back out of his embrace, looking toward the door to make sure no one was witness to this event. "What are you doing."

"You don't know how frightened I was." He pulled her back to him as he looked directly at her rounded tummy. "You, my little friend. I thought I may have lost you." He placed a warm kiss on her abdomen, then stood erect and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her forehead and both cheeks before leaning his forehead against hers. "I was expecting to lose you, too."

She pulled her head back as she held her gown closed tightly then pushed until she had some space between them.

"I–I have to get dressed. I want to go home to Abby."

"Of course," he agreed and grabbed the bag that held her soiled clothes, then turned and started to reach for her gown but she stepped back and held onto it securely.

"I can do it myself."

"I only wanted to help, Sara. You're still weak and not fully awake."

"Of course I'm awake. I'm standing here–aren't I?"

"No."

She looked over at him, prepared to argue the ridiculous point but he was pulled away from her so quickly she wasn't sure he had actually been there. She looked around the emptiness of the room, searching for any signs of her husband but suddenly she seemed to be sucked into the same vortex he had been tossed into. She felt herself falling again until she hit the stretcher beneath her. She opened her eyes to see some people attaching her to various devices and structures.

"What are you doing?" She breathed as she looked up at the masked doctor. "I thought I was discharged."

"But, Sara, you've only just gotten here," Grissom stated as he looked back at her with a scalpel in his hands. "Nurse, I need more assistance here."

"Is the other patient ready, Dr. Grissom?" Natalie Davis asked as she stepped closer to them.

"She's been waiting long enough," Grissom told Natalie as they looked over at the woman lying on the other side of the room.

Sara watched in horror as her husband approached her with the scalpel. "What are you going to do?"

"Heather needs her heart back. I'm giving her yours."

"Mrs. Grissom?" Another female voice broke through to her and she struggled to awaken from the depths of her nightmare. "Mrs. Grissom? Are you awake?"

"No. I mean, yes. Yes, I think so."

"We've put you under a light sedation until we could repair your wound, but you should be fine now."

"What wound?" Sara asked, not sure exactly what was dream and what was real.

"You were injured during a shooting, ma'am."

"My baby!"

"Your baby's fine."

Sara felt herself being moved and realized she was, indeed, awake this time as she was being pushed down a hall.

"Where am I going?"

"We're taking you down to Recovery, Mrs. Grissom. You can rest there until you're ready to be moved to a room of your own, okay?"

Sara closed her eyes and nodded once, then fell quickly back to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom stopped pacing the length of the surgical waiting room and turned to see the woman standing in the doorway with a clipboard in her hands. He had been waiting for news of Sara since Greg left about two hours earlier when he came to collect Grissom's and Sara's clothing for the lab. The jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers were brought in by Hodges and Wendy on their way to work that evening which he appreciated very much, but somehow the thought of Hodges going through his underwear drawer to retrieve his boxers was a little discomforting. He didn't even want to begin to imagine Hodges going through Sara's clothing so he set his mind to Wendy retrieving the articles.

"Yes?" He asked with anxiety-filled eyes. He looked over at Jim as the other man sat forward in his seat, showing his anxiousness as well.

"I'm here for some signatures on these forms." She took a few determined steps into the room as she held out the clipboard and a pen. "Your wife was sent to emergency surgery before we could actually get all the forms signed that needed to be signed. You know, every "I" dotted and every "T" crossed. If you could sign at the Xs, please."

"Is there any word on her?" Grissom asked as he absently looked at the bottoms of the pages and proceeded signing his name on the next four papers.

"I don't know, sir. But if you use that phone over there, it will give you a direct connection to the Surgical Suite and the nurse in charge will fill you in."

"Yes, of course. Thank you." He gave the clipboard back to the woman and started to turn back toward Jim.

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can to save your wife, Dr. Grissom."

Grissom slowly turned to look at the woman again, this time taking in her appearance as she looked at him through eyes that seemed to be opened too wide for comfort. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your wife, Dr. Grissom. I know she's gravely injured, but we have an excellent surgical team here at Desert Palms."

"Gravely injured?" Grissom repeated dully then noticed how Brass practically jumped to his feet and approached him and the slender woman who could almost pass as a taller version of Heather Kessler, but on second thought, perhaps it was those spiked heels she was wearing that made her seem taller than she actually was. Grissom couldn't help but wonder just what in the hell someone who worked in a hospital admissions office would wear such fashionable shoes for.

"Give me those papers!" Jim insisted as he reached for the clipboard but the woman turned so he couldn't get it.

"I'm sorry, but this is privileged information. Unless I hear otherwise, this is only for Dr. Grissom and Mrs. Kessler's examination." She said tightly as she almost struck a pose before the two men.

"What!" Grissom blurted as he reached for the papers and yanked them out of the woman's hands. "I signed papers for Heather?"

"Yes, sir," the woman said nervously as she looked at both men. "Your signature was needed for insurance purposes and permission for treatment."

"But you said the papers were for my wife!" He said angrily.

"They are! It states in the papers that you're responsible for her. . .I assumed . . .I don't understand. . ." It was becoming very clear to Grissom that the woman was more concerned with how she was presenting her well-manicured, if not surgically altered, self, than she was in the work she was actually supposed to be taking care of.

"No kidding," Jim said dryly. "Did the difference in names happen to shout anything to ya? Like maybe those two aren't married!"

"I–I have patients who don't change their names when they marry, all the time."

"What the hell did I sign?" Grissom said more to himself than to anyone in the room as he started going through the papers more closely. Like the woman had said, there were two forms for Heather's insurance, one permission for treatment form and one release of information form. He looked back at the woman. "I want it made explicitly clear–I will be signing no more forms for Mrs. Kessler. I will not be in charge of her welfare. I will not be interrupted with anything remotely connected to Mrs. Kessler while I'm waiting for my wife to get out of surgery. When my wife "is" out of surgery and I'm sure she's fine–then I want to sign anything you can find that will state that I am no longer responsible for that woman!"

"Are you saying you're rescinding your signatures on these documents?" She asked with coolness as she stood stiffly before him.

"No–you've got the damned signatures now. Do what you have to do with her. But after this, I'm finished."

"I'll make my supervisor aware of this. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him regarding your relinquishment of Mrs. Kessler's interests." She turned and started for the door but slowed her gait when Jim started speaking.

"Ya know what? I think there might be some sort of communication barrier going on here. The man said to leave him alone until he says he's ready to deal with something not quite as important as his own wife. Did you hear it that time?"

"Yes. I'll let him know that."

Brass looked back at Grissom as he moved to sit in a chair. "I guess it's best you get that mess taken care of before you have to face Sara."

"I'm going to have to let her know I signed the damned papers."

"Do you think that's wise?" Jim asked.

"I don't know if it's wise–but it's necessary. Every time I've held something back from Sara, thinking it would do more harm if she knew than if I simply didn't tell her, it's turned into a catastrophe. I'm not keeping anything from her anymore."

"Well, I don't know how wise "that" is," Brass gave a small smile to him. "I mean, down the road, you get a tee-shirt with something like . . . I don't know . . . save a chicken–eat tofu, on it for Christmas, I think it's a safe bet you can tell her you love it and don't think it's completely hideous."

Grissom managed a tiny smile in return before leaning forward in his chair with his head in his hands. "I was talking to that paramedic on the ride to the hospital."

"Christopher, you mean."

"Yeah. Christopher. He told me he was being accosted by people regarding his relationship with Heather. I told him I didn't understand what he was getting at–why "he" would be the target of the comments–but since you brought up the resemblance between him and myself–I know he was trying to tell me that the people saying those things thought he was me."

"Yeah," Jim said slowly as he watched Grissom. "I don't think Christopher would have had relations with Heather Kessler–so I doubt very much they were talking about him."

"But how can you be so sure?" Grissom looked at him through troubled eyes.

"I–guess–I can just read people better than you." He watched the unsatisfied expression that covered Grissom's face. "Look–don't you find it odd that Christopher–the "young" Christopher took care of Sara after we got her back from the desert? He was the only one who seemed to be able to break through to Sara. I'd never seen Sara so calm or trusting as I did when he was talking to her. Granted, it might've been the morphine. . ."

"No," Grissom said almost reluctantly. "I noticed it, too. The kid made quite the impression on both of us. I even dreamed about him since then."

"Really? I'm not much to believe in dreams, but in this case, it might be kinda interesting to know what it was about."

"I don't know. I can rarely remember what they're about, exactly. I just wake up with a vague feeling of having dreamed about him."

"Did you ever get his last name?"

"No. I wasn't interested when I saw him in the hospital. I just wanted Sara to be taken care of, and I was a bit preoccupied, finding out she had miscarried and no one thought I should know about it didn't have me in a more than friendly state of mind."

"I can understand that," Jim said quietly. "But you've got to understand that we had our reasons for keeping that information from you." He watched as Grissom merely shrugged his shoulders. "What about this paramedic? Did you see a name tag? Anything that would've given a last name?"

"I remember seeing one, but I don't know what it said. I wasn't concerned with who he was."

"Well, I'd like to know who these guys are. They both look just like you, and they're both there during Sara's darkest moments."

"What are you saying, Jim? That we've got a resident angel on the loose?" Grissom said cynically. "Sara doesn't believe in God, why would an angel be following her around?"

"What's that old saying? You may not believe in him, but he believes in you?"

"Okay. I'll take it into consideration. I guess it would be better to believe Sara's got a guardian angel wandering around rather than two creepers who have an uncanny resemblance to me."

"Yeah, I think I'd rather be followed by an angel than someone who looks like you, too," Brass chuckled. "So what did this guy have to say to you?"

"Nothing much, really. Just that he knew Sara from meeting her before, and he had seen me around. He said he heard about me through the grapevine, that gossip is running rampant."

"Well, there's nothing new about that. You've had that following you around for years. What difference is it going to make now?"

"I may have lost all credibility, Jim. Who in the hell will let me work for them when the find out how I've been lead around by a string for the past few years?"

This comment made Brass snort with laughter. "Christ, Gil! If that was a case for not being employed, half the men in the world would be out of a job." He sobered at Grissom's raised brow. "Okay, maybe not "half" the men. But, Jesus, how many people–men and women–get their personal lives screwed up in one way or another? As far as your "career" goes, you're one of the cleaner ones. So, you were in a relationship with two women at the same time. You weren't married to either one. You weren't soliciting Heather for her services–it was all done without the passing of the dollar. And if people are saying you were playing sex games with your mistress–who in the hell cares in this day and age? It certainly didn't hurt the president by getting a blow job by a beautiful young woman. Hell, it raised him up in many men's opinions around the country. And as far as your "morals," having an affair with a woman is no reason for not hiring a person for a job. Like I said, if that were the case, half of America would be out of work."

"So, now you're saying it's "okay" that I slept with Heather last year? Two months ago you punched me in the mouth for it."

"Ah, the difference is, that as your friend–I'd punch you in the mouth in a second if it were to happen again. But as a fellow citizen–it matters so little in the realm of things that it's almost laughable that you can imagine it would. It's going to die down–if you let it. If you go running back to Heather the minute she crooks her finger, I don't think society will crucify you for it. There might be a rumble again, but that's about it. But me, on the other hand. . . But I will say, as far as your family–I'm glad Abby's still a baby, because by the time she's heading off to join other little rugrats, this will all have died down. If it happens again, you're only inviting pain for everyone involved because the story will inevitably be leaked to the kids while some mom and dad are casually discussing the neighborhood dominatrix at the dinner table, and little junior will bring the story to second grade where he'll spread it amongst his little cohorts on the playground and then the real damage will begin. Kids can be monstrous, and they'll rip Abby apart for what you do from this point on. If you go back to Heather, I think it's safe to say you're setting your kids up to hate you."

"It's not going to happen." He looked at him. "You believe that, don't you?"

"I'm not the one you have to make believe. That person's still on an operating table, having a bullet removed from her side."

"Dr. Grissom?" Another woman entered the room behind the men and turned their wary attention toward her. This one was an older woman, much closer in age to Grissom's than the last woman had been. She showed a concern on her face that the last woman hadn't.

"Yes."

"You're here waiting for Sara Grissom?"

"Yes."

"Your wife is out of surgery and is going to the recovery room now. I thought you'd like to know that the repair went very well. Both she and the baby are fine–sleepy, but fine."

Grissom was on his feet instantly. "When can I see her?"

"I believe as soon as they get her into her room. She's been assigned a room number," she said as she looked at her folder she was holding. "You could wait for her there. Let's see. She's going to Room eight-fifty-nine. If you come with me, I'll show you the way."

"Thank you," Grissom said then looked back to Brass as he paused behind him.

"Do you want me to go by your place and pick anything up? Anything Hodges didn't bring already?"

"Yeah–could you get another set of clothes? I'd like to get a shower and get this blood off me, then change into something fresh. And, please, ask if they need me to come home for Abby. I know they said Lindsey is staying with her overnight. . .but . . ."

"I'll look into it." Brass told him then went in the other direction as he headed for the exit.

When he got to Sara's room he went into the bathroom and immediately washed his face and looked for any other obvious evidence of the shooting that would be a blatant reminder to her when she woke up. He knew he had some blood that had soaked through his shirt and undershirt before he had released Heather and he scrubbed it the best he could without making a complete mess of the bathroom floor. His arms had some spread up them that he hadn't seen before when he scrubbed his hands. He even gave a quick shampoo of his beard to get any signs of blood out of that, as well.

He could hear them approaching the room before they got to the door and he immediately went out of the bathroom and watched as they pushed her bed inside. She looked pale and weak as she slept soundly with an intravenous line going into her left arm. The orderlies gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment before heading back out of the room and were quickly replaced by two nurses who went about setting up Sara's monitors and attaching her call line.

"Mrs. Grissom!" The small nurse said loudly, earning her an irritated moan from Sara. "Mrs. Grissom. You've got a visitor. He's been waiting here for you. Do you want to say hello to him?" Another moan from Sara. "Mrs. Grissom! Are you going to wake up and say hello to your visitor?"

This time Sara's eyes opened and when they did, they didn't shine with kindness at what she perceived as a rude awakening. Grissom had to hide his smile as she looked at the small nurse as if she could throttle her.

"No!" Sara said sternly.

"You don't want to say hi to this guy? Come on, he's been waiting a long time!"

This time Sara's voice was closer to a growl as she watched the nurse. "Back off, bitch!"

This time Grissom couldn't stop the amused gasp that erupted from his mouth. The nurse, though, didn't seem bothered in the least as she looked up at Grissom with a smile of her very own.

"Sounds like she's recovering nicely. Always good to see a little spunk in them." She turned back to Sara and chuckled. "Now that I woke you up, I'll be leaving your visitor to deal with your pleasant demeanor. I'll be in later to see to your meds."

Grissom looked at Sara and she slowly turned her head to look at him, sedation still seen in her eyes. "Hey," he said gently.

"Hey, yourself," she said in her sleep-laden voice. "She doesn't seem to like my demeanor."

"Yes she does," Grissom said gently as he sat on the side of the bed and took her hand in both of his. "She just has a funny way of showing it."

"And you're full of shit," she said thickly.

"So you've told me, on many occasions, my dear." He gave her a small smile. "How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. Drugged." She glanced around the room. "Care to explain to me why I'm in the hospital again?"

"You were shot, but we're not sure where the bullet came from. I'm afraid you're going to have another scar on your beautiful torso."

She shrugged her shoulders at the prospect of another scar, then closed her eyes again. "I dreamt I was hit by pieces of Heather. I dreamt the bullet hit her and broke off a piece of bone that was forced into me." When she opened her eyes again she was looking directly at him. "Then I dreamt that you were trying to cut my heart out to give to her."

He didn't know what to say to her as he watched her. The revelation that she was so suspicious of their relationship that she would subconsciously dream such a thing was discouraging. He swallowed and stroked his thumb over the top of her hand.

"It was only a bad dream, dear. Only a nightmare. Try to forget about it." He looked back at her face to see how she was watching him through half-lidded eyes. "You're sleepy. Why don't you try to rest. I'll be right here with you."

"Where's Abby?"

"She's at home. Lindsey's watching her until morning. Then Greg promised to take over for a few hours."

"She needs diapers picked up. She only had enough to get through today. And she could use some formula. I only have enough for a few more feedings. Do they know to mix her bananas with her rice cereal because she likes it that way?" She instructed, her comment getting weaker with each word as her eyes closed but when he thought she had fallen asleep, her eyes snapped open as she looked at him. "Do they?"

"I'll let them know. And I'll see that she has enough to get her through the next few days. Get some sleep now."

He watched as she settled back against her pillow and turned her head from him, whispering, more asleep now than awake. "You can't give her my heart, it already belongs to Abby."


	207. Chapter 207

Chapter Two-Hundred-Seven

Sara woke up to find her husband sleeping on the chair next to her. She opened the tray that was across her bed and looked in the small mirror at herself. "Well," she thought dryly, "what can you expect after spending a day watching videos of your husband having sex without another woman, going outside and getting yourself shot while trying to pull "that stupid woman" out of harm's way, and then going through surgery to repair a wound in your side.

She looked up when a woman entered the room wearing doctor's scrubs. She listened as she was informed that they had been monitoring the baby and its heartbeat was steady and strong. She told her that because of the pregnancy she was on a lower dose of pain meds than would normally be prescribed, but Sara already knew that, considering her bout with pain a few weeks earlier, then she told her about the antibiotics and the risks to a 16-week fetus but at this point, the pros outweighed the cons for the antibiotics and they didn't want to risk the infection that could ensue after such a wound. It was soon discovered that Sara was "not" hit by bone fragment as she had dreamt, but by what appeared to be a bullet but couldn't be identified because it was missing. It seemed, at this point, that it had somehow worked its way out of her side as she was moving about. When she asked if it could have been the bullet that had traveled through Heather, the doctor stated emphatically that it was not the same bullet, as they had found that bullet and tested it. It had shown no evidence of having Sara's blood on it–only Heather's. And yet the depth of Sara's wound didn't suggest that it was a direct shot from the gun, either. They seemed to be at a total loss and until that bullet could be retrieved, its origin was undetermined.

Sara watched the woman leave and felt such a deep emptiness that she felt her eyes tear. She hated being here. She hated being helpless and trapped. She hated being away from Abby. Her body and mind were weary. She had been through more in the past five months than anyone deserved both emotionally and physically. She reached for her glass of water and tried to swallow the sobs that threatened but was unsuccessful, and dammit, wasn't it her luck that Grissom decided to wake up at this time, even though he slept through the entire discussion with the doctor!

"Hey!" He crooned as he got up from his chair and moved to her bed again. "Hey, everything's going to be okay now. You don't have to cry."

"I don't "want" to cry. I "want" to get up out of this bed and march the hell out of here. I "want" to go home and get Abby and hold her until she's sick of me." She looked at him through reddened eyes. "But I can't. I have to stay here. I have to feel pain that I don't deserve. I have to lay here in this damned bed and wonder if Abby's being fed and kept warm and if she's crying because she misses me as much as I miss her."

"I'm sure Greg is keeping her occupied and well fed and warm and loved as we speak. You know she's got this crazy affection for him."

"She does like him," she said as she took the tissue he offered her and wiped her nose.

"Yeah, well, ya can't account for a woman's taste."

She nodded as she tried to regain control of herself. "I want to take a shower."

"You can. I'll help."

She stared at him, knowing that the only alternative was to have one of the nurses come in and assist her, but considering the possibility that the grapevines were already running wild with stories of the love triangle taking place within their hospital walls and the tragic shooting it caused, she didn't want to add any more fuel to the fire by making them aware that she doesn't want her husband to see her naked.

She took his hand as he let her go in front of him and moved his hands to what normally would have earned him a quick swat. But, considering that he couldn't really find any other place to hold her without coming in contact with her injury, she allowed him to put his hands under her arms as he held onto her at her breast level. He moved with her as she stepped inside the shower stall, then he removed her gown and she immediately threw gazes at him but he seemed intent upon seeing that she wasn't going to fall. She looked down at her side and saw the wound that was glued together and knew she wasn't to get it wet yet, so allowed him to pull the shower head down so he could spray various parts of her body. She looked at other areas that hadn't been cleaned from the blood splatters that had sprayed up her arm from Heather's injury and she wondered at the condition of the woman but when she looked at Grissom she couldn't seem to force herself to ask him. She was afraid of his answer whether it be good or bad, the fact that he knew the answer was enough to cause her pain.

Within minutes he was helping her back out of the shower and she reached for the clothes sitting on her dresser. Once in her jeans and a soft sweatshirt, she went back to the bed and lay back, allowing the drugs to work out of her system. She watched the window in silence as Grissom gathered her things together for her discharge later that day. Slowly, she fell back to sleep and didn't wake up until her lunch was being served. She sipped at some broth and tea as Grissom spoke on his cell phone to Mandy who was taking her turn with Abby and making a list of things for Nick to run to the store for and pick up to last the baby until Sara was discharged. It wasn't until nearly two o'clock that she was actually starting to feel stable enough to get up and start walking to different areas of the room.

"Sara?" Grissom began as she stood looking out the window and he moved to stand next to her. She looked over at him and waited for him to continue. "I need to tell you something, but I want you to be coherent enough to actually understand what I'm saying." Again, she waited for him to go on. "Last night, while I was waiting for you to come out of surgery, there was a–mix-up of sorts that took place. I–was so worried about you–I wasn't thinking about anything or anybody else–and when the woman came in. . ."

She put her hand up to stop him. "Wait a minute. Slow down. "What" woman?"

"She was a secretary of sorts from the Admissions Office. She came in saying I needed to sign the paperwork for–what I thought–was your treatment. She never gave a name until after I signed the papers. I would have told them I was refusing the responsibility if I had known–but I had my mind completely on you–so I thought. . ."

"Are you telling me–that you signed forms for Heather?" Sara watched his face as he looked back at her without answering. He didn't need to. She took a deep breath and stood a bit straighter, then walked past him and started for the door to her room.

"Sara! When I found out, I told them I was refusing any further responsibility for her. I don't have the time or the desire to see to her needs, Sara." He caught her arm and stopped her. "You've got to believe me. I wanted to tell you before you somehow found out and thought I was hiding it from you. I don't want to hide anything from you anymore, Sara."

"Why?" She looked at him closely. "Why don't you have the desire to see to her needs? Did she die from the shooting?"

He looked at her blankly. "I–don't know. I–doubt it or I would've been notified." When she rolled her eyes and started to turn away he grabbed her arm again. "I still need to sign the final forms to refuse power of attorney. If she had died, they would have contacted me since they haven't taken me off the list as emergency contact yet."

"You–don't know."

"No. I don't even know if she's still in surgery or not."

Sara nodded and went back to the window, drawing in another deep breath as she looked out at the city. "I want to go home."

"We have to wait for them to discharge you."

"I don't want to wait anymore. I want to go."

She heard him walk out of the room and within half an hour he returned to her side. "I went to the tenth floor."

Sara nodded her head in understanding. He had gone to see how Heather was. "How is she?"

"She's still alive. She's on a respirator. Still unconscious." She nodded her head again. "I signed the papers. They won't be contacting me anymore regarding her."

Sara looked away. She certainly couldn't say she was "happy" about the news. She felt hollow and cold. Even in her moment of despair, Heather had a way of reaching out and touching people with her icy grasp. The remainder of the afternoon went by so slowly Sara wondered if it was ever going to end, then finally as they were about to deliver dinner, her doctor entered her room. She looked at Sara's wound and checked her vitals. Then she had an OB/Trauma specialist check her and the baby and when both were satisfied that all was well, they agreed to discharge her. All she had to do was wait for the appropriate paperwork and she could leave. Another hour passed and finally the papers came through, then by the time she was loaded into Grissom's car she was fearing she would never get home. The necessity to stop for her medication took even longer and then picking up a few things for Abby made Sara begin to doubt she'd "ever" get home. Then as they were about to go to the car for their final ride home, Grissom's cell went off.

"Grissom." He looked at Sara as he listened to the call then hung up and sighed deeply. "It looks like our little girl is putting in her first night at the lab. Catherine was called in and Lindsey wasn't available, so she took her to work with her."

So, another long drive and they were walking down the halls to the lab where there was the usual bustle of the beginning of shift, but also an added excitement as people went in the direction of Judy's reception area. Sara looked at Grissom when they heard their aggravation, then they walked a little faster until they turned the corner and found at least five people bending over the receptionist's area, each doing little finger waves at Abby. Standing next to Judy was Conrad Ecklie as he looked through the diaper bag sitting on Judy's desk.

"I'm telling you, she's got a tooth coming in." He pulled out a teething ring and moved it up to the baby where she promptly opened her mouth and started gnawing on it. "See. Now if it would be cooled off, it would feel even better." He reached into the bag with his free hand and sorted through until he found a twin to the one he was holding for Abby, then handed it to Judy. "Here, Judy, put this in the refrigerator for a while to cool it off."

"I never heard of doing such a thing." Judy looked at him doubtfully.

"The cold will numb it." He looked back at Abby. "I think some little girl's getting a tooth. Aren't you, precious?"

"It's working!" Judy seemed exceedingly pleased as she looked up at Ecklie, even though the man was totally involved in the little girl sitting in her carrier.

"Of course it's working. She'll work her way through this tooth just fine. You're a fighter, just like your mom."

"Ha," Judy snorted. "Since when did you appreciate the feisty side of Sara?"

"Just because I had to reprimand her on occasion does not mean I don't appreciate her stamina. She was an asset to the team." He looked from Judy back to Abby.

"Then why didn't you let her stay on "my" team?" Grissom asked casually as he approached the desk with Sara following.

"You know why," Conrad answered. "Company policy. Nothing more." He looked up at Sara. "I think she's cutting a tooth."

"Really?" Sara asked as she pulled the teething ring from her daughter's mouth and what was about to turn into a cry of frustration turned into a look of surprise as Abby recognized her and reached for her. "Let Mommy look, honey."

Sara pushed down on Abby's lower lip and saw the swollen area that indicated there was about to be a new tooth breaking through the gum.

"Isn't this kind of early to get teeth?" Judy asked as she watched Sara pick up Abby and start giving the child kisses that she seemed to take great pleasure in.

"Actually, she's about right on time," Sara told her. "She'll be six months in two weeks."

"Six months, already?" Arch asked as he stood in the small group with a cup of tea.

"Let me see," Grissom said about the tooth as he, also pressed down on Abby's lower lip, earning him a welcoming reach of his very own.

"Looks like she's a daddy's girl," Judy said with a bright smile as Grissom kissed his daughter's forehead.

There were various "yeahs" and "uh-huhs" from the group as they smiled at the sight of the little girl reaching for her father's beard, then his nose.

"She's quite happy with both of us, Judy," Grissom explained but when Sara reached for her again, he raised his brow as he looked at her. "The doctor told you, no lifting anything over ten pounds for two weeks."

"She only weighs thirteen pounds," Sara objected.

"That's over ten."

"But it isn't as if it's dead weight–it isn't the same."

"Here, Sara," said one of the male lab techs as he pulled Judy's chair out from behind the little half-wall. "Sit here. You can hold her if you're sitting, can't you?"

She took Abby and went to the chair nearby. "What are you doing up this late, little girl? Out with the guys again, I see?"

"Alright, everyone," Conrad voiced to the small crowd. "Mommy and Daddy are home so you all can go back to work now." He glanced at Grissom then at Sara. "It's good to see you're alright, Sara."

"Well," she said absently as she looked down at Abby. "I'm here, anyway."

Conrad nodded his understanding and walked down the hallway just as Catherine was coming down the other end.

"Hey, guys!" Catherine said in quiet enthusiasm as she stopped next to Grissom and put her hand on his arm in greeting. "I see you've found your wandering daughter. I didn't think you'd mind if I brought her back here. Judy offered to watch her while I ran down to DNA for a few minutes."

"Oh, that was okay," Judy smiled at them. "She was a little doll! I think even Ecklie fell in love with her a little bit."

"Ecklie?" Catherine asked with raised brows.

"Oh! Yes! He told me to take this and put it in the refrigerator so it would be cool for Abigail!" Judy said as she looked at the teething ring she was holding as if she had completely forgotten about it.

"That's alright, Judy," Grissom said as he took it from her. "We'll be leaving soon, anyway. Sara, I'll carry Abigail for now."

Sara looked up at him and handed her over reluctantly then got to her feet.

"Well, at least, come back to the break room for a coffee," Catherine implored. "I haven't had much time to see the two of you the past few days."

Grissom looked at Sara and received a nod of agreement then they followed Catherine down the hall where the room was empty. Catherine moved to the coffee pot and started pouring some of the strong blackness into two mugs as Sara went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

"I wanted to thank you for scheduling someone to be with Abigail around the clock," Grissom said as he sat at the table next to Sara and Catherine stood across from them as she leaned back against the counter.

"It was no trouble, really. I had more than enough volunteers. I even had to turn some away. Believe me, you have no lack of support from this office."

"Just everywhere else, in general?" Grissom asked with a raised brow.

"Oh, I don't know. You talking about the "case?" She shrugged her shoulders. "You're in Vegas, Gil. What's hot news today is going to be old by tomorrow. Give it time." She moved to sit across from him. "Anyway, since when were you so concerned about gossip?"

"Since I have a wife and two children. I don't want them hurt."

"Then don't let them get hurt. I mean, it isn't as if you're as famous as the senator–or even Heather for that matter. You're only an ex-CSI supervisor, for crying out loud. No one's gonna give a shit what you did in a few weeks." She turned to look at Sara and smiled. "So, what are you planning to do with this little one for Halloween?"

"Halloween?" Sara asked with surprise. "I haven't even thought about it."

"Well, you're taking her out, aren't you? At least around your little neighborhood. And bring her in here, too. Everyone in here will want to see what you dress her as. So, Grissom. . ." She started mischievously, ". . .what are you dressing up as?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Eddie used to dress up when he'd take Lindsey out! Don't tell me you're not going to join in the spirit of the night and dress up too," she teased.

"I think not."

"What about you?" She asked Sara.

"I don't know. I'll have to see about it."

"Ohhhh," Catherine looked at her closely. "I can see you dressing up as a lady pirate and dressing Abby as your parrot!"

"That's rather cruel, don't you think?" Sara asked with one raised brow.

"Okay, okay. Then you can be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and get Gris to dress as the Tin Man or Scarecrow and dress Abby up as one of the Lollipop Kids."

"Uh–no."

"Who's dressing up as Dorothy and the Tin Man?" Greg asked as he entered the room with them. "If Abby's going as a Lollipop Kid, then I'm going as the Mayor of Munchkin Land." He stopped and looked at everyone as he poured himself a cup of coffee, then added, "But where are we going?"

"Out for Halloween, Mayor," Catherine told him. "I said Sara should dress up as Dorothy."

"Oh! Come on! Let me do it! I can be the Scare Crow and get Nick to dress up as the Tin Man. I bet we could get Brass to dress up as the Cowardly Lion."

"I bet–not," Jim said as he entered the room with them. "Anyway, Sara's going to dress her as an Oreo, aren't ya?"

"I'm not dressing her as anything!" Sara said with exasperation. "At least not at this point. Nick? You have any ideas since you're here?"

"For what?"

"What to dress Abby for Halloween." Greg moved to sit next to Sara. "Catherine and me think we should all dress up as characters from the Wizard of Oz.–I guess that makes you, the Wicked Witch of the West, doesn't it?"

"It does not!" Catherine told him. "I'll be Glinda the Good Witch!"

"I've already got plans," Nick told them. "And it doesn't involve dressing up as someone from the Wizard of Oz."

"Fine," Greg told him. "You can tend to your plans and we'll go get all the candy."

"The only problem with that is–you work Halloween," Catherine told him then smiled when she watched him deflate with disappointment. "Poor Greggo. Don't worry, Greg. We'll bring back some candy for you."

"Hey, kiddo," Nick said as he moved over to Sara and kissed her cheek. "How ya feeling? You can't be too comfortable sitting there like that."

"I'm fine," she lied. She was beginning to feel the need to go home to bed so she could lie flat without irritating her wound.

"You should go home," Nick told her. "You're looking a little peaked."

"I think he's right," Grissom said. "We all could use a good night's sleep."

"Do you think you'll need anyone to help watch Abby tomorrow while you catch up on your sleep?" Catherine asked.

"No," Grissom told her. "I think we'll be fine. I can take care of her."

"And who's going to take care of Sara?" Greg asked.

"I can do that to," Grissom said as he looked over at Sara.

"I'm a big girl, Greg," Sara smiled, albeit tightly, at Greg. "I think I can manage."

"You're only eighteen hours out of surgery, for crying out loud," Nick complained. "Let him take care of ya."

"Fine!" Sara sighed as she got to her feet and waited for Grissom to do the same, before they both nodded their goodbyes and started out.

"I mean it, Sara! If I hear you're not letting him take care of ya, I'll be over to do it myself!" Nick called after her.

"Nick, if you're trying to find an excuse to come visit Abby," Sara called over her shoulder as she started down the hall. "Just stop in. You're allowed to visit her whenever you want."


	208. Chapter 208

Chapter Two-Hundred-Eight

Grissom was tired, there was no denying that. He hadn't slept the night before as he waited for Sara to come out of surgery and what little sleep he did get that day was done in a chair by the side of her hospital bed. He managed to get Sara home where he sent her straight to bed even though she was trying to defy him, stating that she needed to put Abigail's things away. He quickly put an end to that, stating he could put the things where they belonged, but when she tried to take the baby up to get her dressed for bed, there was no stopping her.

"Sara!" He complained. "There "is" a reason they give you a ten-pound weight limit!"

"And I told you–that's ten pounds dead weight. Abby's not dead weight. I'm getting her ready for bed. You can get her a little cereal, if you want. We'll feed her upstairs tonight."

When he got upstairs he found them sitting in Sara's bedroom on the rocking chair as Abigail bounced up and down from standing to squatting positions. The laughter poured from Abigail and Sara chuckled at her as she would lean forward and nuzzle her neck each time she'd stand, but Grissom could see the stress on Sara's face and he knew it was causing her pain. He put the cereal on Sara's night stand and went back where he lifted the baby from her lap. Sara looked up at him and he could see that she was going to complain but decided better of it as she sighed, instead.

"Come to bed, Sara." He motioned for her to get out of the chair and move to the bed where he was standing with Abigail.

"I should change clothes."

She looked up at him through tired eyes and he nodded then watched as she went to her dresser and pulled out some sweat pants and a tank top. He lay Abigail in the middle of Sara's bed, then turned back toward her to give her assistance, but when she turned toward him, she jerked with surprise. She was about to say what he assumed would be that she could do it herself but he didn't give her time as he took her clothes and sat them on the dresser. He moved his hands to the front of her sweatshirt but she turned away. When she tried to lift it over her head, she winced and moaned, making him take over the chore for her.

"Just let me help you, Sara. You don't want to tear anything around your wound."

She turned and looked up at him through big chocolate eyes and he could read the defeat in them, making him look back at her with a tensed jaw. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Hell, none of this was as it was supposed to be. But here he was, helping her undress and revealing her beautiful body that now was marred with an angry red edge. He couldn't stop himself. He really couldn't. So when his instincts took over and he leaned down to press his lips to hers, he wasn't surprised when she turned her face at the last second, giving him only part of her mouth to kiss. Sighing deeply, he lifted her tank top over her head and brought it down to her shoulders, then helped her ease her arms in one at a time. When it came to her jeans, she unbuttoned and unzipped them and pushed them down but he knelt before her and pulled them off of her legs. He also held her sweat pants for her to step into and pulled them up to her hips.

By this time Abigail was fed up with simply watching Daddy dressing Mommy and wanted attention all for herself as she turned over onto her belly and started pushing herself with her feet. Grissom heard Sara's gasp and turned to see Abigail had managed to push herself nearly to the end of the bed where they were standing.

"Abby!" Sara chuckled as Grissom grabbed her and held her between them.

"Where do you think you're going, little Miss Grissom?" Grissom asked with a smile of his own and upon seeing she held both parents attention and was entertaining them to the point of smiling, she let out a few squeals of delight before reaching out for Sara with one hand while holding onto her father's nose with the other. "What is your fascination with my nose?"

"You've got a very handsome nose," Sara said as she chuckled at Abigail's antics, then she looked at Grissom through apologetic eyes. "I mean–I mean. She just likes noses."

"Uh-huh," he said with a raised brow then followed Sara as she went to the bed and sat down.

He pulled the rocking chair close and held Abigail as Sara picked up the cereal and began feeding her. She ate only about half of it before seeming to lose interest and leaned back on her dad's lap.

"I guess you're done," Sara said as she reached for the child's bib and wiped the her face.

Grissom removed the piece of cloth then looked at Sara as she tried to maneuver herself on the bed. He could see the pain she was having so he reached out and took her hand, allowing her to use it for leverage as she lowered herself. She settled back against her pillows and looked up at him.

"Did you take your medicine?" He asked, noticing the glass of water and pill bottles on her night stand.

"Yes. After I changed Abby's clothes." He nodded and turned to leave her so she could get some sleep but she stopped him. "Can you stay with her?"

"What do you mean? You want me to stay in her bedroom tonight?" He asked, a bit confused by her statement.

"No. I mean–can you stay–here–with her? If you're going to rock her to sleep anyway–can you do it here so I can watch? I–just–hated being separated from her these past few days, especially when I knew she wasn't with you either. I just would like it if she could stay here awhile longer."

"Of course."

He sat down and rubbed Abigail's back and she took her familiar spot as she nestled her head on his shoulder and reached up to stroke his beard with her hand. He turned the chair so that Abigail was facing Sara, allowing them to watch one another as both sets of eyelids grew heavy. He really didn't know who fell asleep first but he remained in the chair another fifteen minutes before turning Abigail so she was laying in his arms as he moved the chair so he could watch Sara sleep.

Grissom allowed her to sleep late the next morning as he took Abigail downstairs and fed her. He dressed her in a onsie Catherine had gotten for her that read "I heart Daddy," and a pair of pink socks to keep her feet warm. When he finished, he took her upstairs and put her in her crib until he could go back downstairs for the tray he had made for Sara. It didn't take long for Abigail to express her irritation at being left alone and by the time Grissom came back upstairs he found Sara's bed empty. He walked through her closet into Abigail's bedroom where he found her about to lift the child from the crib.

"If you go back to bed and eat your breakfast, I'll bring her over and sit with you."

"I can go downstairs to eat," she said with sleep still in her voice.

"But I brought it up here. You go eat, and if you're up to it, you can go down for lunch."

He picked up Abigail's bouncer and carried it along with them as he followed Sara into her bedroom. Abigail immediately began alternately jumping and standing still long enough to reach for the toys that dangled along its sides as he went back to the bed and watched as Sara stood at its side.

"I think I'd rather sit at my desk to eat. It's easier than getting back into bed."

"Alright." He watched her as she settled in her office chair then put the tray of food in front of her. "Do you want a shower after you're finished eating?"

"I'm not sure." She took the pills he had on the tray with her food. "Can I try to do it myself?"

"Of course. I'll just go over and get your towels ready."

He left the room, listening to Abigail's baby babble as she talked to either her toys or her mother, Grissom wasn't quite sure which. When he was finished preparing her shower, he returned where he found her already changed into her robe as she went back to finish her breakfast. He allowed her the privacy she sought during her shower as he went downstairs with Abigail and started a load of laundry, then went back to the kitchen where he put the dishes in the dishwasher. Soon he could hear the sound of flip-flops approaching and he knew Sara was getting tired of being in her bedroom and came down to join him. They decided it would do Abigail good to go outside for some fresh air, so they went to the back yard where they settled on the patio furniture where Abigail began a game of pick-up with her father. Every time he lifted one of her toys to her, she would drop it and wait until he picked it back up again, smiling as he retrieved her little treasure for her.

Lunch took them back inside where Grissom threw together some sandwiches for them and let Sara eat as he fed Abigail then put her down for a nap at which time Sara decided she had had enough exercise for awhile and joined her in slumber. Thus went the three days as Sara continued to feel less and less pain and soon was cutting back on her medications to taking nothing at all except the antibiotics she was prescribed. By the fourth day, she was managing quite well as she decided it was time for her to resume some of the household activities and she began making them lunch. Grissom knew her body was well on its way to becoming healthy again–now all he had to work on was their relationship.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It had been a week since the shootings and Sara was feeling almost back to her old self. She was in the livingroom with Abby as she folded the baby's clean clothes when she heard someone walking up the steps to the front porch. She glanced out to see Brass about to knock on the door.

"Come in, Jim," she called to him. "The door's open."

She smiled as he walked into the room with her and his eyes went immediately to Abby as she napped in her play pen.

"I heard she had a tooth coming in," he said.

"Came in," Sara corrected. "That one is through and the one beside it is pushing its way up."

"She seems to be taking it rather well. A lot of kids scream their heads off."

"She fusses a little but we rub her gums or let her chew on a cold teething ring and she usually settles down."

"And what about you? You feeling back to your normal self yet?"

"Depends what you call normal," she gave him a hesitant smile. "If you mean physically–then yeah, I'm coming along pretty well."

"It's just the emotional aftermath of being shot that's still weighing you down."

"That–among other things."

"Yeah–well–it's those other things that brings me here today, Cookie. Where's the big guy?"

"I'm right here," Grissom said as he came down the stairs after putting some clean clothes away that Sara had already folded. "What's up?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, and I know you signed off on this deal–but I thought I'd fill you in on it so you know what to expect."

"Okay," Grissom said slowly as he moved to the sofa and sat next to Sara. "What bad news are you going to deliver? Or needn't I ask?"

"She's been conscious for the last four days," he said, clearly referring to Heather Kessler. "She seems to be getting stronger every day, and with it, she's been pestering the staff–actually having tantrums when they don't get her a telephone or simply get a message to you. I–wanted to let you know before someone believes her horseshit and gets a phone to her and she manages to get call you."

"Alright. Now I know." Grissom said stiffly as Sara looked at him.

She went back to folding the little articles of clothes as she said just as stiffly as he, "Aren't you curious what this message is that she feels she has to get to you?"

He looked at her but remained silent for several seconds. "No, actually, I'm not interested."

"I didn't say interested," she remarked as she put the last tee-shirt on the top of a clothes basket and got to her feet where she lifted the clothes and started toward the doorway. "I said curious. Don't feel restricted just because I'm here. I'll go put Abby's clothes away so I'm not within hearing distance."

"I'm not going to listen to this if you're not here," he said with irritation. "So, if you want me to know so badly, then you'd better stay here with me."

Sara turned and looked at him. Did she want him to know? She wasn't sure. Did "she" want to know? You're damned straight–but at the same time she didn't want to hide something that important from Grissom. She would never hide an opportunity for him to go to Heather again. He has to make a choice once and for all and he can't choose if the options aren't open to him. She looked at Brass.

"What's the message?"

Brass hesitated a moment. "Maybe you should sit down."

Sara closed her eyes against the emotional blow that she knew was coming, then moved to the arm of the sofa, leaving several feet of empty space between herself and Grissom. "Alright. I'm sitting."

"Come on, Jim," Grissom said with a nervous glance. "It can't be as bad as all that."

"I went to see what she wanted–to see if I could relay any messages if they were absolutely necessary. I didn't find them so urgent, so I didn't bring it up. But she became more insistent with the medical staff and accused me of trying to keep information from you, so some of the newer staff at the hospital were talked into getting a phone to her and trying to help her contact you. They were caught, of course, and reprimanded because of it, but I figured it would only be a matter of time before she either talks someone else into getting a phone to her, or she gets out and tries to contact you on her own."

"Do I need to have a restraining order brought up against her?"

"I'd say it wouldn't hurt.

"So, what was the message, Jim?" Sara asked again.

"Same old crap she confesses to between her visits with Gil. She's sorry. She's never meant things to go so far. She'll never bother your family again, but she wants you to know you'll always be in her heart and anytime you feel the need to go back to her, that she'd be waiting with no strings attached, as usual."

"That's it?" Grissom looked at him. "If that's the extent of it, you can get a message back to her that I said now she can move on with her life and leave me alone."

"Well, that's the first part of it."

"And the second part?" Grissom sighed.

"She said if she would've known you were going to really choose Sara over her in the end, she would've never slept with you that night before you left for Costa Rica. She said you made unspoken promises to her and when you left the country she had no other choice but to abort the baby that you made with her that night."

"What?" Grissom blurted as he got to his feet so quickly that he knocked over the coffee table sitting in front of the sofa, smashing a decorative dish against the hardwood floor. The crash startled Abby awake and she started crying until Sara picked her up, trying to sooth her as she looked at Grissom through hard eyes. "That's bullshit! I didn't get her pregnant!"

"You're sure about this?" Brass asked.

"Of course I'm sure about it! I think I'd know if I'd knocked her up!"

"Why should you?" Sara asked quietly as she continued to sooth the baby. "You never knew you "knocked me up." Both times it came as a total shock to you–no make that all "three" times–and the first time–you tried to say it was Nick who got me pregnant."

"I was angry!" He turned to look at her.

"And you're not angry now?" She asked.

"I'm telling you–I didn't get Heather Kessler pregnant!" He looked back to Brass. "I want proof of this abortion! Where'd she have it?"

"At home. A doctor-friend owed her a favor, and no, the doctor won't step forward because it was done illegally."

"In this day and age, it was done illegally," Sara said doubtfully.

"She didn't want it traced."

"Of course she didn't," Sara mumbled, then looked back at Abby who was still crying, picking up on her father's anger. "Shhh, it's okay. Daddy didn't mean it." She lowered her voice. "He never does."

"Sara! You're not helping matters here!" Grissom shot at her.

"I'm sorry," she said with faux sympathy as she looked at him. "But, I wasn't helping matters when you went to get her pregnant in the first place–was I? You did that all on your own!"

He looked back at Brass again, his anger turning quiet and almost dangerous. "I want this proven that she didn't have an abortion–at least not from any pregnancy I might have. . ." he looked back at Sara, ". . .induced! Which I didn't!"

"I don't know that we can. Too much time has passed."

"Fine!" He ran his hand down over his beard in frustration. "Let her say whatever she wants to say. It isn't true. Just keep her the hell away from me."

"I'll do my best, but with her putting talk like that around, the press is going to pick up on it and have a field day."

"I thought you said I wasn't important enough to keep the public's interest." Grissom said irritably.

"You're" not. But she is. She's a local celebrity, especially now that the senator's wife killed him over her. I wish I had an easy way out of this for you, bud, but it might come down to you having to come face to face with her again and pacify her."

"Right," Sara huffed angrily as she walked out of the room with Abby. "Go pacify her."

"Well, thanks, Jim! That helps a lot!" He went to the doorway that lead to the foyer where Sara was starting upstairs. "I'm not going to go near her! I'll just wait and if anything comes out, I'll sue her for slander! Dammit, Sara! Come back down!"

"Look," Brass said as he moved to stand next to him in the foyer. "It's clear I've stirred up enough trouble between the two of you for this trip. I'm going back into the station to see what I can come up with that might help."

Grissom looked at Brass then watched as he walked out the door. Sara stayed at the top of the stairs briefly, then when she heard Grissom step onto them, she turned and took Abby into the child's bedroom. She went to the dressing table and began changing her diaper as Grissom stopped nearly three feet behind her.

"You can't really believe I got her pregnant," he said quietly.

"Does it matter?" She answered dully.

"It matters to me whether you believe I could father a child with anyone else." He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

Sara froze, then turned to face him. "Any animal can father offspring, Grissom. Believe me, I know they're not all planned. We didn't plan a single one of ours. So, don't stand there telling me you couldn't father a child with anyone else–it's done all the time."

"But not by me."

"Grissom, listen to yourself. What could possibly make it worse if you had actually implanted her, than what you already did? The only difference is that "according to you," your sperm didn't get to her egg! All of the other mechanics were there in this little crime. So, it doesn't make one damned difference whether she was pregnant or not. Not to me. The deed was already done."

She turned around again and started changing Abby's clothes, dressing her in a little sunsuit and putting a little pair of sneakers on her.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Where–out? You aren't allowed to drive yet."

"I've got a nurse I need to see."

"Then I"m driving you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara waited for Grissom to get the buggy out of the car after they parked in the garage at Desert Palms Hospital. Once they had Abby sitting inside, Sara forged ahead until she was on the sixth floor, searching for the nurse she came to see. Within minutes Caitlin was leaving for an early break so she could talk to Sara and Grissom. They went to an empty waiting room where Sara filled Caitlin in on the events concerning Heather and without needing to ask, Caitlin started giving her information they needed.

"I've learned to keep my mouth shut when I'm at the nurse's station or on breaks in the cafeteria. You'd be amazed how much you can find out. I know someone who works in the wing Heather's staying in and I'm positive he'll do anything he can to help. It seems she isn't one of their favorite patients over there and sometimes, due to unforeseen emergencies, computers aren't always logged out of when the nurses leave their desks."

"Caitlin, I don't want you to do anything that can get you into trouble."

"And I didn't want to be tasered and sent into cardiac arrest last month either, but thanks to Mrs. Kessler, one of her lackies did it. Anyway, we're going under the "only if needed" policy. You only get the information if it is needed–this is needed."

"I think they're talking about needing that information "for your job," Caitlin," Grissom informed her. "I don't want you losing your job over this."

"I wouldn't be the first one who broke that policy–believe me. So, we'll just pretend the last part of that policy doesn't exist right now, okay?" Caitlin got up and moved toward the door. "Stay here. I shouldn't be long."

Sara and Grissom remained in the waiting room for nearly forty-five minutes before Caitlin came rushing back through the door and closing it behind her. She opened a manilla envelop and pulled out some pages that clearly had been printed recently. She gave half of them to Sara and half to Grissom.

"What is this?" Grissom asked as he started paging through what he was holding.

"Something that doesn't exist–except in her medical files. I thought you might find some of this rather interesting. If you would look at her past surgical history, you'll find what you're looking for."

Sara scanned the report, feeling a bit of satisfaction upon finding such things as breast augmentation, abdominoplasty, butt augmentation and eyebrow lift. She couldn't suppress her smile when she saw vaginoplasty but as she continued down the list toward her older surgeries, she found what she had been looking for–total hysterectomy from shortly after a caesarian section for the birth of a female child. She looked up at Caitlin and gave her a little smile.

"Thank you, Caitlin. Would you like these back? You may destroy them if you would like to."

"But that isn't all," Caitlin said as she turned the page to Psychiatric History. "She truly believes she was pregnant with Dr. Grissom's child. That's why they started watching her a little more closely. She's becoming increasingly delusional and they're blaming it on the shooting–you know, the way Senator Bridges' head was. . .well, from what I heard. . .exploded right on Heather's face. The operative report says they were cleaning junk out of her mouth during the surgery that just turns my stomach–and I'm a nurse and can handle a lot of gore. But this sounds like something straight out of the movie "Night of the Living Dead." To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I wouldn't have retreated into a safer world if that had happened to me either."

"What is their treatment plan?" Sara asked as she watched Caitlin.

"At this point, she's having a psychologist coming in daily. Sometimes she's okay–sometimes she isn't. Whenever she's reminded of the way Senator Bridges died, she seems to relapse." Caitlin started to collect the papers from the other two. "I'm going to shred these. No one else needs to know about this–but I thought if anyone had the right to know–it was the two of you. If they release her in an unstable condition, I want you to be prepared. You've got to keep our little Abby safe." Caitlin gave a little smile to the baby who was now very vigorously trying to pull off the sneaker that her mother had placed on her at least three times since arriving in the waiting room.

"Caitlin," one of the nurses from the Pediatric Desk stuck their head in the waiting room. "That old bitch, Donnelly, is looking for you. I told her you're on your break but she says you weren't due for lunch for another two hours. I told her I let you go early and she's getting pissy about it–so maybe you better go back and be careful not to step on her toes, okay."

"Okay, thanks, Katie. I'll be right there." She turned and gave one final wave to the Grissoms. "Yeah, I know–Caitlin and Katie. But, we're actually best friends! Strange, huh?" She left them alone.

"Well, at least you know for sure that you didn't get her pregnant." Sara didn't look at him as she started pushing the buggy toward the door.

He held it open for her and allowed her to pass through before walking to the elevator and holding those doors as they got inside. They were both looking at the numbers as they went back down to the garage, then out to the car. Abby was safely in the back seat and they were driving home, still silent, until finally Grissom simply said, "I told you I didn't do it."

A/N: Yes, I know it is extremely wrong of Caitlin to have gotten those records-it was an invasion of privacy and she would most definitely lose her job over this. But I also have worked in a hospital for nearly ten years and although I never did anything quite to this extent, I know that others have and it is more common than you might think. So, please forgive our favorite pediatric nurse for this indiscretion.


	209. Chapter 209

Chapter Two-Hundred-Nine

Grissom had put Abigail to bed that night. He could hear Sara taking her shower, knowing her normal routine would be to go to her room, dry off, put her cocoa butter cream on her expanding abdomen then perhaps watch a little television or simply go to sleep. He would go downstairs to his office and go through his latest journals or if his mind was in a complete state of numbness, he'd work on some puzzles until he would feel tired enough to let sleep encompass him. Their afternoon and evening was spent keeping busy with normal household chores that would have normally been spread out over the next few days, but evidently were being done to keep them both so busy that they didn't have time to deal with one another. That changed as he sat in his darkened office with his feet up on his hassock. He was leaning back in his chair, wearing his glasses as he read from the journal beneath the single lamp that illuminated the magazine.

"You should have more light when you're reading. You know that, don't you?" Sara asked as she stood in his doorway.

He looked up at her, seeing her dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top with her hair pulled up in a way that exposed the length of her neck and accentuated her collar bones. He swallowed the saliva that immediately erupted in his mouth upon the though of stroking his tongue over those areas and hearing her moan in response to his own sounds of complete idolization of her.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked.

"You shouldn't read with only that light on. You'll strain your eyes."

"I'll–keep that in mind," he said as he watched her take a step inside.

"I just wanted to tell you. . ." She flipped on the ceiling light then looked back at him. "What you said today, when you were driving us home. . ."

"I'm not sure what I said."

"You said, I told you I didn't do it. I just wanted to make sure that you know–it doesn't matter to me whether you got her pregnant or not, whether she got an abortion or had a miscarriage. . .the fact remains that you. . ."

"I know," he interrupted, not wanting to hear her say it again.

"Alright." She looked up at him again. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

He watched as she turned and walked back out of his office. He closed his journal and put it on the small table next to him then turned off the lamp. He slowly walked across the room and turned off the ceiling light then went through the new routine of checking doors to make sure they were locked up for the night. Within fifteen minutes he was in the shower, letting the heated jets beat down upon him. When he got out, he towel-dried his hair and beard, then wrapped the towel around his waist as he headed for his bedroom at the front of the house. The sound of Abigail's babbling came from inside Sara's room, making him glance at the flickering light of the television, although the volume was muted.

"Da! Da! Dadadadada!" Erupted from Abigail's mouth as he looked in at them and saw Sara lying on her side, facing the baby who was in the middle of the bed, lying on her back as she grabbed onto her feet.

Sara chuckled at her as she watched her. "Dadadada isn't here right now, but I bet he'd love to hear you saying it."

"Dad "is" here," he said as he ran a smaller towel over his hair one last time then tossed it onto her dresser as he walked into the room with them.

Sara looked over her shoulder at him, an expression covering her face that didn't go unnoticed, before turning back to look at their daughter who continued to babble rapidly, "Pfsts, pthhhhpsts, dadadadada, spppthhhhsssss, dadadadadada."

Grissom smiled as he moved to the opposite side of the bed and looked down at Abigail. The sight before him was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Abigail let her stream of conversation continue as she tugged at her feet, then suddenly caught sight of her father standing only a few feet away from her, pausing her story before a new set of excitement filled her upon seeing another member of her audience then beginning again.

"She's calling you," Sara said as she looked up at him from where she lay on her pillow.

"I can hear that. But who is she calling with all her other sounds?" He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Abigail immediately dropped her feet and turned onto her stomach. Within moments she was up on her knees and crawling across the bed until she climbed up on his towel-covered lap. He laughed at her as he took her hands and helped her to her unsteady feet. She released one of his hands and immediately went for his nose.

"Dadadadadadadada!"

"Dada thinks you should be sleeping," Grissom removed her hand and maneuvered her until she was sitting on the mattress closer to Sara again. "It's way past your bedtime."

She immediately turned over and started crawling after him again.

"She isn't going to stay here now. Not with you in the room. You're teasing her." Sara watched them with an indulgent half-smile.

"Mom's right," Grissom said as he put her back into a sitting position then got to his feet, but when he took a step, Abigail started whimpering and put her hands up in the air, showing him that she wanted him to pick her up. "You've got to get some sleep." He took a step and she went into a full fledged cry as her bottom lip came out and trembled, making him look at her pitifully, then back to Sara before picking her up again and bouncing her slightly to calm her.

"You might as well go rock her now," Sara sighed as she turned on her back and looked at them. "She's not going to go to sleep unless you've got her tonight."

He nodded and started to walk with her toward the door but Abigail started to squirm up over his chest and shoulder as she tried to watch her mother and when he continued walking, she let out with a screech, stopping him immediately as he looked back at Sara. "I think she wants you, too."

Sara sighed again then after a moment gave her consent. "Bring her back. We'll both lie with her until she falls asleep."

He slowly moved back to the other side of the bed and lowered Abigail onto the mattress where she immediately started to fuss until he got onto the bed next to her. Immediately the little girl crawled over until she was lying on top of him with her head on his should as she looked over at her mother. He wasn't expecting Sara to move closer to them the way she did, but when she reached up and started stroking Abigail's hair, he understood why.

"Is she going to sleep?" Grissom asked softly.

"No. She's staring at me as if she's trying to tell me that she got what she wanted." Sara turned her gentle comments to the little girl. "You're spoiled, do you know that? Are you going to grow into a little brat? Or are you just daddy's girl, after all?"

"I think she's a very bright little girl," he said as he stroked her back.

"Oh, really? And why's that?"

"She knows where I should be sleeping. She's just trying to let you know, too."

When there remained silence from Sara's side of the bed, he turned onto his side, facing her with Abigail now lying between them. Unsatisfied with her new position, Abigail squirmed over until she was snuggled against her mother's side. Sara finally looked up at him.

"But I "know" things you've done that she doesn't," she said quietly, almost as if she didn't wish she had to voice it.

He watched her, blue eyes meeting brown, until he reached up and ran his finger along her cheek. "Stop, Sara."

She closed her eyes and turned away from his hand as she said painfully. "I'm trying."

He moved his hand back down until it was resting on Abigail's back and he stroked it with his thumb as he continued to watch the two women in his life. Sara closed her eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was weariness or an attempt to keep herself from seeing him but soon she nestled her head against Abigail's and they both were breathing evenly, indicating they both had fallen asleep. He allowed them to sleep longer, falling into a deep sleep as he watched their beauty, then he reached down and pulled Abigail higher until her head was lying on the pillow.

He leaned over her so he could reach Sara and her lips were soft and sweet as he kissed her. He could feel her initial response as she licked her lips then gently tugged his lower lips between hers. He kissed her again and heard her moan her gratification as she squirmed on the bed. She turned on her side, facing away from him and his heart began beating faster. He knew that move. He remembered it so distinctly that his breath caught in his throat. How many times had he awakened with her pressing her back against him, usually as she reached behind herself to hold onto his hips as he spooned against her. She would press her perfect bottom against him until he was so hard he thought he'd die from the pure pleasure of it. And if she didn't initiate the act while she was sleeping, he would wake up needing her and gyrate against her bottom as he would reach to the front of her and slip his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. Either way, the result was always the same as she would awaken full of fire and a sleepy energy that made her seem to glow with sensuality as she would turn the upper part of her body and cup his face to initiate his kiss.

He watched as she settled back into a fitful sleep but he needed to be closer to her. He hesitated a moment then slowly got off the bed and picked up Abigail. He went through the closet entrance and tucked her into her crib then turned on her monitor and came back to Sara's bedroom where he found her still in the same position. God, he needed to be with her. He knew he couldn't push her, but he needed to touch her. He slowly lowered himself onto her bed and moved up behind her, hearing her sigh heavily as he pressed himself against the length of her and placed his hand on her abdomen. In her sleep, she moved her foot back to hook it around his calf and drew it forward. He knew she wanted him to raise his legs beneath hers and spoon her closely. She squirmed as she nestled back against him but he remained still. When he was certain she was in a deep sleep he pulled her more tightly against him as he settled his head behind and slightly above hers. He inhaled the aroma of her shampoo and the memory of so many previous encounters with her had him throbbing almost painfully. But he remained still as he held her and before long, he was falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

He didn't remember turning onto his back, but as he did, his towel had come undone from his waist, leaving him exposed but before he could cover himself Sara turned toward him and nestled up against his side. He held his arm around her, still prepared to pull the blanket or edge of the towel over himself but he felt her bare leg move up over his thigh. He watched as she looked at him through half-lidded eyes then slowly started to move over top of him. He watched as she drew her legs up along each side of him as she bent and kissed his neck and shoulder, then sat up as she looked down at him. God, the sight of her wearing his white shirt that she had opened down the front of her was intoxicating. Her hair flowed in curls around her beautiful face. He let his gaze move from her luscious lips, down over her long throat, on to the gap between the sides of his shirt that exposed the sides of her breasts, down over her stomach to the dark patch of curls that rested on top of his hardened length. He drew in a deep breath as she raised herself on her knees and reached for him, guiding him into her sheath as she lowered herself on him completely. His fingers danced up her thighs until he grasped onto her hips and he raised her then brought her down forcefully. She let a smile touch her lips as she continued to watch him and he could feel himself coiling so tightly he thought he might actually break. He lifted her again and brought her down, then again, and soon she was riding him on her own. He watched as her head went back as she felt her sensations growing. He watched as she grasped onto his hands then slid her fingers up over the hair covering his forearms and she let out a throaty chuckle, expressing her pleasure in the texture. She started moaning, making sounds each time she would lower herself onto him. The sounds were coming more frequent as he moved his hand to the front of her, then they started to come louder. At the mere touch of his finger to her pearly nub, she screamed. He waited to feel her spasming around him but there was nothing. He listened to her scream again and he reached for her but she was gone.

The scream came through to him a third time and his eyes blinked open until he realized that the sounds were of distress and they were coming from next to him.

"Oh, Gil! Gil! Help! Help! Help!"

He looked over at Sara to see her tossing from side to side.

"Sara? What's wrong?" He asked as he raised himself on elbow to look down at her, clearly noticing that she was no longer in his shirt, but in her tank top and pajama bottoms.

"Get up! Get up! Get up!" She ordered in rapid succession. "My leg! Help me up! Charley horse! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

He was on his feet in an instant and around the side of the bed. He looked at where she had pulled the pant leg of her pajamas up exposing a ball in her calf that was rather impressive.

"Jesus, Sara! What do you want me to do?"

"Get me up! Get me up! I need to walk it out!"

He took her hand and pulled her up until she was applying pressure to her leg and limped heavily as she tried to walk across the room. He automatically went to her side and she grabbed onto his hand for assistance as she gasped with each step. Back and forth they traveled until finally her limping became less and less.

"Is it gone?" He asked with concern.

"Not all the way, but at least it's not trying to rip my calf off my leg," she panted.

"Okay, come back to bed and sit down." He helped her until she was sitting on her side of the bed again, then he knelt before her and started massaging and kneading the stiff muscle. She winced at first with each movement of his fingers until finally, the stubborn gastrocnemius eased its searing tension. Finally he looked up at her. "How's that? Any better?"

"Yes," she breathed heavily. "Where's Abby?"

"In her crib. I didn't want to roll on her."

She eyed him and he doubted she believed him then she waited a moment before dropping her eyes to his mid-section as he knelt before her. "You're. . .naked. Why are you naked?"

"My towel came off when I jumped up to help you."

"Could you put something on, please?"

He watched her a second. "What about your leg?"

"My leg doesn't need to see you naked in order to get better." She stared at him. "Please?"

With a simple nod he stood up and went across the hall to his room where he grabbed a pair of sweat pants and put them on. When he came back, he stood in her doorway watching as she remained sitting there, rubbing her calf. When she noticed him, she looked at him questioningly.

"Would you like me to stay, in case it happens again?"

He could see that she was debating with herself over this question and he knew she would rather he go to his own room but he could also see the fear of another cramp that finally made her nod her head once. She got up to pull the blankets back then climbed between the sheets. Her position on the very edge of the bed told him that she was allowing him to sleep there but wanted her space so he got in his side and remained there.

It happened again at around four that morning and this time she spent a longer amount of time walking around her bedroom before allowing him to massage the remainder of the tightness away then after nearly an hour they both fell into a fitful sleep again. When they woke that morning she called her obstetrician and was instructed to eat non-fat yogurt to increase her magnesium, take walks throughout the day and stretch her legs when she is seated to eat or watch television. The nurse told her that she could email her a list of things to help and things to eat, but all-in-all, it was something she evidently was going to be suffering through with this pregnancy.

"I need to get non-fat yogurt," she said as she hung up the telephone.

"That's it?" He asked. That's all they told you?"

"No," she explained. "They're emailing me a list of things to eat and do. We can pick up a few things from the list today."

"And that will take care of it?"

"You're a doctor, Grissom. Don't you know this stuff?"

"I still want to know what "your" doctor says."

"He says it will continue throughout the pregnancy."

"Oh."

"Oh?" She looked at him closely. "What do you mean–oh?"

"It's just that–if you're going to be getting these frequently. . .don't you think it would be more convenient if I just slept in your room so I'm there when they occur?"

"I think I can manage to call you and wake you if you're in your own room."

"I doubt it. Those walls are thick and if I'm in a deep sleep, I might not wake up."

"Then we'll set up one of the baby monitors."

"Fine," he sighed as he got up from the kitchen table and started upstairs to get Abigail and begin their day. "We'll do it your way–for now."


	210. Chapter 210

A/N: My apologies to anyone who isn't familiar with the term "aye-aye" in the context it is being used in this chapter. I'm not sure if it's an English saying, an American saying, a Pennsylvanian saying, Pennsylvania Dutch or even a Susquehanna saying–you can fill me in if you've ever heard of it before. But in this context, to "aye-aye" someone is to "comfort" them or give them some "loving." To soothe a child, you might stroke their head and say "aye-aye." Or, as in this chapter, to "aye-aye Daddy" is to give him some comfort or affection. I was just concerned that this might not be a widespread term. Thanks everyone for reading!

Chapter Two-Hundred-Ten

It had been two weeks since her last run-in with any "Heather catastrophes" and she was starting to feel a little more relaxed, although her nightly leg cramps were a bit daunting. True to his word, Grissom stayed in his bedroom and on some nights Sara was able to roll out of bed and walk around the room on her own to try to relieve the muscle spasms. Other nights, he would hear her moaning when she would be unable to do anything but lie there like an animal whose leg was stuck in a steel trap and he would rush to her side and either start massaging the muscle enough to actually get her onto her feet or pull her up so she could walk it out. She had started going on walks during the day as the doctor had suggested, little walks that would take her either around the block or up and down the back yard. Sometimes she would package Abby into the stroller and take her along, other times she would let her at home with Grissom.

Today was one of those days as she approached the front door and found a box sitting on the porch floor with Grissom's name on it. The return address was listed as Little Gems Costumes and her curiosity was getting the best of her.

"No, Abigail," Grissom was gently reprimanding. "You "eat" the food. Don't throw it at Daddy." There was an exasperated sigh then a scraping of furniture before she heard him approaching from within the house. "Sara! She won't eat!"

Grissom pushed open the screen door and Sara tried not to laugh at the tee-shirt with applesauce spread across the front of it, but when Abby rubbed her fruit-covered hands over his bearded face, she couldn't hide her amusement.

"That's because she ate before I left, while you were so busy talking to Jim on the phone."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked with exasperation.

"You didn't ask."

"I didn't ask if "you" ate either, but I think if I'd try to feed you two meals in a row, you'd find a way to inform me."

"So–she found a way to inform you." Sara picked up the box and started back into the house as he followed her with a babbling Abby. "You got a package. I can't help but be curious about a place called "Little Gems Costumes."

"I–um–ordered something last week. I hoped you wouldn't mind." He followed her into the kitchen where she put the box on the table, then got a wet cloth and started wiping Abby's hands then face.

"Well, I guess that would all depend on what it is." She glanced up into his eyes, smiling again at the applesauce smeared in his beard before she took the baby from him and handed him the cloth. "If it's a rhinestone studded g-string or jock strap, then I'm a bit worried."

"Go ahead and open it. See for yourself." He stood behind her and watched as she put Abigail in her high chair.

She went to the drawer and got a knife then sat in the chair next to Abby. After inspecting the package closely, she tried to find the easiest way to get inside when she noticed a slight movement behind her. She turned and saw Grissom removing his applesauce-covered tee-shirt and the sight of his bare chest and stomach had an oddly familiar effect on her as her breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart practically skip a beat. She quickly turned back to the box and continued opening it. She slit the tape, lifted the lid, and pulled back the tissue paper that was covering it then gasped lightly. It was beautiful. Done in colors of bright blue, turquoise and bright green, and made of the softest cloth Sara had ever felt, she pulled the little body suit out of the box and looked at it. Next, she picked up the matching hat with two wires coming off the top and blue balls attached to the ends. She looked at the two pieces that she held in each hand and looked up at Grissom as he watched her, clearly anticipating her reaction. She placed the two pieces on the table and got out a pair of blue tights and green slippers, then finally pulled back the tissue that covered the last piece. Gossamer wings of the three mingled colors spread out as she unfolded them. She looked at Abby who was watching her intently and started kicking her feet as she reached for the pretty colors her mother was unveiling.

"It looks like Abby's going to be the most enchanting butterfly in Nevada this Halloween," she said to her daughter and chuckled at the brightness of her eyes as she continued to reach for the antennae that bobbled on the table.

"So? You like it?" Grissom asked as he moved to the other chair and looked at her. "I know I should've asked you about it first, but when I saw it, you were already asleep and I couldn't pass it up."

"It's beautiful, Griss. And the colors are perfect for Abby. I couldn't have picked out anything nicer, but, yeah. . .it might've been nice to have looked at them too. But, I guess it's a good thing you took the initiative, otherwise we'd be spending the next two days shopping through the local stores for her costume." She got a mischievous smile as she looked at him. "Now, since you picked "her" costume–that means I get to pick one for "you."

"Uh–no."

"Oh, come on, Griss! I can see you in a giant caterpillar costume–all plump and green! You'd make a great accessory to Abby's butterfly."

He raised a brow as he looked at her. "Only if you go as the cocoon."

"Why a cocoon?" She laughed at the thought, then stopped laughing and raised a brow of her own as she looked back at him. "Oh–I get it. The caterpillar gets to be inside the cocoon."

"I guess that's a no, then. Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a mother butterfly for you, almost fairy-like in your splendor."

She chuckled as she started putting the pieces back into the box. "I'd be the strangest butterfly you've ever seen–tall, skinny with a huge baby bump sticking out my middle."

She closed the box and was prepared to get up, but stopped when she watched him reach across the table and place his hand on hers. She slowly turned to look at him and got caught in his mesmerizing gaze.

"You'd be the most beautiful mother butterfly around. Your "bump" is a proud announcement of your dedication to your children–to your family."

She swallowed and coughed nervously as she slipped her hand out from beneath his. "Hmm. Sara Sidle, a dedicated mother. Who would've imagined?"

She stood up but he grabbed onto her hand again and yanked gently, pulling her off balance and landing on his lap. She tried to get up but he wrapped his arms around her.

"Anyone who knows her, isn't that right, Abigail?"

Sara was about to order him to release her but upon his comment she looked at their daughter who had suddenly become very quiet. Her blue eyes were huge as she watched Mommy and Daddy sitting together on the chair.

"Now don't," Sara said quietly. "You're upsetting her."

"She doesn't look upset to me," Grissom told her as he moved his hand to the front of her and slid it up beneath her shirt where he splayed it across her "bump" as he watched Abby's intense inspection of them. "You're not upset, are ya, Cricket?"

All of a sudden Abby's bottom lip protruded and then trembled and soon she started a full cry as she held her hands out to them. "See! I told you! You're upsetting her."

"No, I'm not. I'll prove it. Get her, but stay here," Grissom suggested. "She just wants to sit with us."

Sara pulled Abby from her seat then leaned back against Grissom's chest but Abby's crying continued until she reached for her father's bearded face with both hands and stood on Sara's legs. They watched as Abby continued to cry as she pressed her face against Grissom's then turned and looked at Sara accusingly before pressing her little hand against her mother. Sara's eyes grew large then she started to giggle.

"She doesn't want me here!" Sara said as she looked at Grissom's eyes and saw the laughter in them as he looked back at her. "She wants you all to herself!"

"Then it's time she learned to share. She'll be having a new sister or brother in a few months, we don't want her getting upset whenever one of us holds it."

"And this is your idea of teaching her to share? By keeping me on your lap," she said doubtfully and tried to get up again but he held his arm around her waist.

"Absolutely." He looked at his daughter who continued to whine as she chewed on her forefinger as he held onto her with his other arm. "Abigail, don't be mean to Mommy. You'll make her cry if you're mean to her."

Abby wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to climb farther up against him, evidently not caring in the least whether she was upsetting her mother or not. Sara reached up and stroked her back.

"It's okay, sweetie. Mommy will get up and you can have Daddy all to yourself."

"No, Sara," Grissom objected. "That's only teaching her that if she's a brat, she'll get her own way."

"Well, what would you like me to do, Griss? It isn't as if I can lay down the law with a six-month-old."

"Of course you can." He pulled Sara closer and leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Abigail. Aye-aye Mommy." He turned Abby so she was watching him and he did it again. "Aye-aye, Mommy."

Sara rolled her eyes at his antics but Abby stopped her whining as she watched him, then when he tried for a third time she grabbed his nose and looked at him. "Dadadada, psfthst!"

Grissom turned his face away until she released him, then he kissed Sara again. "Aye-aye, Mommy. Aren't you going to aye-aye her, Abigail? You made Mommy sad, now she needs you to love her. Go ahead, you aye-aye her now."

"Psthssphst!" Abby told him in no uncertain terms then looked at Sara as he kissed her again, and then again. She turned and watched her father pull back from Sara then looked at her mother again. This time she leaned toward Sara with her little mouth partially open and touched her lips to Sara's cheek.

"She kissed me!" Sara said as she looked at Grissom with wide eyes. "She kissed me!"

"Of course she did," he chuckled. "She's learning to share."

Grissom leaned forward and kissed Sara's cheek again then pulled back and watched as Abby took her turn. Back and forth, they kissed Sara's cheek until Abby reached over and climbed onto Sara's lap and sat down, evidently satisfied with the three of them sitting together now.

"How did you know she'd do that?" Sara asked as she turned and looked at Grissom but his blue eyes were very powerful as he looked back.

"I didn't," he said quietly as his gaze dropped to her lips and before she realized it, he put his hand on her neck and pulled her in toward him even closer.

By now Abby was evidently bored with their game as she looked up and watched Daddy's kiss land in a different place and last a lot longer. Sara's lips parted as she started to object but it gained him a slight entrance as his tongue flicked out and touched them. They softened beneath his, and she felt him pull back a mere breath before coming back in to reclaim them. Suddenly Sara's mind started to fog to all the reasons she should pull away and she leaned in toward him as well, tugging his top lip between hers slightly. Again they separated for a millisecond before resuming their act.

"Aye-aye dadadada!" Abby said very loudly as she quickly climbed up Sara's lap and started patting her father's face. "Aye-aye da!"

Although Grissom maintained the pressure on the back of Sara's neck and their lips remained against one another, Sara started to giggle and it wasn't long before Grissom smiled as he released her. They both looked at Abby as she stood nearly eye level with the two of them.

"That's right, baby," Sara said gently. "Aye-aye Daddy."

They watched as Abby leaned in against her father and touched her lips to his. When she pulled back she looked at Sara as if waiting for her to do it again.

"Well?" Grissom asked as he looked at Sara. "Your turn."

"I think that's enough lessons in sharing for one day," Sara said as she finally got to her feet and carried Abby with her through the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder at him as he watched her before she went through the swinging door.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She kissed him! Or he should say, he kissed her and she kissed him back! God! And it was amazing. If they hadn't been holding their daughter, he was afraid he might have tipped her right back onto the table and went for the whole ten yards–twenty yards–fifty–a fuckin' touchdown with two extra points! And that look! When she got up from his lap and sauntered across the kitchen. . .that look she threw over her shoulder before she went through the swinging door. . .

Sara's scream had him on his feet instantly as he charged after her, but the addition of a male scream and then Sara's curses slowed him significantly. He pushed the swinging door open to see Sara slapping Greg Sanders repeatedly on his arms with her free hand as he cowered away from her.

"Greg! Don't do that! Dammit! Didn't you ever hear of knocking?" Sara stopped slapping at him when Abigail's lip started to tremble and she started to whine again.

"I did! I stood there knocking for five minutes! I just figured you were busy and couldn't hear me!"

"I "was" busy! And I "couldn't" hear you! That doesn't translate into let's go into Sara's and Grissom's house and see what they're doing that they can't answer the door–then scare the hell out of Sara!"

"Well–what you were doing?" He looked at her dumbly then looked over at Grissom who came through the doorway without his tee-shirt. "Oh! Jeez! With Abby in the room with you!" He looked aghast as he reached for Abigail and took her out of her mother's arms. "That's disgusting! You both should be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Greg, what are you doing here?" Grissom asked irritably. "Don't you have someone else to terrorize?"

Greg looked at him indignantly. "I came to see if you were bringing Abby to the lab Saturday."

"Aye-aye! Aye-Aye!" Abigail immediately informed Greg although he was still busy trying to convince Grissom that he should bring his daughter to work on Halloween. "Aye-aye!"

Greg shifted Abigail in his arms. "Everyone who's working wants to see her. Anyway, you don't want to take her out there in the real world, do ya? I mean, you never know what you'll run into. A bunch of other little creepy kids–they'll come up and push her down and steel her candy, then laugh at her when she gets her Power Rangers mask stuck on her head!"

"Greg, is that what happened to you when you were a boy?" Grissom asked with sympathy.

Greg dropped his eyes pitifully. "Yes."

"Well, we'll be with her, so you don't have to worry about her Power Rangers mask getting stuck," Sara told him.

"Aye-aye!" Abigail said again, this time leaning in toward Greg with her partially opened mouth and touching his cheek.

His eyes grew huge as he looked at Grissom then at Abigail as she did it again. "She's kissing me!"

"Yeah," Grissom grumbled. "Imagine that. Abigail, don't kiss that. You don't know where his face has been."

"Gil!" Sara gasped then smiled at Greg. "Just ignore him. He's jealous because she's kissing you and not him."

"I'm not jealous." Grissom looked over at Sara. "As a matter of fact, I think it would be an excellent idea if he'd take Abigail for a walk around the block a few times."

"Around the block a few times?" Sara looked at him with a raised brow.

"Aright–take her for a walk around the block–twenty times."

"Ah, I know what you want," Greg snickered as he started walking toward the front of the house where the stroller sat and he started strapping Abigail into it. "My mom and dad used to do that to me, too. Go out and play, Greggie–don't come back in for an hour or so. Yeah–I know. I came back in early one day and boy did I get the surprise of my life! They could never get me to eat at that dining room table again! I mean, I was traumatized. Can you imagine seeing your father with his pants down around his knees and your mother with her legs around his waist, I mean. . .a ten-year-old boy just isn't supposed to see those things."

"Then don't come back early," Grissom said as he held the door open for Greg as he pushed Abigail through it. He turned and looked at Sara who was watching him from the bottom of the stairs and he could see her ire and he sighed before turning back to look at Greg maneuvering the buggy down the front steps. "You only have to make it once around the block, Greg. We'll be in the back of the house doing laundry."

"Yeah-yeah," Greg said as he pushed her down the sidewalk. "Is that what they call it now?"

Sara walked toward the back of the house without giving him another glance and Grissom took a deep breath. "Might as well call it laundry. That's about as much as I'll get accomplished today."


	211. Chapter 211

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I was transferring a 30-year-old manuscript from a typewritten copy into the computer. Whew! I think I lost about 50% of my vision from eye strain. Anyway, here's the next chapter, and hopefully I'll get back to regular posting again. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Two-Hundred-Eleven

Sara stood at the kitchen sink the following morning as she prepared Abby's breakfast. She was nearly finished when she heard Grissom enter the room behind her.

"Today's a new day, Sara," he said as he stopped next to her, holding Abby very close to her.

"Yeah? So?" She turned her head to look at him.

"You said yesterday that it was enough lessons on sharing for one day–today's a new day." He looked at Abby. "Are you going to give Mommy some lovin' today?"

Still half asleep, Abigail merely reached for her mother then lay her head against her shoulder as she looked back at Grissom. Sara's eyes twinkled at him upon seeing that his plan hadn't worked. She turned toward the table and put the baby's cereal on its surface then put Abby in her high chair.

"Looks like there will be no sharing of kisses today. She's too sleepy." She chuckled as she moved toward the adjoining chair. "That's Mommy's baby. Mm-hmm. We girls have got to stick together."

Grissom went to the refrigerator and got out a container of orange juice and poured some for himself. "And just what's that supposed to mean? No more showing her how to share?"

"That means, no more using Abby to steal a few kisses." She started spooning the cereal into an eagerly awaiting Abby's mouth.

Grissom leaned back against the sink as he drank his juice, then put the glass in the sink. He turned and bent over where he placed his lips on Sara's and applied gentle pressure to them. Sara stiffened in response and started to pull back but he put his hand on her neck and stopped her. She didn't try to pull away but she didn't respond either until she heard a sleepy voice next to her.

"Dadada fthshtss!"

Now, what Abby said and what Sara heard, she was sure, had to be two different things but it still didn't stop her from laughing outright against Grissom's lips.

"That's right, honey–Daddy's full of shit."

Grissom looked from her to Abby and back again. "She didn't say that!"

"It sounded like it to me." She gave Abby another bite of cereal.

"She didn't say it! Where would she have heard anything like that?"

Sara raised a brow as she looked at him, then laughed at his reaction. "Oh, yeah. I say it all the time to her. Daddy's full of shit! Daddy's full of shit!"

"Sara! Don't teach her that!" He said with wide eyes.

"Psfthssthsss!" Abby said with excitement then slapped her hands down on the tray to her highchair.

"So, what did she say now?" Grissom asked cynically.

"That's easy," Sara gave Abby the last of her cereal. "Mommy's a genius! Mommy's a genius!"

They turned and looked at the baby who was now watching them as if they both were a little strange, then reached for the bottle waiting for her on the table. "Ba–ba!"

"And now she's proving that she takes after her mother by being a little genius in her own right," Sara said as she handed the bottle to her daughter then got a cloth and wiped her off. She went to the sink to put the bowl in it then turned to go back to Abby but ran into Grissom who was now standing directly behind her, so close he nearly pinned her against the counter. "Yes? You want something?"

She watched the touch of a smile cross his lips a moment before he reached for her and grabbed her by the waist. He leaned down toward her but she turned her head away. "Just once," he whispered.

She slowly turned her head back to look at him and allowed her gaze to get caught up in his, then slowly move down over his beautiful nose and on to his lips. Lips that she knew from previous experience were delicious, and soft, and strong, and sensual and exciting. . . He pulled her against him as his mouth covered hers and he played with it slowly and gently. He knew exactly how to entice her, how to coax her and soon "playing" wasn't enough as she parted her lips for him. She heard his moan and quick pressure as he stepped even closer, sliding his leg between hers as he pinned her against the counter this time. His hand moved to her stomach, under her shirt, and he spread his fingers across the protrusion as he groaned into her mouth. She felt him growing against her and her instincts took over as her fingers moved to the edge of his tee-shirt and slid upwards, sliding over his stomach and on to his chest. He held her securely and when she lightly ran her nails down over his chest and abdomen his pressure against her turned into a gyration that sent shockwaves to her very core. She clutched onto his shoulders for support as her knees began to buckle. The sound that escaped from her alerted him to her heightened state of arousal and he seemed to lose all sense of where they were as he immediately reached down and pulled her sideways between his legs, trying to cope with the stimulation he needed by providing her hip to rub against while he immediately slid his hand down the front of her pants with such force that she thought perhaps they would tear. It was animal instinct that overcame them as she slid her hand down the front of him and cupped him through his jeans. God! The size of him! The feel of it, warm and hard beneath her hand. Had she really forgotten how it felt to hold him? Had she forgotten how it felt to have him press his immenseness inside of her. She practically yelped when he slid his finger between her folds and it rubbed against her throbbing clitoris.

"Gil? Sara? You guys here?" Called Catherine from the hallway and they could tell by her voice that she was quickly approaching the rear of the house where she would enter the kitchen with them at any second.

"Fuck!" Grissom breathed against Sara's cheek, then turned away from her as he slowly pulled his hand from inside her pants. "Doesn't anyone know how to knock anymore?"

"Hey guys," Catherine said as she pushed the door open and saw them standing there, then watched in surprise as Grissom grabbed Sara and yanked her in front of him so quickly that she nearly lost her footing. It took a second for Sara to realize he was hiding behind her, trying to conceal the erection he had just been pressing against her. "I–uh–knocked but no one answered. Hey, Sweetie! Look at you! You're getting so big–and beautiful!"

Abby chewed on the nipple of her bottle as she looked up at Catherine then slapped her tray again. "Aye-aye! Aye-aye! Aye-aye, Dadadadadada!"

"Ah," Catherine nearly crooned as she looked at the child then back to Sara and Grissom. "That's so cute! She's telling me that I walked in on Mommy kissing Daddy!" She looked up at the couple who were staring at her as if she had some form of baby telepathy. "Greg told me about his visit yesterday. He told me what aye-aye means to Abigail."

"Yeah, well she also says her dad's full of shit, so I wouldn't put too much into it," Sara said weakly as she grabbed onto the edge of the sink to try to support her weight that her knees were still unsure of.

"She says what?" Catherine laughed as she looked back at Abby who was now smiling up at her as her bottle hung from her mouth. "You wouldn't say such a thing about your daddy, would you sweetheart? Now, Greg–that I might believe."

"What can we do for you, Catherine?" Grissom asked with a voice that was nearly trembling as he kept his back to her. "Are you here to make sure we're taking Abigail to the lab tomorrow, too?"

"Of course I'm here to make sure you're bringing our little angel to the lab tomorrow!" She sang as she went to the high chair and opened it, then picked up an eager little girl. Abigail quickly became completely absorbed in Catherine's smile, then the color of her hair as she started to play with it. "But, I also brought a little gift for our princess. And for you two in a way. Come on, it's in the hallway."

Catherine started out of the kitchen and Grissom turned to look at Sara as she looked up at him. She turned to take a step after Catherine as the door swung closed but Grissom grabbed her arms and pulled her back. He immediately covered her mouth with his and thrust his tongue inside, pulling her against him desperately.

"Send her away," he whispered between kisses.

"We can't," Sara explained as she turned her head away as far as he would allow it. "We have Abby to think about. My god! We almost had sex in front of our daughter, Gil!"

"Then send Abigail with her."

"No! I'm not sending Abby away! What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? Over three months of no sex, Sara!" He still kept his voice low, although it was intense. "I have a great deal of trouble not having sex for three months!"

Sara looked at him. She wasn't ready. She knew she wasn't ready even though he had her senses reeling only moments before. "Catherine's waiting."

She turned and went through the kitchen door where she found Catherine and Abby near the front door. Sara couldn't stop the smile that crossed her face as she watched their friend sitting on the hardwood floor as she tried to instruct the baby in the concept of pushing herself around in a walker.

"That's it, honey!" Catherine exclaimed. "Now push with your feet. Wo! Okay, well–backwards is good, too. It'll get you where you're going eventually."

Abby pressed her feet against the floor again and moved the walker back about three more inches and Catherine clapped her hands together with pride.

"Look at you!" Sara said as she moved to sit on the floor about ten feet from Catherine, in the direction that Abby was now moving the contraption although Abby's back was still to her. But upon the sound of her mother's voice she turned her head and reached for her. "Come here!"

A few grunts and whines and soon Abby got the concept and was pushing the cart backwards until she made her way to her mother where a big kiss on the cheek was her reward. Sara turned the cart to face her then watched as Abby responded to Catherine's beckoning and worked her way back to the other woman.

"Where's Gil?" Catherine asked as she sent Abby back toward Sara for the third time. "He's missing this!"

"In the kitchen," Sara told her. "Gil!"

But his call went unanswered and when she got to her feet to get him she found the kitchen empty and the back door open. She looked out the window and still saw no signs of him and a quick glimpse toward the driveway told her that he had left in the car. She returned to Catherine, not quite sure what she was going to tell her, then simply shrugged her shoulders and said he must have seen they were running low on formula so went to get some. She only hoped Catherine wouldn't have the opportunity to see the two cases of milk supplement in the kitchen pantry.

Sara looked at her watch for the tenth time in the past half hour. She knew her husband was angry with her. After all, he had kept himself holed up in his den for the past two hours, and hadn't spoken to her since Catherine left that afternoon four hours before that. It wasn't common for him to isolate himself to this extent. He remained involved with Abby in a quiet kind of way as he moped around the house but left her evening feeding and bath up to Sara. "Well," Sara thought as she picked up a freshly bathed Abigail Grissom, "time for bed, little one. If he wants to see you before you go to sleep, now's his chance."

"Gris?" Sara knocked on the door to his office.

"I'm in here. The door's open."

She found him sitting behind his desk as she entered the room but he continued reading the journal he seemed to be very involved in.

"Bedtime," she said quietly and watched as he glanced at her then back to the book. "I just thought you might want to . . ."

He looked up at her with a raised brow and she stopped mid-sentence. "Do you want me to put her to sleep tonight?"

"It doesn't matter, I just thought you'd like to at least see her before she goes to sleep."

He leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses. She thought he was simply going to remain there so she turned and started for the hallway. She went upstairs and into Abby's bedroom where she turned on a CD of lullabies and went to the crib where she picked up the little dog Brass had gotten for her while in Paris.

"I'll sit with her," Grissom said as he walked into the room behind them. "You can go for your shower."

She looked at him but saw that he was not interested in conversation so she simply nodded her head and gave him their baby. She went to her shower and decided she needed to relieve some of the stress that had built up between herself and Grissom throughout the day so she stayed in longer than usual. When she came out she dried her hair then pulled it back into a careless ponytail after throwing on her robe. There was silence as she came back out of the bathroom and she noticed the light was dimmed in the nursery indicating Abby was asleep and Grissom was probably no longer there with her. When she walked past his bedroom door she glanced in to find him in a pair of pajama bottoms and tee-shirt as he sat near the lamp and continued reading the journal he had been reading downstairs.

"Well," she said a bit awkwardly. "I'm–uh–going to bed now."

"Goodnight."

She nodded, a bit unrattled that he was evidently so upset because she wouldn't resume their make-out session from the kitchen. She crossed the hall and went into her room, noting the ceiling light was off with only a dimness coming from near her bed. When she looked over she saw her lamp was on but a scarf was draped over the shade, giving it a more serene atmosphere. She approached the lamp and saw the note and miniature Snickers scattered down the length of the bed

Sweetheart,

Don't lose patience with me. Sometimes it's very difficult loving someone so much and not being able to show them the way I would like. In the meantime, considering the upcoming holiday, I offer you this Halloween treat as a token of my love. I know they're your favorite

Enjoy!

Your eternally devoted husband,

Gil

The next day started quietly but as the day wore on, their conversation started to return to where they had been before Catherine's visit. They even took a walk with Abby in the afternoon, taking in the scenery of the neighborhood they lived in. They would stop from time to time as Sara would point out and name various colorful flowers to Abby, Grissom would do the same with the bugs. So far, she seemed to enjoy both with equal enthusiasm until her father placed a little moth on his palm and brought it down for her to see and it decided at that moment to fly away and promptly landed on Abby's nose. The sight of her looking at it was priceless and Sara wished she had a camera to catch the way her eyes crossed in the most charming of ways–until Abby reached up and grabbed it, then tried to put into her mouth for an afternoon snack. At that point both Mommy and Daddy were wiping hands and tongue with anything they could find. Once Abby was absent of moth remnants her parents stood erect and Sara looked at Grissom with irritation but when he sent her his boyish grin and shrugged, she couldn't help but roll her eyes and smile in return as they resumed their walk.

A long afternoon nap and then a nice dinner of pears and squash and Abby was being dressed into her beautifully shimmering butterfly costume. The camera came out immediately as they sat her on one of her favorite blankets on the floor, then again after they started walking through their neighborhood again.

"Hey! Wait for me!" The voice came from a car that had parked in front of the Grissom house, turning them to look back and find a big blue furry thing having great trouble getting out of the passenger's side.

Sara and Grissom watched as finally it popped out and promptly fell onto their yard before a young woman ran from the driver's side and went to its assistance, pulling and pushing until the blue beast was on its feet.

"You okay?" Asked the woman.

"Yeah! I'm okay! Let's go!"

The closer he got, Sara realized she was looking at a six-foot-tall "Blue" from Blue's Clues. It wasn't until she realized who the character was that she took another look at the young woman to see that she was dressed in a green striped rugby shirt and khaki slacks in what Sara presumed was an imitation of "Steve."

"Greg?" Sara started to chuckle. "I thought you had to work tonight."

"I do!" Said Blue from beneath his large stuffed head. "But I have an hour or two to spend with Madame Butterfly before I have to go in. Anyway, neither of you dressed up. How were you going to get any treats for Abby? Just stand on the sidewalk and hope they throw something at you? Now, I can carry her up and knock and we'll both get something."

"Ah-hem!" Faux coughed "Steve" from behind him.

"Oh–and Caitlin will get some too." He looked down at the baby who was in the stroller trying to grab the antenna that kept bobbing just out of her reach as it dangled from her hat. "Wow! That would be enough to drive me nuts–reaching for it like that all night."

"Well, Greg," Grissom told him. "Unlike you, Abigail will soon realize she can't get to it and will stop reaching for it. You, on the other hand, could be entertained by it all evening."

"Well, it's bugging me!" Greg said then looked up at Sara. "Bugging" me–get it? Bug–butterfly."

His attempt at a joke brought a heavy sigh from Grissom as he turned and started pushing the stroller again.

Sara stood by as they approached the first house, listening to Greg as he continually said things that would irritate her husband, but when the big blue dog reached into the stroller and picked up his daughter, she noticed the smile that touched Grissom's eyes as the three halloweeners walked up to the first door.

"I should thank you for your peace offering," Sara said quietly as she looked at Grissom, bringing his gaze back to her.

"I guess you're not going to show your gratitude with a kiss."

She looked at the stiffness of his stare then reached over and hooked her little finger around his and gave him a little pull, bringing him close enough for her to lean in and kiss his bearded cheek.

"Thank you for the Snickers," she said gently.

"Hey! No aye-ayeing on the job," Greg told them as he walked back with some goodies in each of their bags. "We've got some serious trick or treating to do here!"


	212. Chapter 212

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twelve

Two Batmans (or would that be Bat "men," Grissom wondered as he walked next to Sara and the stroller), four Michaels from Halloween, three Freddies from Nightmare on Elm Street, three fairies, two WWF wrestlers, a bizarre-looking clown from something Grissom didn't know of, four pretty witches and five ugly witches, three boys that Grissom decided were zombies, a hobo, four infant pumpkins of varying styles, baby bears, baby lambs, and a few tigers, lions, puppy dogs, kittens and even an alligator (or crocodile–Grissom wasn't sure which). And then there were the parents. . .He didn't feel completely out of place as half of the parents were not dressed in costume, but those who were didn't hold back. There was an onslaught of Buzz Lightyears and Woodys, fewer but still a large amount of super-heroes, and then the food items such as a giant hot dog, a container of fries, a milkshake, a pizza and the strangest was the plate of spaghetti with a meatball as a hat. The mothers tended to dress a bit more conservatively as they came out dressed as fairies, witches and vampires, one came as the Bride of Frankenstein with hair that stood two feet tall.

After two hours of walking the streets of their neighborhood, Abigail was starting to show signs of having had enough although Greg wanted to continue on his quest to get two full grocery bags of candy that he planned to share with Abigail. Just what Abigail was supposed to do with all that candy, Grissom wasn't sure, especially considering she didn't eat candy at all yet. But when he saw how Sara's eyes lit up every time he would return with chocolate, he had a feeling that even if his oldest child wasn't going to benefit from the treats, his second child would indirectly be the recipient of all those confections. He was beginning to wonder if he might have to suggest they leave half the candy in the break room when they visited the lab, and leave the other half at the nurse's station in the Pediatric Unit at the hospital when they visited there as Caitlin had suggested.

The trip to the lab was spent dodging the more rambunctious of the celebrators as they would dart out to cross the streets, rarely paying any mind to the oncoming traffic. These were mostly the teenage participants and the ones in their twenties who had been celebrating a little too vigorously with whatever form of mood-altering drug they could find. Finally they arrived safely at the lab and immediately had to reach into the back seat to assist the over-stuffed "Blue" from where he sat next to Abigail.

"You were so certain we were going to bring you back to the lab, Greg? What if we had decided not to come in?" Grissom asked.

"Then Caitlin would've driven me here before she went back to the hospital." He carried his giant head under his arm as they entered the main hallway leading to the offices. "Man, it's getting hot in here."

"Well, I suggest you go suit up, Greg," Catherine called from the lab room where she was handing out assignments. "You've got a DB that looks like it's been sitting in a bathtub for the past three days at the Honeydew Motel."

"Great," Greg mumbled as he walked toward the locker room. "I was all set on digging into my Hershey's with almonds and now I won't feel like eating anything that resembled chunky chocolate for weeks."

"You don't need all that extra candy, anyway," Catherine called after him. "You know how hyperactive you get when you get all sugared up." She turned back and looked at Grissom and Sara before shaking her head negatively. "Kids. What are ya going to do with them?"

"Evidently send him out to clean up a corpse that sounds like it's probably ready to explode," Grissom said as he carried a sleeping Abigail against his shoulder.

"Oh! Look at the butterfly!" Called Judy as she and two other receptionists came up to look at Abigail. "Ah, she's sleeping. Isn't she beautiful?"

The other two girls glanced up at Grissom then turned their smiles toward Sara and agreed that the baby was very pretty before regrettably returning to work.

"You do realize that promoting this overabundance of sweets is what is putting our country into a national health crisis, don't you?" Hodges asked as he approached them and stood looking over Grissom's shoulder at Abby. "Obesity is at epidemic proportions and shoving all this candy at our youth is only aggravating it."

"First of all, David," Grissom looked back at him. "Don't sneak up behind me and stand there staring at me, and second of all, this is "not" "your" youth–it's "my" youth. Anyway, we're not giving her any candy."

"Then what's the point of going out and knocking on strangers' doors for hours at a time?"

"Hodges?" Sara asked as she looked at him. "Your mother didn't allow you to go out on Halloween night, did she?"

"No," he said indignantly. "She said it was for my own good."

"Well, I don't know, Hodges," Sara continued as she picked up out two candy bars and handed one to the man then went about opening the other one for herself. "Do you really think Abby has it in her genes to become obese just over a few candy bars on Halloween?"

"You never know, Grissom was getting a little chunky a while back," he told her, opening his treat as he continued to watch her. "And it isn't just once a year. You give them candy for Christmas, Valentines day, Easter." He bit into his candy bar. "Every one of those holidays are massive money-makers for the candy industry."

"I see. But it never affected you in such a way. I mean, you're immune to such things."

"Yes, as a matter of a fact, I am. I'm easily taken by the commercialism that sucks parents in so easily today."

"Then give me back the candy if you're immune to such things," Grissom said with irritation and grabbed the candy bar out of his hand and tossed into the trash can.

"I said I was immune!" Hodges said as he eyed the disposed of Milky Way. "I didn't say I didn't enjoy it now and then."

"Hodges!" Ecklie, stuck his head in the break room. "Don't you have anything better to do than to stand in here eating a baby's candy? Get back to work. I'm waiting on those results I sent you after an hour ago."

Hodges looked back at Sara and Grissom before walking out the door. "I still say you shouldn't be stuffing her full of candy just because the calender says so."

"Hodges, go away!" Grissom called after him, then looked at a rather uncomfortable Ecklie as he entered the room long enough to drop a small package of sugar wafer cookies into Abby's bag of goodies.

"This is for your little butterfly when she wakes up," he said then looked up at Grissom. "Uh–Gil–if you have a moment, could you come to my office?"

"I'm about to head out to the hospital with Sara and Abigail. Is it something important?"

"It won't take long. I just need to give you some news I've been given." He looked at Sara then back to Grissom. "Like I said, it shouldn't take long."

Grissom looked over at Sara and she took Abigail from him and nodded for him to go ahead, that she'd be waiting when he returned. He made quick work of it, still not being one of Ecklie's biggest fans but curious as to what was so important that he would take him away from his family on a holiday event. He closed the door behind them and watched as Ecklie moved to his files and handed one to him.

"I know things aren't exactly cemented in concrete regarding your plans for the future, but I was thinking that since you purchased a home, you must be at least "interested" in staying in the area." Ecklie took a seat behind his desk.

Grissom looked down at the file and saw the paperwork was from a private school in the area. He skimmed over the contents.

"They're in search of a professor on entomology?" He raised a brow. "This is rather "ironic," don't you think? I mean, all the time I worked here and now suddenly, they're in need of my specialty?"

"Not entirely entomology–but it will be a significant part of it. And as far as ironic–no. I've been approached several times from various parties, asking if you were available. Up until last year, you were always busy working here–then you left the country. Now, you're here–I'm presuming you're available–and with another child on the way, your savings isn't going to hold you over forever."

"My "savings" are fine, Conrad."

"Alright. If you don't want to continue working at this point, I understand. But, I just wanted to show you the option is open."

He took a deep breath as he looked back at the papers he held then he looked at Ecklie again. "I'll take it into serious consideration. Thank you, Conrad."

"No problem." His telephone rang and turned his attention from Grissom. "I'm sure you'll make the decision that's right for you and Sara. Ecklie."

Grissom nodded then started out of the office and back to Sara and Catherine as they remained standing in the hallway in front of Catherine's office. Without asking, he picked Abigail from Sara's arms and let her nestle against his shoulder again.

"Hey!" Nick called from the end of the hallway where he entered from the garage wearing a black tuxedo with a lovely dark-haired beauty next to him in a flowing gown. "Don't go running off. I need to see my little star-shine. I haven't seen her for way too long."

"Look at you," Sara chuckled as Nick and Mandy stopped next to them and looked at the child. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Don't you know your American classics?" Nick asked as he stopped next to Grissom and moved aside his pants leg with his walking stick to reveal a pair of white-top shoes. "Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers."

"Of course," Sara nodded. "Does that mean you're going dancing tonight?"

"Already went," Mandy told her as she held up a blue ribbon. "We won first prize in the Fred and Ginger competition."

"Really?" Sara looked at Nick then back to Mandy. "And just what did you have to do to talk him into entering a Fred and Ginger competition?"

"Um," Nick said quietly. "It was my idea. I have to do something for her."

Sara looked over at Mandy and the way she was trying to keep from giggling. "Are you going to make him sing again, Mandy?" Mandy smiled and nodded her head. "What's he going to sing this time?"

"Puttin' On the Ritz," Mandy said. "What else? He has to do it in front of me, Arch and Hodges. Greg wanted to be there too, but I heard he's heading out on a case."

"Oh, well, don't let us stop you." She looked at Nick again. "We'll be there to watch the performance too."

"No, you won't," Nick told her. "I'll make sure I don't do it until end of shift tonight."

"Are you going to do the little tap dance while you're singing it?"

"He better," Mandy told her. "That's part of the deal."

"I want to know when it's going on. I love that song. Are you doing it as Fred Astaire, though? Or Taco?"

"Taco?" Nick asked.

"You're giving away your age, Catherine," Grissom told her. "Taco came out with a top ten version of Puttin On the Ritz back in 1983. It was quite impressive."

"Go look it up on YouTube," Catherine suggested. "You'll love it."

She looked over at Abigail as she started to move around on her father's shoulder, not finding a comfortable position and finally lifting her head and looking into his eyes. She lifted her hands to slide up his neck and touch his beard, then bent forward and rested her cheek against his mouth and chin. In her new position she was looking straight at Nick where she studied him closely for a few seconds, then lifted her head again and held her hands out to him.

"Ahh, look," Mandy said as she watched them. "She wants you to hold her, Nick."

"Oh–well, okay. Come here, little lady. Next year I'm taking "you" to the competition. You won't make me sing and dance for my supper." He reached for Abigail and pulled her into his arms.

"Who are you kidding, Nick?" Sara asked. "She's already got you wrapped around her little finger. It wouldn't take much to have you doing the Charleston or Macarana."

"Well," he said as he looked into her big blue eyes and allowed her to play with his bow tie. "Only if she really wants me to."

"By next year, you'll be jumping through hoops for her. Who are you kidding?" Mandy asked. "I saw how you were when you watched her a few weeks ago."

"I'd jump through hoops for her now," he crooned as he kissed the child's cheek and started toward the locker room with her.

"Hey!" Grissom called after him "Where are you going?"

"I have something in my locker I want to give to her. We'll be right back."

"I better get back to work, too," Mandy said as she turned to leave. "Don't forget to call next time you need a sitter, Sara. She's a real sweetheart. I'd be happy to watch her any time."

"Thanks, Mandy."

"So, how are you two planning on spending the rest of the night?" Catherine asked as they started walking toward her office. "Any plans?"

"We're stopping at Desert Palms Pediatric Floor to say hello to Caitlin and the other nurses who took care of Abby. Caitlin asked us to stop in. Other than that, I plan on going home, giving Abby her bath, dressing her in a nice toasty pair of pajamas, then the two of us are going to bed."

This turned Catherine's attention to Grissom immediately with a smirk. "The two of "you?"

"I–um," Grissom said with discomfort. "Believe she was talking about herself and Abigail."

"Here ya go, sweet cheeks, you can go back to your daddy now." Nick came back down the hallway and handed Abigail to Grissom then kissed her cheek again as she watched him with a sleepy curiosity. He handed a little cowgirl hat to Sara. "I would've put it on her now, but I don't know how to take off the antennae-hat."

"Oh, Nick." Sara smiled as she looked at it. "You didn't have to do this. You're the best, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah–yeah," he said with a little embarrassment. "That's what all the ladies say."

"Are you two coming into my office?" Catherine asked.

"No, I think we should head out and get Abigail home at a decent time," Grissom told her. "As it is now, after the hospital, we won't get home until around eleven."

"Well, wait," Catherine told him as she went inside her office then came out with a camera. "At least let me have a picture of Abby's first Halloween costume." She proceeded to snap some shots then reached over and kissed the baby's cheek. "See you soon, sweetheart."

Sara and Grissom walked to their car in silence and Grissom put Abigail into her car seat where she immediately started to fuss until he handed her her little stuffed puppy. She pulled it up to her mouth and was either chewing on its ear or trying to kiss it–Grissom wasn't quite sure. By the time he got into the driver's seat Sara was already strapped in with her seat belt and as he put the keys in the ignition he glanced over at her. She sat there in a simple blouse and jacket with her jeans and sneakers and yet she had never looked lovelier. When she looked over at him and gave him a tentative smile, he couldn't resist any longer and leaned toward her. Her initial response was to snap her head back, so he stopped and looked at her but when she didn't try to push him away, he reached up and put his hand to the back of her neck. He gently pulled her in to meet her lips with his as he placed a soft kiss on them, then released her. She pulled back and looked at him closely.

"That must've been some spectacular news that Ecklie gave you."

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked.

"Whatever it was must have made you agitated enough to try to get on the good side of me."

"Is it working?" He gave her a slanted smile.

"Does it matter?" She raised a brow.

"Of course it does. If kissing you means I'm getting on the good side of you–it means a lot."

"I said "trying" to get on the good side of me–not that the attempt would actually work." She turned toward the front of the vehicle. "So, if you can't tell me what it was all about, then I suspect I shouldn't be surprised. Not much has changed."

"Sara," he said calmly, turning her to face him again. "If you want to know what Conrad wanted, I'll fill you in on the way to the hospital. Believe me, I wasn't going to keep it from you. I think it's something you might help me decide, anyway."

He reached over and gave her another quick peck on the lips, then put his seat belt on and started the car. When he looked at the way she was watching him again, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the papers Ecklie had given him, then handed them to Sara.

"What's this?"

"Read over it. It's what Conrad wanted to show me. I think you'll find it interesting."

He pulled out of the garage then down the street in the direction of Desert Palms. After about five minutes Sara closed the folder.

"I–don't think I want to help you decide this. It's your business. It doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Why not? It has everything to do with us. Why wouldn't it be your business?"

"You know why. I'm living with you, Gil. I don't know where I'll be in a year. I don't even know where I'll be in six months. Hell, I might be somewhere else in a week. So, I'm not going to tell you one way or another whether you should take a job here in Vegas."

He looked at her then back to the road. "I understand you're still not sure about our relationship, dear, but you can't be serious. Where do you expect to go?"

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't depend on my opinion regarding this. I think you should do what "you" want to do."

The visit to the hospital was nothing out of the norm for the staff as they had been accepting visitors all evening, but since it was so late, the Grissoms were the last ones and received the entire nursing staff's attention as they filled a little bag with candy for Abby, even if it was in gesture only as they would put each piece inside and instruct them not to give her too much, if any, at her age. The wide array of clowns, enchanted princesses (which seemed to go along a strict Disney theme including Fiona, Bell and Aurora), a Prince Charming, a man dressed entirely in khaki with a foot-long stuffed crocodile hanging from his belt who claimed to be Steve Irwin, a Charlie Chaplin, and various forms of the military services, all devoted their time and attention to Abigail Grissom, taking their attention from the nurse who invited them there as she stood in the background and smiled at Abby's interest in the group. It wasn't until they were about to leave that Sara realized she hadn't seen Caitlin for the past half hour and was told she had to take a personal call from home, so she sent her thanks to the girl for her invitation and they started on their way with a very tired little girl.

They were about to leave the floor when they caught sight of Caitlin coming in from the stairwell, looking out of sorts as she went immediately into the lady's room. Sara and Grissom were waiting for the elevator when they recognized the alerts going off on the hospital intercom, informing them there was an emergency on the eighth floor and security was needed there as well as the first floor lobby. Finally, after what had to have been five minutes, the elevator opened and allowed them to enter. It took them down to the first floor where they were asked to confirm their identity, along with the few other people who were milling about the lobby.

"What's going on?" A red-haired woman asked an older man as he waited along with two other men. "Why are they closing down the main entrance?"

"There's a body out there," he explained. "Someone took a dive out their window from the eighth floor. I doubt they'll have that exit open for hours."

"Oh, my god! How in the world would that happen? Those windows are exceptionally secure."

"Evidently not as secure as they should've been."

"Excuse me, Dr. and Mrs. Grissom? Could you come along with me. We need to see you in the Security Office," instructed a man dressed in a gray guard's uniform.

By this time both Sara and Grissom were casting glances toward the front of the lobby where they could see through the large plate glass windows. They could see the commotion going on outside as a crowd was being dispersed and held back from a lighted area. Then they saw a stretcher being pushed through the crowd, and when they lifted the bloodied and broken body, Grissom stopped in his tracks. Sara turned to look and her breath caught in her throat and when she looked at her husband, she saw how his face had paled as he stared at the woman. He started to take a step in that direction but stopped. Sara reached up and took her daughter from his arms, clearly seeing that at this point he seemed to be in a state of shock. The security guard, knowing the connection, allowed the couple a moment as they watched Heather Kessler's body being covered with a sheet then being pushed away.


	213. Chapter 213

Chapter Two-Hundred-Thirteen

Abby was fast asleep by the time the police said they could leave the hospital and Grissom knew Sara was completely exhausted as well. He drove as if in a different dimension; the shock of seeing Heather Kessler with her head cracked open like an egg was making his mind numb, so when he pulled up to their garage and Sara quickly got out and took Abby into the house, he hardly noticed. He went inside and poured himself a scotch then went upstairs where he undressed and got into bed. The drink, plus the emotional turmoil of the night sent him to sleep almost immediately.

He was standing at the front of the hospital again, walking with Abigail as she cried for her mother. He wondered where Sara had gotten to, knowing she belonged there with them. He didn't know what made him look up but when he did he felt his stomach lurch. He saw the two women standing at the window and how Heather was holding onto Sara from behind, forcing her forward toward the drop of eight floors.

"No! Don't!" He yelled at her. "Don't!"

He yelled at her to stop; to release his wife, but she wouldn't listen and soon he watched as Sara was tossed over the edge as Heather laughed mercilessly.

"Heather! No!"

He looked at what was left of Sara and his body shook with sobs as he tried to scoop her into his arms and still he heard Heather's laughter. He tried and tried to lift Sara without dropping Abigail, knowing that if he would release the child, then Heather would win. She would have separated him from them all. His body seemed to convulse with terrified emotion as he tried to gather his family to his very soul and yet he could hear her laughing from above. Then he felt the hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from Sara. He looked up at the man standing next to him and felt his terror begin to subside and be replaced with a curiosity. The man had gray hair and the bluest eyes Grissom had seen in a long time. There was a beard that would have shadowed his face if it, too, hadn't been heavily laced with gray. He seemed to be in his eighties, yet strong and vital.

"What–what do you want?" Grissom asked the man.

"The question is–what is it that "you" want? Now's the time to decide."

"I want my children. I want my wife back."

"You're certain about this?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

"You know, you can't have them both. You've carried them both in your heart for too long. Even now, even with Sara in your arms, Heather still haunts you from above."

"I can't control what Heather does," Grissom replied angrily.

"Heather" can't do "anything" anymore," the man said. "Only "you" can."

"Get rid of her," Grissom told him, then turned back to Sara and Abigail as he continued to try to engulf them both in his arms.

"I can't do that, Griss. Only you can do it. You know that."

Grissom looked at his wife and daughter, both of whom needed him desperately at that moment, and yet, he knew deep down that if he were to walk away from them, somehow, this gentleman would see to their safety and they would go on to live strong, productive lives without him. He looked up at the man and looked deeply into his eyes.

"I know you."

"Do you?" The man smiled gently at him.

"I've known you all my life," he said quietly as he studied him.

"You've known me all of "my" life, perhaps."

"Will you take care of them?"

"You know I will," he reassured him.

Grissom looked at the baby he held in one arm and the woman he held in the other, then back to the elderly man. "I've made my decision, Christopher."

Christopher nodded and in one swiping motion flowed into Grissom's exact place as Grissom was expelled until he was kneeling in front of them all. He looked at Christopher as he lovingly held onto Sara and Abigail and he knew they were all safe. Now, he had to face his demons.

He got to his feet and turned to see a doorway that lead to blackness and he knew what was inside. He was frightened as he approached it but forged his way through. His first encounter was with Heather, looking the age she was when he first met her. He felt younger too and he was suddenly ridden with guilt. He knew where Sara was and he knew she was opening her heart to him, and yet, he chose to be with Heather instead. He chose Heather. Grissom hung his head, the guilt so heavy he felt as if his chest were ready to explode. He could see Sara standing in the background, knowing that he had chosen another woman and still, she held her head high and continued to stay even when he treated her with nothing but–at best, tolerance–at worst, contempt. He looked at the pain in her eyes and felt that pain himself. It was unbearable. He walked on, seeing each instance he was with Heather, each visit, each encounter, and with every visit, he could feel Sara's pain.

But then things began to change and he could see Heather becoming older. He could see the last time he slept with her and how she looked back at him with what he had previously perceived as humor, but now saw was a pain of her very own, and if he looked even more deeply, he could see the seed of scorn inside that pain. He watched as he lay in her bed and she sat, leaning against the headboard, revealing herself to him and yet he remained on his side of the bed.

"I think it's time we end this," Heather said, turning his eyes up to her and what he had always thought was regret, he could now plainly see as relief in his eyes. She had made a decision that he was waiting for.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I'm running a business here, Grissom. You know, that normally, you would be paying for my services. I–didn't charge you because–we were having a relationship. But, through the past several weeks, I realized it just isn't possible."

"I'm sorry, Heather. I–guess I'm just not able to share myself the way you need me to."

"Oh, I think you're able to share. The problem is–right now, it isn't with me. You need to find this "Sara" and put some effort into seeing if she finds you as attractive as you evidently feel she is."

He remembered that the sound of Sara's name coming from Heather's lips twisted his insides. He had never told Heather about Sara. There had been no need.

"I–I–don't know what you're talking about," he said weakly.

"Grissom, darling, I'm used to men calling me their wives names when I have sex with them. But when I'm making love to someone–I expect to be called by my own name." She got up from the bed and picked up her robe. "You've been calling me Sara since the second night you spent here. I won't stand for it."

He watched as Heather walked out of the room and he leaned onto his back with his hand over his eyes. He truly believed that was the first time he realized how much he wanted Sara, evidently his subconscious was letting it seep through when he was least aware of it. The fact that he often closed his eyes during sex with Heather and visualized his brown-eyed employee was something he had thought he had kept hidden. He now knew this was the beginning of many times that Heather felt slighted by Sara. Heather now knew who owned Grissom's heart and it turned into a battle that would last years.

The room changed before Grissom's eyes and he was at the lab, watching as he consoled Heather after finding that her daughter had been gruesomely murdered. He didn't want to look. He knew the pain he had caused. He looked away but when he turned he saw Heather standing in front of him. She was older, as she was now, and she was beautiful as always.

"You don't want to look, do you?" Heather asked him.

"No. I was awful to Sara. I hurt her so badly. I didn't deserve her then. Not after the way I treated her." Grissom opened up to the phantom standing with him as the scene in the lab unfolded before them.

"Do you know," Heather said dully. "I knew she was there watching. I knew who she was and I wanted her to hurt. But you played along so very easily."

"You were in pain. You were in shock."

"And I needed someone to be there for me. You weren't there. You were hers and I knew it. But you always left room for doubt." She nodded toward the scene that changed to them standing in the middle of the desert as he held her in his arms and she wept. "You always gave me enough to think I had a chance. I knew you should have been with her. I knew it–and you knew it. But there you were and you were consoling me, making me feel better. Then later, we almost made love, but you stopped. You never told me it was impossible, only that you couldn't. You always left room for doubt."

The scene changed before them and she was in the hospital with Sara and she was looking at how Sara was holding her stomach.

"I don't want to see this. You know what we did." He told Heather.

"I know very well. What I don't know is, how I, a woman who is as motherly as any animal that eats their young, could see the tenderness she was showing her child she held within herself–and you were blinded to it. You again gave me hope! Hope that maybe I did come first, because you certainly weren't doing anything to help Sara. She couldn't even see that she was absolutely glowing with love and pride at being pregnant with your baby. Why couldn't you see, Grissom?" Heather asked him. "Instead, you came to me and held me and allowed me to say and do things to Sara, and gave me hope again. Then you left me–again. "

The scene changed to his last visit to her and he watched as he asked her to stay with him. He watched her slowly begin to undress before climbing into bed with him.

The scene changed again and he saw her body lying in Doc Robbins' lab as she was being sliced open. He turned and looked at her as she stood before him again.

"But you're back again," Heather told him. "You've come to me for a reason. I'm in your blood, Grissom. You know that, otherwise you wouldn't keep coming back."

"I've come back because I'm expelling you from my blood. You were never there, Heather. You were a distraction. Imagine that. A distraction–the same phrase I used when I told Sara she was working too hard–and her distraction was Hank Pettigrew. You were my distraction, Heather. Every time I needed to be distracted from the pain I was putting myself through because I was too stupid, or too stubborn, or even downright crazy, to allow myself to love Sara as I knew I should have. I don't need distractions anymore. And I don't need anyone in my life who was a constant torment to the woman I love. You're gone now, Heather, and I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry you had to die and leave your life unfinished. But, I'm not sorry that I'll never see you again."

"You'll have my memory," she said stiffly.

"Memories can be deceiving, I know that. But I've got so many more memories coming my way with my family. Sara is giving me so much more than you ever could, Heather. And I can give her more than I could have ever given you–if only she'll let me."

Grissom woke with a start. His chest was heaving with the effort to breathe and he immediately rolled into a sitting position. He listened to the stillness of the house and nearly jumped to his bare feet. He didn't care that he was only dressed in his tee-shirt and boxers. He didn't care that he wasn't invited. He just knew where he needed to be, but when he bounded across the hallway he found her bed empty. He looked around the room in a panic then heard her voice.

"I'm here," Sara said quietly as she sat the darkened corner of her bedroom.

He whipped around until he found her slowly rocking as she watched him.

"I–I. . ." As was his custom, he didn't know what to say; how to tell her that he needed to be with her.

"I heard you," she said as she continued to look at him. "You must've been exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately. I could hear you. I didn't want to go to you. I wanted to let you feel the pain of your loss on your own, so I tried to stay here. Then I heard you swearing. It isn't like you to swear like that."

"I–don't remember."

"You were sleeping."

"What was I saying?" He asked fearfully.

"You were talking to Heather. You were telling her if she came between us again. . .in milder terms. . .you said you were hoping she rots in hell." Sara looked up at him. "Then you were rather emotional and were calling for me, so I relented and went to you. You–um–were talking to someone, I can only assume who. But I don't think it was meant for my ears."

"I don't know, unless you tell me what I was saying."

"You were talking to Heather again. I'll leave it at that."

"No!" He went to her chair and squatted in front of her, placing his hands on her knees as he looked up at her. "Don't leave it at that. Can't you see that what happened tonight was a traumatic ending to something that should have never happened at all?"

"I see what happened to Heather as a great tragedy, Grissom. But then I always saw Heather's life as a tragedy, so why should her death be any different? I don't believe she deserved to die, especially at someone else's hands."

"Someone else's hands?" Grissom asked as he eyed her closely.

"There was a witness who saw someone pushing her through the window. The person was large and wearing a green striped shirt." She looked away from him to gather her emotions then looked back. "Brass called. They have Caitlin in custody. It seems she had no alibi for her location during the killing."

"Caitlin wouldn't have killed Heather!" Grissom told her. "Caitlin had no reason to kill Heather."

The sound of someone banging on the door downstairs turned Grissom's attention toward the noise. Sara sighed as he got to his feet and started back to his bedroom where he grabbed a robe and started down the stairs. In a moment, Greg was bursting through the lower hallway.

"They've pulled Caitlin in for the murder of Heather Kessler!" Greg told Grissom.

"I know, Greg. Jim called and told us."

"That's horseshit and you know it! Caitlin wouldn't hurt a flea!"

"She did steal information regarding Heather, Greg."

"So what? That doesn't make her a damned murderer!"

"Greg," Sara said as she came down the stairs wearing her robe also and Greg ran to her and threw his arms around her. "It's going to be alright. I know there isn't anything you can do to help because of your relationship with her, but you've got to know that Catherine and Nicky are going to move heaven and earth to prove her innocense."

"They won't even let me talk to her, Sara! If they'd let me talk to her, we could work through this faster."

"No, Greg. Not you. Not yet. It will only make matters worse if you get involved in the case. Let Nicky and Catherine take care of it. I know it's hard. But we're here to help you through this. Do you have your phone on you?" Sara asked and received an affirmative nod. "Then you'll stay in the extra bedroom tonight and they can still contact you. Or, if you don't want to be alone, we'll stay up and talk. Whatever you want to get through this."

"She doesn't have the money for a good lawyer, Sara. She's only a nurse–and a new one at that."

"We'll see that she gets all the help we can get for her," Grissom told him as he closed the door and turned back toward them. "I doubt its even going to go that far. Greg, she was missing for a short period during our visit to the Pediatric Unit. No one seems to know where she was."

"I know where she was!" Greg told him. "She was on the telephone with me. I know because I was on my way back from my scene. She wanted to talk because she just got word that her brother, Ward, had been in surgery and she was upset about the outcome."

"Her twin brother?" Sara asked.

"Yeah. He'd been having pain in the. . .lower area. . .for several weeks and it finally got to the point that he went to the emergency department. They went in to "uncrimp" a vessel to his testicle and they found that the whole thing was damaged to the point of being dead. They removed it. Of course she's going to be upset–they're pondering on his ability to father children anymore. She certainly wasn't upstairs murdering some bitch who wasn't worth the effort to do it. She had much more important things on her mind than Heather Kessler. And now they're keeping her in custody when she should be at the hospital with her brother."

Sara looked at Grissom and he went to the telephone and dialed Brass immediately. "Jim, I'm calling about the young lady you have in custody for Heather Kessler's murder."

"Which one?" Brass asked. "We've got four of them."

"You've got four women in custody for the murder of Heather Kessler? They were all wearing green striped shirts?"

"I've got three more men. It seems this "Blue's Clues" guy is pretty popular with the younger crowd. I take it you're talking about Caitlin, though."

"Yes. Has she been questioned yet?"

"No. She's still in holding."

"Has anyone bothered to ask her where she was when Heather was killed?"

"She said she was on the telephone in the stairwell of the hospital. There was no one to confirm it. She admits that she was within the vicinity of the murder."

"And she was on the phone with Greg, telling him about her brother being in surgery. There's no way she would've had the time to do this."

"I'll get someone in immediately. If it's true, she'll be released within the hour. She isn't actually arrested–you know that. She's only waiting to be questioned."

"Greg's here and in a near panic. Should I send him down?"

"Considering he's her alibi, it might be helpful. Tell him not to rush, she'll be fine until he arrives."

"Thanks, Jim."

Grissom turned and looked at the younger man who was watching him intently. "You can go down. They're going to question her and get the information they neglected to get earlier. She'll be ready to leave within the hour."

"Thanks, Griss," Greg said as he rushed to him and threw his arms around him for a quick hug then darted back out the door.

Grissom watched him go then closed the door behind him and looked back toward the stairs where Sara had been standing only to see that she was gone again. He turned off the light and went back upstairs where she was standing at her window, watching as Greg drove away. He moved to stand directly behind her. She looked over her shoulder then started to walk away.

"You should go to bed, Griss. You're exhausted."

"No." He grabbed her by the waist and wouldn't allow her to pass. "I need to be with you, Sara."

"I won't console your for your loss. I told you. I didn't want her to die, and my only regret is that now that she's dead, I won't be fighting a living person anymore. I'll be fighting a ghost, and I believe that's more dangerous than someone who's alive and can make mistakes. Ghosts are eventually turned into something close to sainthood."

"You won't be fighting anything, Sara. I don't need consolation about anything except the loss of my relationship with you. Nothing else."

She eyed him a moment. "I don't know what you expect from me, Gil. Don't ask too much."

"I'm only asking that you sleep with me–let me hold you, and we'll work on what we've lost. Do you want me to apologize for being a selfish, ignorant slob who only thought of myself and my needs? I'll do it. I'll get down on my knees and beg you to forgive me for not understanding or even acknowledging all the harm I've done to us. I'll beg you to forgive me for not showing you how much you mean to me more often. I'll beg you to forgive me for always running away from us as I pushed you away. I don't want to run anymore, Sara. And I want you to come back because I won't ever push you again."

"And if I can't come back?" She swallowed with difficulty as she refused to look at him. "What if I'm too frightened to come back? What if I'm too raw and sore to come back?"

"Then I'll wait while you heal. But in the meantime, I'm asking for small steps. Let me sleep with you. I want to hold you."

She looked at him and he could see the tears in her eyes, then slowly, she modded and went to the bed where she pulled back the comforter and got beneath it. He tossed his robe onto the chair and got in next to her, not missing the fact that she was very stiff with tension as she lay on her back next to him. He simply moved up and spooned against her side as he nestled his nose against her hair and put his arm around her waist that didn't seem quite so large now that she was lying on her back. He listened to her breathing as she slowly relaxed and fell asleep, then he pulled her even more tightly against him as his hand spread across his growing son or daughter and he lifted his leg until it was resting on her thigh. He stroked the child she nurtured and soon he joined her in much needed slumber.


	214. Chapter 214

Chapter Two-Hundred-Fourteen

Sara listened to hear if Abby was fussing but sounds of nothing but her even breathing on the baby monitor alerted her that the child was still sleeping. She took a deep breath as she listened to the breathing that was just as even, coming from behind her. She knew whom it belonged to and forced herself to remain still next to him. He had been sleeping for over an hour, lulling himself to sleep by stroking her stomach, an act which had awakened her but when she tried to remove his hand from her abdomen, he grunted in his sleep and pulled her more tightly against himself. She tried to go back to sleep but memories of the previous evening haunted her. The sight of Heather Kessler's body sent them both into complete silence that lasted throughout their time in the hospital's security office and their time spent driving home. When they arrived home, Sara hadn't had any doubt of the grief Grissom was going through. He had loved the woman, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and she had been brutally murdered.

Sara turned on the bed so she was lying on her back again. She looked at Grissom as he slept, facing the other direction, and decided now would be as good a time as any to get up from the bed. She grabbed her robe and moved to the kitchen and got a glass of milk. She took her time drinking it, thoughts of the woman who by now was lying on Doc Robbins' slab, plaguing her with guilt. She knew an intense dislike of the woman from the moment she had heard Grissom was having an affair with her all those years before, and the dislike grew to something so painful she couldn't even find a name for it. But she never wished anything like this to happen to her. Even in her darkest moments, she couldn't say she wished her this kind of death–or "any" death for that matter. She felt a pang of guilt over her lack of feeling concerning the actual loss of the woman, almost feeling responsible to a certain degree. Would Heather be dead now if Sara hadn't brought charges against her. Were her actions some kind of a catalyst that pushed another of Heather's victims to the point of doing her harm? Sara sighed as she put her glass in the sink and started back toward the stairs. She certainly couldn't be responsible for the actions of Heather's foes. Heather had created them herself and felt no remorse as she created them. So, in the end, any harm she had done to so many women in this city, had come back to her tenfold. Sara supposed she had nothing to do with that. It was only a matter of time.

Sara was coming down the hallway when she saw him standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She couldn't read his expression as it was hidden in the darkness but she knew he was there, waiting for her.

"I–I went down for a glass of milk," she explained without having been asked.

He nodded and watched as she walked past him and slipped back into bed. She waited for a few moments, surprised when the mattress didn't dip beneath his weight, so she turned to look back in his direction to find him still watching her from the doorway.

"I-felt the loss–as soon as I woke up and you weren't there. I felt empty. Sara, I'm tired of feeling empty."

"I–can't give you something I don't have, Griss," she said quietly. "The emptiness you're feeling is not something I can give to you, because I don't have it either."

He walked back to the bed and got in next to her. When he lay facing her, he didn't try to touch her but merely watched her for a long moment. "You've got everything I need, Sara."

She looked back at him, sadly. "No, I don't. At this point, I don't even feel as if I have everything "I" need."

"We "need" each other."

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, not knowing how to respond. He wasn't hearing what she was trying to say, and maybe it was just as well. At this point, talking wasn't something they would be gaining much benefit from. They needed time and at least she was now prepared to invest the effort into seeing what that time would bring. She didn't know which way it was going to go. She didn't know if the new day was going to bring her peace of mind or new doubts as to the faithfulness of her husband. She just needed time and rest.

She could feel the morning sun warming her but wasn't ready to get up yet. The deepness of her sleep allowed her to snuggle back against the warmth behind her as well. It felt comforting to lean into the hard form behind her, nostalgic in a sleepy-sort of way. She could feel his back pressed against her so she reached behind herself and ran her hand up over the thigh muscle and even allowed herself the privilege of letting her fingertips run beneath the boxer's leg opening until she came in contact with a gorgeous male rump.

"I think someone needs to know there's more than just two people in this bed," Grissom's voice came from behind her, making her remove her hand immediately.

Sara turned toward the voice and raised herself on elbow as she looked at the other female who occupied the other side of her husband. The dark-haired beauty immediately started kicking her legs and sat up upon sight of Sara and brought a giggle to her.

"What are you doing, my little bug?" Sara asked with a smile.

"Ba-ba!" Abby said with excited eyes as she climbed over top of her father who was now lying on his back.

Grissom told her. "We were trying to get her back to sleep."

His stern statement merely brought a high-pitched giggle from Abby as she rolled onto the bed between her parents then crawled up until she was sitting on the pillow next to her mother. "Da-da-da-da-da!"

"No," Sara corrected gently. "Daddy's over there. I'm Mommy."

"Aye-aye-aye-aye! Da-da-da-da!" Abby went on as she leaned over her mother where she placed her mouth over Sara's nose and proceeded to give her a whopping big kiss and when she leaned back she turned and looked at her father then grabbed his nose and tugged on it.

"Uh–tissue, please," Sara said with a face as she reached across Grissom and he handed her a Kleenex so she could wipe off the excessive amount of saliva that Abby had left behind. She no sooner had it wiped and she started laughing when Abby repeated her procedure with a big old kiss to her nose, then turned back to her father and started tapping his nose.

"Aye-aye-aye-aye!"

Sara wiped at her nose again then gave a tiny startled jump when she opened her eyes to find her husband leaning over her this time.

"I think the boss is giving us an order," Grissom told her with a sparkle to his eyes, then he leaned over top of Abby and placed his lips on Sara's in a tantalizing kiss that made her heart beat a little faster. Although it had a certain effect on Sara, it brought a series of giggles from their daughter, turning their attention to her as she watched them.

"Aye-aye-aye-aye!"

This time Grissom smiled as he leaned over Sara and he let his lips linger longer as his fingers stroked her face as it quickened Sara's breath and her fingertips came up to stroke his forearm until the giggling started again. The next time Grissom leaned over her, Sara looked at him with a raised brow.

"I'm only following orders," he explained and leaned down to cover her lips with his again.

This time he lifted his head when he felt Abby begin crawling over him, clearly trying to make a fast escape off the bed which more than likely would have ended with a rather hard thump to the floor so he quickly lay on his back and grabbed onto her. She stopped her crawling and looked at him with a large yawn then turned until she was lying on his chest with her head pressed against his throat as she stroked his beard with her left hand as she watched her mother on her right side. She watched her a moment let let out with a dissatisfied grunt. When Sara merely looked at her, she tried again.

"Okay," Sara told her indulgently as she moved closer and maneuvered herself until her head was resting on Grissom's shoulder with his arm around her. "But only until you fall back to sleep. You do know that you're becoming spoiled rotten."

"Who?" Grissom asked. "Abigail or me?"

Sara snorted. "Both of you."

His arm tightened around her waist as they lay silently, listening to their daughter fall back to sleep as she played with her mother's hair. Soon, Sara turned until she was facing away from them and felt Grissom turning with her as he slid Abby down until she was lying in front of Sara and sleep returned to them.

Abby woke Sara about two hours later and they went about their morning rituals but when they went downstairs they found Grissom drinking his cup of coffee as he watched the news on the kitchen's television. He glanced up and was about to turn it off but Sara stopped him.

"You might as well leave it on. I'll hear about it anyway. There's no point pretending you're not interested in what's going on."

"It's over. They have someone in custody. But that's about all they said." Grissom turned off the television anyway. "I got a call from Jim this morning. He told me it would probably be on this morning's news."

"Does he know who's in custody?"

Grissom shrugged, then went to open the high chair where Sara put Abby while she went about starting the baby's cereal. "Yes. Jim knows him. He–um–was a relative of Don Rogers. He's not quite sure of the precise nature of the relationship, but there–um–evidently was a history between Heather and the suspect. I'm sure it will all come out soon enough. You know how it is now. We're outsiders now, so we're not kept informed–technically."

She nodded. She didn't know if that was going to be enough for Grissom or not. It was enough for her. She didn't particularly care who it was who brought Heather to her end. It was simply another life ruined.

Word got back to them later that day that Heather's body was eventually going to be cremated with no services. Most of Sara's day was spent walking with Abby, doing laundry, cleaning odds and ends around the house and making their meals. Her communication with Grissom ranged from polite stiffness when thoughts of the previous night aroused, to a more comfortable sharing when they played with and fed Abby. As evening approached, Grissom put Abby to bed as Sara showered and when she finished Grissom went in and did the same. They hadn't talked about their sleeping arrangements again so she wasn't surprised when he went into his room then after a few minutes came to hers a bit hesitantly. She pretended to sleep as he slid in behind her. It was easier that way. She didn't have to argue with him regarding her reasons for him to stay out while at the same time she didn't have to admit defeat by easily admitting him to her bed. If he wanted to sleep with her, she would try to adjust.

If her first few days went by a bit tensely, the following week seemed to go a bit easier as Grissom went about looking into the job that was offered to him, teaching at the university. It was decided that in mid-January he would take up the position, leaving him over two months to prepare. Mid-November brought invitations in the mail for upcoming parties; some formal; some not-so-formal, most of which were tossed into the trash. There were a few that the Grissom's agreed to, which were scattered throughout the month of December; the first being a gathering of the university's departmental faculty as a sort of welcoming to the new professors; a second was a formal charity dinner that Catherine and Jim talked them into attending with them; and the third was a small gathering at Catherine's home the week of Christmas. They were already invited to at least two formal dinners on New Year's Eve, but decided they had better wait to see just what condition Sara and the baby would be in regarding her pregnancy.

They had decided to spend Thanksgiving at home without much fanfare. A month had nearly passed and Jim's "technically" not being included in the circumstances of Heather's murder managed to leak into the Grissom home and they were informed that the "suspect" was a brother-in-law to Don Rogers, who had gone through his own business relationship with Heather and her "therapies."

Sara tried not to think about Heather and her interference with her life as she spent her days trying to raise Abby in a somewhat normal atmosphere. If Mommy and Daddy weren't as affectionate toward one another as most parents, they more than made up for it in the affection they showed the little girl and she seemed to glory in it. A new game was invented in the Grissom home called "dodge the walker" as the adults went about their daily routines, side-stepping the tot as she sped in her wheeled cart to follow after them. Sometimes they were successful, sometimes they ended up with a banged toe or shin as she investigated whatever chore they were busy with at the time.

It was on one such occasion that Sara nearly fell while carrying a basket of clean laundry toward the stairs. The fact that Grissom was close by and reached out to grab her saved her from a hard fall which earned their daughter one of her first reprimands that shocked not only the little girl but her mother as well. Daddy was even a bit unprepared for the way the little girl's bottom lip stuck out then trembled before she burst into tears as she threw herself backwards in the walker. She cried as if he had broken her heart and when he looked at Sara he thought perhaps he had broken hers as well.

"Gil," Sara said mournfully as she put down the basket and moved to lift the baby from her cart. "She didn't mean it. She was only trying to follow us."

"But she can't keep banging into you like that," he tried to tell her. "You could've gotten hurt if I hadn't been here to catch you."

Abby allowed herself to be lifted from the walker but by now was covering her eyes as she cried with renewed enthusiasm.

"It's alright, sweetie," Sara said as she hugged the now nearly seven and a half-month-old girl but she continued to cry. "Daddy didn't mean to be cranky."

"Daddy is "not" cranky," Grissom said with a raised brow.

"Oh, yes, you are," Sara said as she started to climb the stairs. "Isn't Daddy an old crank?"

"Daaaa, daaaaa," Abby cried as she leaned away from Sara and reached for her father who was following them up the steps with the clothes Sara had dropped.

"I swear," Sara rolled her eyes as Grissom put down the clothes and she handed her to her father. "He's the one who yelled at you and now he's your hero."

She watched with indulgence as Abby's cries turned into sob-sucking hiccoughs as she nestled against her father's whiskered face and his eyes sparkled as he looked back at Sara.

"I told you I wasn't a crank."

"Then what are you?" She asked as they took the clothes into Abby's bedroom where Sara began putting them away.

"I'd say frustrated is an adequate term." Grissom rocked Abby back and forth as he watched Sara bending to place clothes into the dresser then move to the closet where she hung the rest.

"You better not be too frustrated, da-da, because in less than four months, you're going to be doing double da-da-duty." She came back to them and watched as Abby seemed to become preoccupied with the button on her father's shirt as she chewed on her other fingers, allowing her emotional distress to slowly subside. "In the meantime, I'd be willing to do two nights worth of dish duty if you'd put her to sleep tonight. I'm feeling very much in need of a relaxing soak in the tub."

"Hmph. I think I'm more than capable of loading and unloading the dishwasher." He moved toward the rocking chair and sat with Abby then called after Sara. "And I wasn't talking about that kind of frustration."

Sara was thankful that the noises of her chattering daughter didn't linger much longer than half an hour and by the time she was wrapping herself in her robe, she was met by her husband as they both entered the hallway at the same time. She had had a full day between her regular chores she performed daily and the added job of shopping for something to wear to the gatherings they had scheduled. So when she entered her room the sight of her bed was irresistible. She really meant to lie down for a few moments then get up and dress in her nightware but when she closed her eyes the next thing she was aware of was being covered by the blanket as she felt her husband's body next to hers. At first she didn't realize she was still nude until she felt his hands gently rubbing her back as she snuggled into his chest. Instinctively, she stiffened, but in her sleepy state, she wasn't quite sure just "why" she reacted so. She lay quietly, allowing his hands to work magic on her tired muscles. Her relaxation was slowly starting to turn into something much more pleasurable and she snuggled even more closely to him as her leg moved to lie over his.

He stilled his movements a brief moment, then turned toward her more fully as he looked into her eyes. "My beautiful Sara, let me love you."

She blinked her eyes, knowing she would never be whole again until she allowed him back into her heart and although she still held up the physical barriers, she truly had no control over where her emotions took her. She slowly nodded her head yes and listened as he moaned so deeply that it was very nearly a growl. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers with what started as a gentleness and she responded with almost a timid reaction. She allowed her hands to follow his arms until they were on his shoulders and he pressed her back against the mattress as he took his time resuming the breezy massage. She could feel herself begin to respond. She could feel sensations growing inside her she had feared she would never feel again and soon she was moving her body closer to his. She began to revel in his whiskers brushing against the tender flesh of her throat and neck and as his hand found her breast, she only felt a slight spark of apprehension. She closed her eyes more tightly as she tried to avoid concentrating on that spark and tried very hard to get lost in the sensations he was creating as his mouth moved even lower and he lavished that breast with his utmost attention. His kisses, nips and suckles encouraged her to let her fingers find the curls of his hair as she held him to her and when she spread her legs and he moved his large body between them, she closed her eyes again, ignoring the way her mind was turning the spark of apprehension into little flashes. She wanted this. She did. She wanted to forget about their past and move on. She wanted to feel whole again.

She moved her fingers lower to the muscles of his shoulders. He was such a beautiful man. She had always loved the feel of him. She parted her legs farther as his hand wandered over her waist to her hip. His fingers traced their way down her thigh to her knee, then up the inside in an old familiar gesture that was solely their own. But suddenly the flashes that had warned her moments before turned into a screeching siren as thoughts rushed through her mind that "they were "not" solely their own."

Sara clamped her eyes closed as her body tensed. Visions of Heather and her husband blinded her no matter how much she tried to force them out of her mind. She bit her lip as she felt her desire stop so quickly that she was nearly shaking from the suddenness of it. Anxiety filled her as she tried again and again to pretend this wasn't happening to her, pretend that none of this mattered, but visions of her husband with Heather plagued her.

"No!" She pushed at him and when he didn't respond quickly enough, she twisted her body until she was free of him. "I said, no!"

"Sara?" He was sitting next to her in an instant as she stared at him through huge eyes. He put his arms around her and pulled her against him, trying to cradle her to him but she pushed him away and jumped from the bed. She wrapped her robe around herself tightly as she stared at him from across the room.

"I can't! Oh, god! I can't!"

Grissom stared at her a long moment then got up and walked over to her. She took a step back from him but he didn't attempt to touch her. "I–don't know what else to do, Sara. If you want me to beg for your love, I will."

She began to shiver as she stared at him. "I–I–do love you," she breathed through her tremors and when he tried to reach out to her, she stepped back again.

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want–I want to forget! I just want to forget! But I couldn't do it. Every time you touched me, I could see you touching her instead."

"Sara, you said you didn't want to fight a ghost. But you're the one carrying her ghost–not me."

"I'm not carrying anything. It was all thrust on me. And I can't help it. I want to love you. I want to be able to make love to you. I–can't. I tried. I tried to shut out those images of you with her–but they kept coming back. Grissom! I tried!"

He looked at her a long moment and she knew he was debating whether to give up on her or not. Then he pulled her with him until he was sitting in the rocking chair. She didn't seem to have the strength to actually stop him as he positioned her on his lap and wrapped a blanket around them. He gently rocked her and kissed her forehead as he tried to soothe her. Finally, as she lay against him, totally exhausted, he lifted her and moved her back to the bed. She stiffened as soon as she saw that he was getting in with her, but he continued until he was lying behind her and covered them again. He put his arm around her in a nonthreatening manner.

"We're going to get through this." He kissed her hair then stroked it to calm her then she finally fell asleep with his thumb stroking her stomach.

A/N: You've all stuck by me and our Lady in Red during our favorite couple's times of distress. I think you can see that Sara is finally facing her nightmares and it's only a matter of time before they can be together the way they need to be. So, in great appreciation to you, I want to wish all of my loyal readers a very safe New Year's Eve and a happy and prosperous New Year!


	215. Chapter 215

Chapter Two-Hundred-Fifteen

Sara stood in her bedroom, looking in the full-length mirror at the image reflecting back at her. She had bought this dress the week before, thinking it would be suitable for the little party at the university tonight, but now that she was wearing it, she had her doubts. She turned right and noticed how her six-month pregnant belly shouted her condition to the world. She turned to the left and looked at the six-month pregnant breasts that were equally enlarged. Then, it didn't matter which way she turned, her backside seemed to stick out just to be plain ornery. Jesus! She didn't think her butt got this big when she was pregnant with Abby–but then she didn't have a full-length mirror hanging in her tent for her to go check her body changes like she did here in the states. She looked at the dress again and sighed in defeat. The deep burgundy seemed too dark as it made her look extremely pale; the neckline was too deep as it couldn't hide the breasts that were reminding her more and more of the underside of a cow every day; and the hem was a tad too short, revealing legs that still held the bruised shin caused by Abby's latest collision in her walker. She looked like a walking catastrophe. She went back to her dressing table and touched up her make-up, hoping it would hide the circles under her eyes that a few nights of being kicked under the ribs every time she started to doze off had caused. Well, this was the best she could do at this point. She got up and moved to her shoes she had sitting out and hoped she'd be able to walk more than two feet without looking like a duck waddling out of Lake Meade.

As she came down the stairs she found her husband sitting in his office looking over a journal he had been meaning to catch up on. As she suspected, he looked amazingly handsome in his navy blue jacket and lighter blue shirt. He put the journal down upon seeing her in the foyer and came to join her.

"You look lovely, my dear," he told her as he bent slightly to brush a kiss on her lips.

She smiled politely then turned and took a few steps to the livingroom where she found her daughter sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys that she was intently watching Greg play with.

"Greg, we shouldn't be late, but in case you need anything, you have our cell numbers. Don't hesitate to call."

Sara watched her daughter and her babysitter for the night, wishing that she could be the one sitting on the floor playing with a wind-up Elmo and Cookie Monster. She had a flash of Greg accompanying Grissom to the party in her place but didn't think her husband would appreciate the suggestion.

"I got it," he said absently before pumping a multicolored top until it spun in front of Abby. "Call if I need anything. Don't worry. Cait's gonna be here as soon as her shift's over at the hospital. We'll all be fine. She's bringing pizza–you don't mind if Abbs eats anchovies, do you?"

"Abby can't. . ." Sara started but Greg laughed at her.

"I'm kidding–I'm kidding. Go–we'll be fine."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Dr. and Mrs. Grissom," greeted a very slim woman with long, dark, flowing hair as the couple entered the room at the hotel that had various tables, a small bar and at least a dozen other couples milling about. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Thank you. . ." Grissom looked at the woman as she took his hand.

"Andrea," she provided for him. "My husband's told me so much about you. You've got quite a following her at the university. I must confess to be one of your admirers from afar for the past several years. I was so sorry to hear that you left town last year, but once I heard you were coming back, I felt Las Vegas would be in safe hands again."

"Thank you. . .Andrea," Grissom said a bit uncomfortably. "I'm not quite sure who your husband would be that he could fill you in with such high praise."

"Oh!" She smiled at him. "Of course. How careless of me. I'm Professor Johnson's wife."

"Professor Johnson?" He asked as he glanced at the dean of the department who appeared to be at least thirty years his wife's senior. "Dean Johnson?"

"Yes." She turned and looked at Sara. "My. . .but you look. . .how do they phrase it? Glowing?"

Grissom looked at Sara and saw that she was looking at the woman almost as if she were studying her, then just as she was about to open her mouth and say something, another lady approached them. This woman was smiling broadly as she looked at Sara and took both of her hands in hers. Grissom looked at her, taking in her short but quite round stature with curly hair that surrounded her face that seemed to be carrying a joy that not only radiated from her lips but from her eyes as well.

"Sara?" The woman opened Sara's arms as she inspected her. "Look at you! You look absolutely beautiful!"

Sara blinked at the other woman, clearly not knowing who she was at first, then a glimmer of recognition entered her eyes. "Lily! It's so nice to see you. I didn't realize you were affiliated with the university."

"I wasn't," she laughed happily as she hugged Sara. "At least not back during the robberies at Henderson's. But after you proved it was the Hendersons, themselves, who were stealing the money, the store closed and I had to find work somewhere else. I came back to school and that's when I met Jeffrey. He was my professor, you see, and well, we sort of had a meeting of the minds and before you knew it, we were discussing more than Beckett and Hemingway. We've even started a family. We've got a little one of our own now. Jeff? Jeffrey, come meet Sara. I've told you about her before."

The man who was standing at the small bar turned upon the sound of his name. He held the two drinks he had been picking up and when he looked at his wife, his eyes brightened and he smiled. Grissom looked at the man who must've stood at least six inches taller than his wife and with a physique that put Nick Stokes to shame. He had jet black hair and a face that could have come off of a movie magazine cover.

"Oh, my god, Lily!" Sara said as she looked at the man approaching them. "That's" Jeffrey?"

Lily simply looked up at Sara and giggled. "Uh-huh."

"Hello!" Jeffrey said enthusiastically to Sara as he handed one of the glasses to Lily then reached out and shook Sara's hand. "I must thank you for clearing Lily of those charges. If you hadn't, I would've never had the opportunity to meet her!"

"Hello, Dr. Maes," Andrea spoke up, turning Grissom's attention briefly back to the woman who was still holding onto him. "I'm so glad to see that you decided to make it tonight. I've missed seeing you at our gatherings."

Jeffrey turned and looked at Andrea and the sparkle seemed to fade from his eyes. "Andrea."

"I notice that you've already gotten yourself a drink, but perhaps I can talk you into accompanying myself and Dr. Grissom back to the bar and we can help him get adjusted to our life here at LV."

Jeffrey looked from Andrea up to Grissom and he attempted to smile at him. "I'm sure Dr. Grissom will fit right into LV, Andrea, with or without your or my help." He turned back toward Lily who by now was sipping at her drink as she looked closely at Sara's dress and a tenderness entered his eyes again.

"Sara," Lily said, evidently not paying much attention to her husband's interactions with the much more stylish woman still hanging onto Grissom's arm. "That dress is absolutely beautiful. I've got to tell you, when I was pregnant, I couldn't find anything nearly as nice as that."

"I don't remember you wearing maternity clothes while you were pregnant, Lily," Andrea said to her. "You went through your entire pregnancy and I barely noticed any change in your appearance, you still wore the same clothes, didn't you? I guess when you're . . . of a certain shape. . . these things don't become too apparent."

Lily finally turned to look at Andrea and Sara could see that the jab had hit its mark but Jeffrey reached over and put his arm around his wife's waist and drew her near to him then kissed her forehead.

"They make maternity clothing so differently these days, don't they girls?" Jeffrey asked Sara and Lily. "Not like the old days when our mothers were pregnant. You can't really tell the difference between maternity and regular clothes anymore."

"Yes," Sara said slowly as she eyed the other woman then looked back at Lily and smiled. "I was just lucky to find this dress. And do you really like it? It seems too dark for me."

"Oh–no!" Lily spoke up. "It looks perfect on you!"

"Lily! Jeff!" Spoke up another man who walked up to them with a woman so pregnant Grissom feared she may pop at any moment. "I'm glad you could make it. I was afraid you'd decline again."

"Hello, Jason–Marjorie." Jeffrey sent his smile in their direction. "No, we decided we'd come when Lily heard that Dr. Grissom's wife was an old friend of hers."

"Another friend," Marjorie said a little breathlessly as she pressed her hand to the small of her back. "That's good to know. We need more friendly people around here."

"Oh, Marjorie," Lily laughed. "There are plenty of friendly faces around. You know that."

"Yeah," the pregnant lady said stiffly as she glanced at Andrea. "And plenty of those who aren't."

Andrea smiled over at Marjorie as she stood a little straighter next to Grissom. "My goodness, Marjorie, how many weeks overdue are you? You look extremely uncomfortable."

"I am "not" overdue. I've still got three weeks to go," Marjorie told her through clenched teeth.

"She looks wonderful," Jeffrey said then put his hand on Lily's back. "But I think it would be a good idea to take both of our pregnant ladies over so they can have a seat. It never hurts to pamper them a little."

"Yes!" Lily said enthusiastically as she looked at Sara and Marjorie then practically moved to block Marjorie's view of Andrea. "Every pregnant lady needs pampering. Come along, Marjorie. Sara, come and let me introduce you to Marjorie. She'll be absolutely fascinated with how you worked so hard to clear my name."

"Absolutely," Jeffrey agreed as they started walking to the other side of the room. "You've really got to hear this story, Jason. Mrs. Grissom performs the most amazing work."

"Oh, surely not now," Lily suggested. "You're not out doing that while you're pregnant, are you?"

"Um–no. Actually I stopped working as an investigator over a year ago. I guess I needed a break."

Grissom took a step toward the other five people but stopped when Dean Johnson called to him. "Dr. Grissom! I'm so glad you could make it. I see Andrea's getting you acquainted with everyone. Was that your lovely wife with you a moment ago?"

"Yes. She's gone to find a seat." Grissom turned to look at the older man who by now was standing next to his wife.

"It must be so difficult when you're that pregnant and your feet begin swelling like that," Andrea told them.

"Really?" Dean Johnson asked as he looked back toward the other women. "I didn't notice. Professor Klein's wife may have seemed a bit uncomfortable, but Mrs. Grissom seemed fine."

"If you'll excuse me," Grissom spoke up. "I should join my wife and her friends."

"Oh, nonsense, Grissom," Johnson said as he put his hand on Grissom's back and started toward the bar. "Come meet Professors Robards and Busbee. Their offices are next to yours. You'll be seeing them quite often. Believe me, if your wife is in the care of Lily and Jeffrey Maes, she's quite safe. They're remarkable people."

"Yes, Dr. Grissom," Andrea said as she walked with them. "I am serving as hostess tonight, so it's my official duty to see that you meet everyone."

Grissom looked over at Sara and the others and saw that already they were in deep conversation, clearly captivated by whatever Sara was explaining to them. He barely noticed when a drink was handed to him then introductions were made to two other men from the department. Grissom kept looking back to check on Sara's small group as more men came and went at the bar, but when three more men joined Sara's group his casual interest became a bit more intense.

"Good God," said Professor Jones, a man similar to Grissom in age but clearly much fonder of the alcohol being served than Grissom. There was something about the way he wore his yellow shirt tucked into his green pants as he leaned against the bar and stared across the room that testified to his uniqueness and it gave Grissom a bit of an uneasy feeling. "Who's the new lamb?"

"The new lamb?" Asked Professor Robards, a younger man who was much more put together than Jones.

"Yeah. The new lamb brought in for the slaughter. Anyone who looks like that isn't going to get past AJ's notice unscathed." He took another swig of his drink. "She's taking AJ's spotlight. Jesus, if someone doesn't stop those guys over there, they're gonna jump on her at any minute. Hell, Campbell looks like he's about ready to drop to his knees and start chewing on one of those long, gorgeous legs–and Kremser looks like he could dive right into her tits."

"Jonesy!" Professor Robards hissed. "I think maybe you should consider slowing down on your celebrating and pay a little more attention to what's going on around you."

"I might've had a little too much to drink tonight–but damn! She's definitely gonna give AJ a run for her money. Whoever she's with is gonna have to put a lock on their door just to keep the stray dogs away from her."

"Jones!" Said Professor Busbee with as much disdain as his friend. "Don't talk about her like that. She's pregnant for crying out loud."

"Really?" Jones turned more to get a even better look at Sara. "Wow. Pregnant or not. That's one good looking woman."

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," Grissom put his glass on the bar and turned to look directly at "Jonesy." "It's time my wife and I leave for the night. I think, considering her state, she's probably getting a little tired." He took half a step closer to Professor Jones as he blocked his vision of Sara. "And Professor Jones, I don't care if you want to ogle whoever this "AJ" is. That's your business. But I'm sure that the next time you see my wife–drunk or not–you'll definitely be much more aware of your boundaries and realize she is not within your limits. Do I make myself understood?" Grissom turned to glance at Busbee and Robards before leaving. "Gentlemen."

"Dr. Grissom," greeted the gentleman whom "Jonesy" had just accused of wanting to dive into Sara's "tits." "I haven't had the opportunity to introduce myself. I'm Ron Kremser and this is my assistant, Rick Campbell. We were listening to your wife telling us about your fascinating work you used to do. I can't imagine wanting to ever leave anything quite as interesting as it must have been."

"Well, Professor Kremser," Sara said with what Grissom recognized as fake enthusiasm. "It seems my husband has found something else to interest him. So, I'm sure he'll keep himself well occupied."

"Sara," Lily commented after sending Grissom a nervous glance. "It's not worth getting yourself worked up about. Believe me, I know."

"Yeah, well, you've got the attitude of a saint, Lil!" Marjorie said from where she sat on the opposite end of the table than Sara. "Most of us aren't as serene as you."

"Sara," Grissom spoke up, not knowing and not really caring what they were talking about. "I think its time we started for home. By the time we get there, it will be close to ten and Greg has to get to the lab by eleven."

He extended his hand to her to assist her to her feet but she pushed herself up and turned back to the others. "Goodnight, Lily–Jeffrey. Marjorie and Jason, it was very nice to meet you. Professors Campbell and Kremser, good evening."

"Don't forget, Sara," Lily called after her. "We're having Santa in for the children next Saturday morning. You could have Abigail's picture taken with him!"

"Thanks, Lily. I'll try to make it."

Grissom placed his hand on the small of Sara's back and walked with her until they were outside and he noticed how she stiffened.

"Is anything wrong?" He asked as he opened the car door for her.

"Wrong?" She asked. "What could be wrong?"

"I don't know. You seem. . .upset."

She looked up at him as she started to buckle her seat belt. "I'm tired. I just want to go home."

The remainder of the ride home was in silence. Whenever he would look over at her, she was sitting with her eyes closed, suggesting that she was either extremely tired, as she had said, or she was blocking him out. Either way, he knew he wasn't going to get any explanations from her while he was driving. When they were finally alone in the house, he carried a freshly bathed, recently fed, and now sleeping Abigail up to her bedroom where he tucked her into her crib then walked through the adjoining closet and came into Sara's room just as she was bending to remove her heels. She held onto the end of the dresser with one hand and the sight hit him completely unexpectedly. The men at the university were certainly correct. She was a vision, and as she straightened and lifted her hands to the back of her neck he walked up behind her and took over the mini-massage she had been performing. At first she stiffened but soon she let her head drop forward as she moaned gratefully. He continued to rub her tense shoulders and neck then put his arm around her and pulled her back against him.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, now?" He asked quietly against her ear.

"No." She took a step away from him then went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of lounge pants and a tank top. "I don't want to get into a fight. I told you, I'm tired. I just want to go to bed."

"Sara," he said as he removed his jacket and laid it on the dresser she had just taken her clothes from. "What on earth is bothering you? You don't want to fight." He untied his tie and pulled it from his collar. "Fight about what?"

"Does the word "vogue" mean anything to you?" She said stiffly as she removed her stockings then turned her back to him and pulled her dress over her head, crumbled it into a ball and tossed it onto the floor.

"You really don't like that dress–do you?" He asked with a raised brow, unbuttoning his shirt and then tossing it over with the jacket.

"It makes my ass look big," she said dully as she jammed her legs into the pants and pulled them up over her hips.

"No it doesn't. Your ass looked great. It had Kremser panting after you tonight." He toed off his shoes then bent and pulled off his socks.

"Who in the hell is Kremser?" She asked as she quickly removed her bra then pulled her top over her head.

"The guy who was practically sitting between your legs at the hotel," he told her as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head.

"Oh, don't you talk to me about some jerk who couldn't keep his hands to himself!" She went to her side of the bed and flipped the comforter back. "Not when you were spending the evening holding hands with Madonna!"

"Madonna? Who's Madonna? And what do you mean he couldn't keep his hands to himself?" He stopped as he had his pants unbuttoned and midway unzipped.

"You know who Madonna is! You know!" She said as she punched her pillow then flipped back against it. "Miss Vogue! Every time I looked at her, she looked like she was searching for a camera to take her picture. She stood there with her leg pointed out just so! She might as well have been screaming, "Look at me! I'm posing for Vogue!"

Her imitation of Andrea Johnson actually brought a smile to his face as he recalled the woman and her exhibitionist behavior. But then he recalled the rest of what Sara had just said. "That doesn't explain to me where Kremser was putting his hands since he couldn't keep them to himself."

"No–it doesn't–does it. And it doesn't explain why you couldn't pry that mannequin off your arm all night."

"Mannequin?" He pulled his pants off and went to the other edge of the bed wearing only his boxers.

"Yes–mannequin! Didn't you notice how her frickin' eyebrows were plucked so high they nearly went into her hairline? And her eyes–she never blinked them! God! She was absolutely freaky!"

This time he couldn't stop the chuckle as he got into bed next to her. "If you were paying attention, she went to the bar with us, then after about five minutes, she left. I didn't even notice where she went."

"Well, that was five minutes too much," she said as she turned her back to him and settled into her pillow again.

"Now explain to me about Kremser's wandering hands."

"He–kept trying to pick lint off my bodice," she said sullenly.

"Lint off your bodice? The prick was trying to grab your. . ." He said with raised brow as he looked over at her.

"Tits! Yeah–no kidding!"

"Well, then that settles it," he sighed as he nestled down on the mattress next to her and turned until his front was pressed to her back. "We simply won't go to any more of their little affairs."

"Boy, you've got that right. According to Lily and Marjorie, old-Andrea-wannabe-superstar made it with at least three of the men who were there tonight. She's available and on the prowl and everyone tried very hard to not say that you were her next target, but they danced around it so much that they might as well have written it on your forehead." She turned abruptly to face him. "Is that what it takes with you, Grissom? Someone to tattoo it on your forehead before you realize you're being compromised?"

"It must be. I didn't realize you were compromising me until years after my seminar."

"Liar. You knew it. I tried to give you a blow job–remember?"

He smiled at her as they were now nose-to-nose, then he slowly nodded his head. "How could I ever forget? You threw up on me."

"Shut up," she said quietly. "Are we really staying away from future "office parties?"

He placed his hand on her abdomen that was now pressing against his stomach, then slid his fingers up under the tank top until he was touching her skin. "Not if you don't want to."

"Frickin' supermodel–look at me!" Sara growled then abruptly turned again until her back was pressed against Grissom. "She might as well get herself a little catholic school uniform and jump out at everyone hissing "superstar!"

"What?" He chuckled as he put his arm around her waist again.

"You know–like that woman used to do on Saturday Night Live–Mary Catherine or something like that!" There was a moment of silence then Grissom could feel her shaking and he lifted himself until he looked down at her and saw that she was laughing. He smiled at her and she laughed harder. "I think my hormones are kicking in."

"I think we should get "you" the little catholic school uniform and let "you" wear it. It might prove to be interesting."

"Is this some little fantasy of yours from childhood when the sisters used to rap your knuckles with rulers?" She turned onto her back again as she looked up at him.

"Hmm," he agreed. "The sisters would bang away on my fingers and I'd sit there fantasizing about the girl with pig-tails in front of me who always wore a Band-Aid on her knee and when it would come off, she was always picking at the scab."

This made Sara giggle as she looked up at him. "Sounds like your kind of gal. Did she grow up and go into forensic science, too?"

"I think she grew up to be a professional wrestler or a trucker, but I'm not sure." He lay back down next to her and pulled her closer against him. "Now, the little red-head with curly hair who sat up one seat and over in the next row, I know for a fact, is an exotic dancer down on the strip."

"And you know this–how? Are you keeping track of this dancer?"

"Mmm-hmm. Sort of. I run into him from time to time whenever the "Dancing Divas" play softball against the "Metro Mechanics."

Sara stared at him a moment. "You're lying, aren't you?"

"Mmm-hmm." He looked over at her with half a smile. "But can we still look into that school uniform?"

"You're foul, do you know that?"

He chuckled again then pressed his thigh over hers and closed his eyes. In a matter of minutes he could feel Sara's even breathing which told him she was sleeping then he waited another moment before sliding his hand up under her tank top, feeling the rumbling inside her tummy that within a few weeks was going to be full fledged kicks that he will witness from across the room. He missed holding her like he used to, so he usually waited for her to fall asleep before he took full advantage and went into his favorite "sleep" position–his thigh over hers and his hand on her breast as he pressed his nose into her fruit-scented hair. If this was all he could attain from her right now, he'd just have to ride it out. She was worth the wait.


	216. Chapter 216

Chapter Two-Hundred-Sixteen

"Oh! Good! I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it!" Lily rushed up to Sara and Abby in the stroller. "Marjorie's here with her two boys–and WOW!"

"Wow?" Sara asked as she looked up toward the front of the line where Marjorie was chasing after two little boys, one of whom looked to be about six years and the other around four. "What's going on?"

"Nothing unusual for her boys, I can assure you." Lily giggled as she watched the one scurry beneath a table as their mother was pulling the other one down from where he was trying to climb up on top of a large wooden structure that demonstrated "Santa's reindeer." When she pulled the smallest boy from the wooden structure she turned and looked bewildered as she searched for the older one. "Under the table, Marj!"

"Why is he under the table?" Sara asked as she stood a few people behind Marjorie in the line going up to have pictures taken with Santa Claus.

"Oh, that's easy!" Lily beamed at her. "My boy, Desmond. He took his toy animals under there and if I know Desmond at all, I'd say he's sitting up his own little zoo."

"Jason! Will you PLEASE come and get your son!" Marjorie called to where Jason was standing off to the side of the room, talking to Jeffrey. Her order turned her husband's attention to where she was holding her youngest child with her hair in complete disarray and looking more than a bit frazzled.

"I'm coming, Marj." Jason seemed to have an added bounce to his step as he hurried to the table where he lifted the tablecloth and peeked beneath. "Ah, honey, you should see the zoo they're building under there!"

"It's a wildlife preserve, Mr. Klein," came a small voice, much smaller than Sara would have expected for that vocabulary.

Jason chuckled as he straightened and looked at his wife. "See–it's a wildlife preserve."

"Fine," Marjorie sighed as she moved up with the line of parents. "If someone would rather stay under the table and play with a wildlife preserve, more than they want to go up and tell Santa Claus what they want for Christmas, then I guess they can just stay down there under the table. But I think that's going to show Santa just how inconsiderate they've been all year long."

"What's inconsiderate mean?" Asked Marjorie's oldest son and Desmond promptly responded.

"It means someone is mean and doesn't think about someone else's feelings."

"Oh," said the little Mr. Klein. "Do you think we better get out then?"

"I think so. I don't want to disappoint the man, just in case he "is" real."

Sara watched as Jason's and Marjorie's oldest son came out from beneath the table, then was amazed when a little replica of Lily emerged, all of about five years of age.

"What do you mean?" Asked the older boy.

"He doesn't mean anything!" Lily spoke up as she took Desmond by the hand and walked back to stand with Sara and Abby. "He should learn to keep his "theories" to himself sometimes."

"Ronald! Get in line right now or I'm putting Mark on Santa's lap twice and you won't get a chance at all," Marjorie told the boy and he reluctantly moved to stand next to her, but when he saw something more interesting off to the side of the room and took a step in that direction, his father promptly grasped onto his hand and kept him in place.

Sara looked up just as Jeffrey approached them and bent to pick up Desmond.

"Hey, champ! Do you know what you're going to ask Santa for?"

The boy looked at his father and leaned his elbow on his shoulder as he put his face in his hand as if deep in concentration. "I think I want to ask him to bring another hamster so it can be friends with Fred."

"Another hamster?" Asked Lily. "What about something different, like a gerbil or something?"

"Gerbils don't get along with hamsters, mom. You know that."

"Oh, yes. That's right. The man at the pet store told us that. Then I guess you should ask for another hamster."

"I'm sorry it took so long. I ran into Dean Johnson and his wife and child as I was parking the car," Grissom said as he approached Sara and the others.

"Oh, that's just what I needed to hear," Sara said with a raised brow.

"Downside of having your husband work with Andrea's husband," Lily said then brightened when Abby heard her father's voice and started crawling from her stroller and reaching for the man. "Ah, look at that. She's a daddy's girl, isn't she?"

"What's a daddy's girl?" Desmond asked his mother.

"It means she loves her daddy very much." Lily explained.

"Well, I certainly can see why," Andrea said as she walked up to the rear of the line and stood directly behind Grissom.

Sara rolled her eyes as she continued to face the front of the line, then turned in an effort to acknowledge the other woman but froze when she saw Andrea reach for Abby as if she were going to pat her head or something. Abby, who had been watching the boys energy in the front of the line, must have caught a glimpse of Andrea's movement and turned quickly in response. The result being the impact of her bottle she had been drinking from coming in direct contact with her father's nose. When she focused on the strange woman she leaned completely out of Grissom's grasp. Lily started giggling as she watched Abby go to Sara, while Andrea gasped upon sight of Grissom getting smacked in the nose.

"Looks like she loves Mommy very much, too," Lilly said.

"Of course she loves her," Grissom said, his voice a bit muffled as he held onto his nose. "We both do."

"Just as it should be," said Dean Johnson as he approached, holding the hand of a girl of about seven years.

Sara looked at the girl and knew immediately who her mother was. They were practically dressed the same as they both wore a patterned jacket and designer jean. The only difference was that Andrea had spiked heels on her black boots and the girl's heels were more blocked to suit her age.

The sound of laughter came from farther up the line and Sara turned to see Ronald laughing as he looked back at them.

"Ronnie! Stop it," Marjorie whispered as she tugged on the boy's shoulder.

"But, Mommy!" He said as he looked back again. "Amy's here again!"

"Just forget about Amy," she hissed. "Stop staring."

"But all she does is cry when she sees Santa!"

Sara looked back at the child who was staring holes through Ronnie. If Sara had been the boy, she may have been cowering in the corner, but he just snickered at her even more.

"Yeah, well, big guy," Jason said as he pointed his son toward Santa who was now waiting for them. "Let's see how react to Santa, and not worry about everyone else."

"Your turn, Ronnie!" Called an elf who looked to have walked straight off the set of "The Christmas Story."

Sara had to stifle a giggle as she expected Santa to say "ho-ho-ho" and push the boy down a shoot with his boot. But she watched with half a smile as the boy practically tackled the man in the red suit as he climbed up onto his lap. His brother on the other hand, tried to climb higher on his mother's very pregnant stomach until his father saw his behavior and took him from her.

"Mark?" Jason asked quietly. "Don't you want to go up to see Santa?"

"NO!" Mark yelled.

"Don't you want to tell Santa what you want for Christmas?"

"NO!" He yelled again, then looked to where his brother was giving the man a quite long list, then he yelled toward him. "BUZZ LIGHTYEAR!"

Marjorie started to chuckle as the boy turned back toward his father and buried his face against his neck in complete embarrassment.

"What about the picture, Markie?" She asked. "Don't you want to get your picture taken with Santa?"

"Huh-uh," he said as he looked at her and shook his head negatively.

"What if Ronnie sits with you and gets his picture taken too?" Jason asked. It took a moment but the boy finally shook his head yes. "Hold that picture! We're doing both at the same time."

"Now, be a good boy, Markie," Marjorie said with encouragement as she watched with concern.

They all seemed to stand in line holding their breaths as Jason put Markie on Santa's other knee but the boy's reaction was instant as his whole body tensed up.

"Better make it a quick one," they heard Santa tell the photographer in as calm a manner as he could muster.

"Got it!"

The woman behind the camera said proudly just as Markie let out with a high-pitched yowl and jumped down from Santa's lap but on his leap, his jacket got caught on the white fluff adorning the man's chin and the beard went right along with the boy.

"Markie!" Yelled his brother Ronald who was now looking at Santa as if his whole head had come off. "You broke him!"

This caught Markie's attention and he turned his head to see the long white beard come flying after him as he ran and no matter which way he went, it was following him. His screams were soon mingled with Amy's as she grabbed onto her mother and pulled on her jacket, nearly choking the woman in the process.

"Amy Johnson! Let go of me right now!" Andrea shouted at the girl.

The several children waiting in line between the Kleins and Sara had combined reactions of screaming, crying, staring with horror and just plain laughing.

"I told you it wasn't real," Desmond said as he watched from his father's arms. "Can I still have the hamster?"

It took almost half an hour for Santa to compose himself and be "repaired" from Markie Klein's abuse. The men had gathered to the side of the large room, sitting with Desmond and Ronnie as they played on the floor with his plastic animals while Markie had fallen asleep on his father's lap. Lily and Marjorie stayed with Sara for moral support. Dean Johnson stood off to the side where he continued to try to persuade his daughter to get her picture taken with Santa, because, after all, he was the dean and if his own daughter wouldn't get photographed with the big elf, then how could he expect his other employees to bring their children? Andrea, in the meantime, had disappeared into the ladies room to adjust her appearance that her daughter had thrown out of groove.

Finally Santa was back in place and looking somewhat back to normal and it was Abby's turn to visit with the large man. Her first sight of him turned curious eyes on him and when Grissom sat her on his lap, she immediately reached for her father again. But then her arm brushed against Santa's beard. She turned and looked at Santa then started flexing her fingers in the white hair a few times then lay back against his chest as she held the long white strands in her hands and started inspecting it.

"She must be looking for evidence," said Margorie and brought a giggle from Lily.

"Oh, that's so cute!" Lily agreed.

They all watched as the picture was quickly snapped and Santa seemed so appreciative that she didn't pull his beard off like his other little visitor that he gave her a hug and kissed her dark hair. This, of course, warranted another picture and several "ahs' from the onlookers. Grissom approached Santa again and looked at Abby but she merely looked up at her father, then went back to searching through Santa's beard.

"Are you going home, Abigail?" Grissom asked. "Or is Santa going to have another elf to take back to the North Pole with him?"

She looked at him again but seemed content with what she was doing but gave up her chore when Grissom lifted her from the man's lap. Sara watched as they came back to her as she picked up the photos. They turned and watched Andrea storm into the room and grab hold of Amy's hand.

"But, Andrea, she didn't sit on Santa's lap yet," Dean Johnson almost whined.

"Skip it. I've got an appointment with Mariah this afternoon," she said to her husband as she and the girl started toward the door.

"But I really should have her picture taken, Andrea. I didn't know you had an appointment for a massage today. You usually have that on Thursdays."

"I called while I was in the bathroom. I'm extra stressed today."

"Yeah," Marjorie said as she and Lily stood close by Sara and Grissom. "I heard her when I was in the bathroom. She called for a massage alright–but his name isn't Mariah."

"Well, I guess if that's what it takes to make her happy," Lily said sadly, then turned to look at Sara. "The three of us need to meet for lunch soon."

"I have to head out of here before Mark wakes up and starts wrecking havoc again," Marjorie told them then started toward her husband and children. "Send me an email and I'll see when I can escape from my little insane asylum."

"Here, Sara," Lily said as she quickly wrote down her email address. "Email me when you get home and we'll set up a lunch date."

"I'll do that," Sara said as she took the paper then put Abby into her stroller again.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara glanced up at her dresser that night as she lay in bed. The pictures of Abby and Santa were prominently displayed there, as they were in Grissom's office and in the livingroom after they made copies. She smiled at the immediate responses she got from Catherine, Jim, Greg and Nick upon receiving the emails she sent with the photos included. She listened as Grissom put their daughter to bed then entered the bedroom through the adjoining closet. She knew it was difficult for him these past few weeks, even more difficult now that she had admitted him to her bed. Sometimes when he thought she was sleeping she would lie quietly as his hand would stray from her stomach and move to grasp onto her breast and sometimes the touch would brings tears to her eyes as she would try to adjust to his need to be close. It was during those times that her inner demons surfaced and reminded her how very likely it was that he slept like this with Heather and sought out comfort from her in this very same way.

Tonight she did as had become her custom lately. She waited until he came into the room and she settled down and tried to go to sleep. But instead of going right to sleep, he picked up a journal and started reading it as he lay next to her. She turned her back to him but sleep wouldnt' come to her. Her immediate sense was that the light he was using was keeping her from her slumber so she turned and lay facing him as she watched him read. After a few moments he glanced at her and removed his glasses.

"I'm keeping you awake. Would you rather I go down to my study?"

"No. I'll be alright."

"I know you'll be alright. But I'm keeping you awake. I'll just go downstairs."

He closed his book and started to get up and for the life of her, she couldn't explain why she reached out and touched his leg, stopping him before he could even get to his feet. He looked down at her hand then hesitated another moment before reaching for the bed stand and placing his journal and glasses on its top. He still remained facing the other direction for another moment, then moved back onto the bed and lay facing her.

She looked into his magnificent blue eyes and felt her heart do strange, wonderful things in her chest then just as quickly images of Heather flashed through her mind and the wonderful things turned to a twisting pain. She closed her eyes immediately, damning herself for allowing this to overtake her again but she couldn't make it stop. She felt the first tear slide down her cheek and opened her eyes when she felt his thumb wipe at it. She wanted to turn away and forget the impulse to reach out to him ever struck her but when she saw the pain in his expression she could only close her eyes again.

"Forgive me," he whispered so softly she wasn't sure she could hear him.

She couldn't bring herself to answer him. She couldn't bear to tell him that she couldn't forgive him. She might never be able to "forgive" him. Right now she was having a hard enough time just working at "getting past" their paralyzing trouble. She opened her eyes again and looked at him and she knew her unspoken answer had revealed itself. He was the one who closed his eyes this time as he took a deep breath as if to revive himself. When he looked at her again, he pulled her against him very tightly.

"Gil," she objected quietly.

She put her hand on his chest but before she could put pressure on it, he covered it with his and tenderly kissed it.

"Shh."

She reluctantly moved her eyes up to meet his again and he started to move his head closer to her. She watched as his eyes moved lower on her face, targeting on her lips, and she couldn't move. She became mesmerized by the very sight of him. He was coming closer, so close she could feel his breath on her.

"Umph!" Escaped from her lips just before he touched them and he stopped his motion as his eyes moved up to meet hers and they widened in response to the excessively huge kick that she just received.

"Good Lord!" He raised himself on elbow as he looked at her stomach touching his and how it was now oddly shaped. He looked up at her again, seeing the discomfort on her face. "Are you alright?"

"No," she managed to get out breathlessly as she rolled onto her back. "It's under my ribs again. I think it's standing up in there!"

"Hey!" Grissom said as he leaned down very close to her stomach and put his hand on the protrusion. "Let up in there! I got the hint! No touching Mom!"

This brought a smile to Sara as she glanced over at him, although the pressure was still there. Grissom started rubbing the hard area then watched as the protrusion disappeared, only to appear again on the other side.

"Umph!" Sara breathed again.

"Still there?" He asked her with knit brows as he watched the way her stomach now seemed to take on a life of its own.

"Uh-huh," she told him as her eyes automatically went to the ceiling.

"Hey! If I want to kiss your mother–I will." He moved his head down until it was barely an inch away from her stomach and swiftly received what appeared to be a jab to his chin. "Well, you little. . ."

"Gilbert!" Sara breathed. "Don't make it worse!"

"Alright, calm down. Mommy and Daddy are right here with you. What do you want? A lullaby?" He stroked the hardened area then started a rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at which point Sara couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her then stopped suddenly when the hard ball beneath Grissom's hand eased up.

"NO!" Sara laughed. "Don't stop because he's singing that song! I will not have your father singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" every night when we're in bed. It "isn't" a lullaby-and he can't sing."

"What do you mean I can't sing?" Grissom asked with great indignation.

"Don't take it personally. You can't help it if you can't carry a note."

"That's not what you say when I'm whispering my appreciation of you into your ear."

"When's that?" She smiled.

"During the throes of passion, my dear."

This made her laugh at him again. "Is that what you call it? Whispering your appreciation? Is that what "ugh–ugh–ugh" means. Or is it the "yes–yes–yes?"

"Keep it up, Mrs. Grissom, and I won't stop our little bundle of joy from doing gymnastics in your stomach. I'll just lay here and watch the show." Almost as if on cue, the baby again pressed on her uterus from both sides.

"Gilbert!" She yelled at him.

"Okay–okay! I'll rub you, I'll rub you!"

Grissom immediately started rubbing her stomach on the one side as Sara started rubbing on the other. Finally, after nearly half an hour, it seemed the baby grew tired of its game and settled down. By now Grissom was lying with his head propped in his hand as he watched her now bare stomach.

"I'm afraid to turn onto my side," Sara whispered as if she thought it would disturb the baby and get it to start moving again.

"Don't be," he whispered back. "You both will sleep better if you do."

"Guarantee it?" She asked with suspicion.

He nodded slightly. "But first. . ."

Sara wasn't expecting it this time as he moved nearer and placed his lips on hers and she wasn't prepared for the twisting in her lower region that occurred as he caressed her. By now she was so tired that her mind seemed to slow down and not rush into tormenting memories. This time, she turned toward him and slowly she responded to his kiss. Her lips softened beneath his and parted to allow entrance of his tongue which she tentatively sucked on. This response brought an immediate moan from him as his hand moved around to her back and pulled her against him and he lifted her leg and pulled it over his, sliding his thigh up against her warmth. He kissed her until she felt nearly breathless before he moved on to her neck and throat. Then he pushed her tank top down over her shoulders and although it was a tight fit, he pulled until he had access to her very plump breasts. He glanced up at her and she saw such yearning in his eyes that she could feel herself becoming wet and she squeezed her legs tighter around his thigh. He dropped his head immediately and began feasting on the roundness he had revealed then moved on to her nipples, eagerly taking as much pleasure out of one as the other.

His skills had her hips responding to the pressure he was applying with his leg and soon she was rolling them against him, seeking the ecstacy she knew he could provide. His hand slid down from her breasts and went immediately to the elastic band of her lounge pants, showing his impatience to gain entrance, then she heard words that chilled her heart.

"What?" She breathed as her hands moved to his hair and she ran her fingers through his graying curls. "What did you say?"

"I said, please, don't lose this feeling, honey. Stay with me." He moved his kiss back up to her neck. "Would you stay?"

Those words hit her like a bullet and she could hear it echoing through her mind. . ."would you stay. . .would you stay. . .would you stay. . .Heather, would you stay. . .Heather, would you stay. . ." She tensed immediately and any passion he had begun to stir in her vanished in an instant. Her body screamed it's need for him to stop, the need for him to get away from her. Her heart screamed at her from both directions, wanting so desperately to move on, but being shredded again by the flashes of him with Heather. And her mind took over and insisted that she was a strong woman–she could get past this. All she had to do was just force herself to get past this. She would do it. She had to.

"Don't talk," she whispered as she closed her eyes and dropped her hands to the bed, clasping onto the sheets as she braced herself.

"What?" He asked as he continued kissing her throat as he slid his fingers inside her pants and she jerked at the contact it made to her panties.

"I said, don't talk. Just do it."

She tried to sound as convincing as possible but his movements stopped and when she opened her eyes she found him looking down at her with irritation. He withdrew his hand from her pants and she watched his movements questioningly.

"Just do it?" He asked coldly.

She nodded her head, still not knowing why he stopped. But instead of resuming his actions, he pulled her tank top back up over her shoulders, pulled the blankets over her then got up from the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I think I'll go downstairs and read that journal I planned on finishing tonight. Get some rest while you can, Sara. The baby might act up again and keep you awake. It's rather unpredictable like that–I guess it's showing its mother's personality already."

She watched him leave the room and curled herself into a ball, not knowing if she was relieved or distressed. At any rate, the emotional turmoil took its tool and soon she was falling into a much needed sleep. When she woke at around three that morning she found her bed still empty and as she got up to go to the bathroom she passed his room, noting that he was in his own bed, sleeping.


	217. Chapter 217

Chapter Two-Hundred-Seventeen

Sara and Abby were downstairs having breakfast when Grissom walked into the house wearing clothes that suggested he hadn't simply gone out for a morning stroll. His shirt and jacket suggested he had taken extreme care to look professional that morning. Sara looked at him in surprise, believing he was still in bed, sleeping, then glanced down at her own apparel which consisted of a very tight tank top, worn lounge pants and a pair of black slippers that had seen too many mornings of feeding her daughter as they were spotted with droppings of food that would miss the child's mouth.

"You're coming in awful early in the morning," she commented as she fed some applesauce to her daughter. "Or is it awful late, at night?"

"I went to the university to take care of some business."

She looked at the clock and noted that it was only eight-thirty. "This early? I didn't realize the offices opened until eight or nine."

"I had an appointment with someone at seven."

"Really? And when did you make this appointment?"

He poured himself a cup of coffee. "This morning–at six."

She watched as he walked out of the kitchen, clearly not wishing to discuss his "appointment" with her but this morning wasn't a good morning to be evasive with her. She had barely slept the night before, after finding him in his own bed, so evidently he had been excessively quiet about going about setting up his little rendevous and then actually going to it. She got up from her chair and stormed through the swinging door and watched as he disappeared into his office.

"I'm not in the mood to play games, Grissom!" She yelled after him but he closed the door between them, instigating her to make her way down the hall and burst inside where he was settling into his chair behind his desk. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," he said as he picked up his journal he had been reading the night before then rearranged some papers on his desktop. "You're not in the mood to play games. Neither am I. So, if you'll excuse me. . ."

"Go ahead, Grissom! Just sit there and hide in your office."

"Don't you accuse "me" of hiding! Not after last night." He looked at her but she only looked back at him blankly. "Just do it? Just do it! I might as well have been trying to seduce a plastic doll! You wanted me as much as you wanted me that day in Paris–and we both know how that event ended!"

She stared at him as if he had slapped her in the face. How could he compare last night to a time when she was repulsed by the very thought of his touch? Last night she had been trying so hard to please him. She blinked her eyes and looked away. She started to look back to where he was now placing a book on his shelf when a crash came from the kitchen and a shriek from Abby.

"Abby!"

Sara was out the door in an instant as she ran back to the kitchen. She took two steps through the swinging door when her foot landed in a mound of applesauce and she started to slide, knocking its bowl across the floor and into the bottom of the sink. The swift grip of Grissom's hands on her arms kept her from falling completely on the floor and when she was upright again, they both stood still as they looked at their daughter who now had applesauce smeared over her highchair tray, her clothes, her arms and her face. The other bowl that had contained the rice cereal simply sat on top of her head like an Easter bonnet. Her lip trembled but as she looked up at her parents her tears subsided as she reached toward them.

Grissom released Sara as he gingerly stepped around the mess that had overflowed onto the floor. He removed the bowl from the top of Abby's head, allowing the mess to slide down over her dark locks as he unhooked the highchair's tray and picked up the child.

"Are you alright?" He asked Sara with knit brows as Abby gladly began spreading her applesauce and now rice-cereal-covered hands through his beard.

She merely looked at him then back to Abby, not knowing which chore to tackle first. She watched as some cereal and fruit dripped down the front of Grissom's shirt and felt a twinge of satisfaction in that. She wished that whomever he had been trying to impress that morning could see him now.

"I'll take her up for a bath." She reached for Abby but the little girl suddenly thought she was playing a game as she giggled delightfully and tried to climb up her father's body, smearing her arms, chest and legs all over his head and chest with her antics. Then with much more compassion than she was feeling at the moment, she half-heartedly reprimanded her daughter. "Oh, honey! You shouldn't do that to Daddy's good clothes–or his hair–or beard. How will he impress his "appointment" if we send him out looking like that?"

"Never mind," Grissom said as he turned back toward the door with the baby. "I'll give her the bath."

Sara watched him leave the kitchen and she smirked as she began cleaning the mess left behind. She absently picked up the telephone as it began ringing next to her.

"Hello."

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Grissom," said Dean Johnson over the other end of the phone. "I'm glad I got to speak to you. I wanted to thank you for giving up your husband so early this morning. I know it must have been a little unsettling receiving a call from me so early but I truly did need to move our meeting up as early as possible."

"I see. He hasn't had a chance to fill me in on the details just yet."

"Oh, well, we had a meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, but there's been a death in my family and I'm flying out of Vegas in about an hour to return to Michigan. I won't be back until after the funeral, so I arranged to meet with my staff before I left so we could finalize the scheduling for next month. We had some last-minute details to arrange with housing the classes since two of our lecture halls had to be remodeled due to water damage."

"Water damage?"

"It seems some students thought it might be a good idea to set off some cherry bombs last week. A fire started and although it was contained to two rooms and rather small, the smoke and water damage made it impossible to hold classes in them for at least several more weeks. I hope his leaving so early wasn't an inconvenience for you."

"No. None at all. I barely noticed he was missing."

"Good. Good. Well, I must be going. The cab is here to take us to the airport. Please, just inform Dr. Grissom that I sent an email to the staff indicating the final locations of his classes."

"I'll do that. And I'm sorry for your loss, Dean."

"Thank you, Mrs. Grissom. Good bye."

Sara wiped off the highchair then wiped the floor, releasing a grunt of discomfort as she got back to her feet, then after putting her cleaning supplies away, she mounted the stairs where she found a very happy Abigail Grissom splashing in the tub as her shirtless father watched from the sink where he was attempting to wash the remnants of her breakfast from his beard. She moved to where he had put his shirt and picked it up to look at the damage.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he looked at her in the mirror.

"I thought I'd take this so it can be cleaned."

"You might as well take the pants, too." He started to unbuckle his belt. He stepped out of the trousers and handed them to her then turned back to the sink.

"You're going to need to get into the shower. It's all over your hair." She looked back at Abby as she splashed the water and stuffed a rubber duck covered with soap suds into her mouth. The little girl looked up at her mother, removed the duck and smiled broadly as a mouthful of suds escaped between her lips. Sara started laughing as she lowered herself to her knees next to the tub. "Ew! That can't taste good!"

Grissom turned around again and looked down at the cherub staring back up at him, grinning ear-to-ear. "What? She likes it?"

"And you know this–how?"

"She keeps putting it back into her mouth, doesn't she?"

"How do you know it isn't going to give her diarrhea or something?"

"It's bubble bath made specifically for children–I don't think it's going to harm her."

He moved to squat in front of Sara as they faced one another and both faced Abby. She shrieked; excited at having her favorite audience so close and she lunged for the side of the tub where she grabbed onto its edge and started lifting herself onto her feet, but the porcelain provided her with no traction as her feet slid out beneath her again and again. Both parents grabbed her under the arms, one on each side as they helped her to stand at the edge of the tub.

"Da-da-da-da-da-da!" She squealed as she started to stomp her feet and send splashes up around her.

"But you're not clean yet," he smiled at his little girl. "I didn't shampoo your hair or anything."

"Okay, you hold onto her, and I'll do a quick shampoo," Sara suggested as she released her side of the child and Grissom took hold of both underarms.

Abby didn't really care what her mother planned to do as she continued to stomp and try to climb out of the tub into her father's arms, causing him to chuckle at her antics.

"In just a moment, Abigail. You're being very impatient."

Sara turned on the lower spray nozzle attached to the faucet and tested its temperature before bringing it closer as she put her finger beneath Abby's chin and tilted her head back slightly before spraying it down over her hair.

"Da-da-ba-ba-phlist-minge!" Erupted from the baby's mouth and both parents knew she was giving her mother a piece of her mind at the indignance of having her hair washed. When Sara put the nozzle down and grabbed the shampoo, Abby's attention turned back to her father as she started bouncing up and down.

"Just a moment more, ladybug."

Sara poured a squirt onto her palm then rubbed it into the baby's thick mass of dark curls, again earning herself a dirty look from the child before she picked up the nozzle and repeated the procedure as she rinsed the hair free of the suds and rice cereal. At that moment the shampoo bottle overturned on the shelf and Sara put the nozzle back onto the bottom of the tub as she grabbed for the plastic bottle, then as she was putting the cap back on, the phone started to ring in Grissom's trouser pocket.

"Oops. Forgot to get that out." He sat Abby back down in the tub as he pulled the phone out of the pants that were still lying across the hamper where Sara had put them. "Grissom."

The absence of her parents' attention gave little Abigail time to investigate the spray nozzle that was still spirting water from its end, and she wasted no time picking it up and trying to drink from its end. Her reaction was an immediate gasp as the water hit her in the face and a flailing of her arms as the nozzle got aimed in all directions. Within two seconds she doused the front of her mother's shirt as she knelt next to the tub and her father's boxer shorts as he stood there.

"Abby!" Sara gasped as she blindly reached for the nozzle.

"Jesus!" Grissom jumped away from the water, nearly sliding onto the floor from the puddle that he had made. "What? Nothing. Thank you, Catherine. I'll remind Sara of that fact. She's got her hands full with our little angel at the moment. Yes. I'll tell her to call you back when she's done."

"Abby," Sara said sadly as she smiled at her daughter who was about to go into a crying seizure. "Here, Mommy's turned it off. It won't squirt you anymore."

She lifted Abby from the water and turned as Grissom came to them with a towel that she wrapped around the baby. "Catherine said you're supposed to call her back when you're through–something about picking up your gown."

Sara let Grissom take Abby as he turned her against his chest. "Da-da-da-da-phlist!"

She smiled at her daughter's rantings then went about letting the water out of the tub and gathering up the toys to put them in their net bag that they kept hanging on a hook close to the tub. She didn't realize Grissom was still standing there until she finished hanging the bag then leaned heavily on the tub's edge and grunted as she pushed herself up to her feet. She turned and started to take a step but stopped when she saw how Grissom was watching her. She immediately lifted her hand to her face, thinking she had gotten some suds or cereal on it then lowered her gaze to where he was looking. The wet tank top clearly displayed both nipples that were now standing erect. God! She felt like a contestant in a wet tee-shirt contest!

"I–I guess she got us both pretty wet," she said as she looked down at Grissom's shorts that were now nearly transparent from the side, all the way around the front.

"Hmm," he grunted as he continued to look at her.

"Here, I'll take her in and dry her. You can get that shower you were after." She took the child and started walking out the door with her. "Too bad she didn't hit you a little higher, you could've forfeited the shower altogether."

Sara took Abby to her bedroom where she put her into her crib while she went to gather the clothes she would need for the morning. Abby, in the meantime, proceeded to get to her feet and as she hung onto the rails, walked around the perimeter, tossing all of her stuffed animals onto the floor.

"Mwa-bunth-phsthisssss–ba-wa!" A still naked Abigail Griss explained to her mother as she held onto the rail at the front of the crib and bounced from foot to foot.

A loud crash from across the hall turned both of their attentions toward the bathroom. "Shit!"

Sara turned and stepped into the hallway, only to see her husband now sitting on the edge of the tub with his shorts now completely soaked. He had one sock off as he peeled off the other.

"What happened?" She asked and they could hear some rapid vocalizations coming from Abby but she was paying more attention to the condition of her husband.

"Don't try to take your socks off while standing in a puddle of water," he advised grumpily.

"Are you alright?

"Hmph," he grunted then stood up and pulled the shower curtain closed and reached in to turn on the showerhead.

Sara got another towel out and put it on the floor so no one would slip again then watched as he turned to look at her again. She gave him half a smile that dissolved as he continued to look at her, wearing that expression in his eyes that could always melt her to the very core. He stood up and without removing his "look" slowly started to lower his boxers over his hips, almost as if he were daring her to either stand there and watch or run and hide as he expected her to.

"I–have to get back to Abby," she told him although her eyes automatically moved right along with his hands and the parts of him that she hadn't seen in months.

She swallowed with a dry throat as he kicked off the article of clothing then took a step toward her.

"Abigail's fine. I can hear her. She's playing." His voice was low and smooth and before she realized it he was standing directly in front of her.

She swallowed again as she looked into his eyes–those damned blue eyes that could get her to do almost anything he wished. She seemed mesmerized as he came even closer and slid his arm around her waist with his right hand and captured her hand with his left. He bent forward and soon his lips were touching hers, gently enticing her to respond.

"Abby," she whispered.

"Shh," he murmured against her lips and kissed her some more. "Don't be angry with me anymore, my love. I need you so damned much."

She closed her eyes and allowed his kisses to sway her. Her free hand moved to his neck and held onto him for support as her legs almost turned to rubber as his lips moved lower onto the side of her throat.

"I'm not," she whispered back as she clutched at him.

"You're not, what?" He asked, moving the hand he held until it was lying on his chest.

"I–I don't know," she said truthfully as she tried to maintain sanity against his onslaught of tender passion.

"It's not important," he breathed against her and moved their hands lower onto his stomach. "I love you, honey. Tell me that you still love me."

"I–I do," she sighed as he moved his kisses back to her ear and the side of her face.

"You do–what?" He moved her hand down to his abdomen as his mouth covered hers again and a low groan escaped him. "Ah, baby, I've missed you so much."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, DRESS IN DRAG AND DO THE HULA," Nathan Lane's voice roared from the room across the hall, followed by a quick shriek from Abby, then a giggle as Timon went into song, jerking Sara away from Grissom as they looked at one another with wide eyes

"What the hell?"

Both Sara and Grissom turned and walked across the hall where Abby now sat holding onto the remote control that she was chewing on and she watched "The Lion King" playing on her small television. Sara went into the room and quickly took the device from her and turned the volume down to a reasonable level and allowed the movie to continue but Abby wasn't happy about giving up her new toy as she pulled herself up to her feet again.

"Sheeee–itttttt!" She yelled at her mother. "Shee–it! Shee-it!"

"What is she saying?" Grissom asked with knit brows as he stood just outside the doorway, looking in at them.

"I'm–not sure," Sara said, not wanting to confess what she suspected.

"Sheee–ittt! She-it, she-it, she-it," Abby said as she again bounced from one foot to the other and reached for the remote control that Sara had placed by the television.

"Is she saying what I "think" she's saying?" Asked Grissom.

"I think so. You just said it–she's trying to imitate everything you do."

"I didn't say it," he told her.

"You yelled it–when you slipped on the water."

"She-it, she-it, she-it, she-it, da, da, da, da, da, she-it!"

Sara looked over at the child who was now looking out toward the doorway where her father stood, and she started to chuckle. "Unless she's saying "see it," which would make sense at this point, considering that she's saying "da-da, see it."

He looked at her in confusion then he looked down at just what Abigail "was seeing" and embarrassment washed over him as he turned around and went into the bathroom again. "Oh."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Grissom was sitting in the livingroom, going through the Sunday paper when Catherine arrived and entered the room with Sara.

"Where's the princess?" Catherine asked then paused as she listened to the sounds of mass destruction coming from the other side of the chair Grissom was sitting in. She walked a few feet into the room and saw Abby standing in her walker as she stood near her toy box and started pulling anything she could reach out and tossing it onto the floor. "Hey, kiddo! What are ya doing?"

At the sound of Catherine's enthusiastic voice, Abby turned and looked at the red-haired woman then sent a huge smile to her and started walking in her direction, bringing an immediate laugh from the woman as she bent and picked the little girl up.

"Phlisth–da-da-da–ploooff, stishaba!"

"He did!" Catherine asked with wide eyes as she looked into Abby's face. "When did he do that?"

"Faspba–ba–ba."

"I see. Well, we'll just have to tell him to be more careful, won't we?"

Abby went on another rant then took the little pig Catherine had bent and picked off the floor. Her rant stopped when she eyed the soft plastic toy then decided she needed to chew on it.

"You sure you want her doing this?" Catherine asked Sara who looked at her in question. "Eating pig."

"I'll have to put that on hold for now. Until her father takes her out to watch a maggot-infested slap of pork decomposing, I think she'll be okay."

"What do ya say, big guy?" Catherine looked down at where Grissom remained seated. "Haven't you started her schooling in the different stages of the common house fly yet?"

"She'll learn soon enough," he told her as she moved to sit on the sofa, allowing Abby to maneuver herself until she was standing on the floor, holding herself up with by the edge of the piece of furniture before promptly dropping with a thump onto her diapered bottom.

They all watched as she crawled across the floor and pulled herself up at her father's legs and stood there slapping his thigh until he assisted her up onto his lap.

"What's this? Now I'm chopped liver?" Catherine teased.

"It's almost bed time," Sara explained as Abby leaned back on her father's chest and inspected the pig she had carried with her. "It won't be long and she'll be asleep."

"Where'd she get that sweater?" Catherine asked. "It's absolutely adorable."

They looked at the little pink Nordic sweater she had on with her tiny blue jeans. "I ran into a woman at my pharmacy last month. She remembered me working a case involving her granddaughter and said she wanted to thank me for all we did for her. She sent it to the pharmacy and asked them to give it to me the next time I stopped in."

"Wow! You'd pay a mint for something like that in a boutique in town. She made it by hand, I presume."

"Mm-hmm." Sara got up and went to the armoire in the corner and opened a drawer, pulling out a box and bringing it back to show Catherine. "She made these, too."

Catherine opened the box and found an ivory baby blanket with teddy bears in the stitching, then another one that was white with green sailboats. "They're beautiful! And so soft, too."

"I like them. I'm thinking of asking her to make some things, but I want to make sure I pay her. I can't let her keep doing this kind of work just out of the goodness of her heart."

"Oh, I don't know," Catherine told her. "Maybe she'd find it insulting if you suggested paying for them."

"I remember her granddaughter's case. As far as I remember, she was only living on her retirement funding. If she won't take the money directly, I'll just have to see that she gets little gifts in return."

"That might work better. But let me know if she does anything else besides children's clothing and baby afghans." Catherine turned and looked at Grissom who went back to the paper as he absently stroked Abby's bare foot. "Hey, Griss, did you pick up your tux? Are you all ready to go?"

"Catherine, the party isn't until next weekend."

"I know that, Gil. But I also know how absent-minded you can be when it comes to things like that. Just wait until you see Sara's gown."

"I'll look at it tonight."

"No! You can't!" Catherine objected. "You're not getting a look at this baby until the night of. . .and I think it would be a good idea for me to come and help her dress, and you can go and dress at Jim's."

"We're not getting married, Catherine," he said with a raised brow. "It isn't a wedding."

"I know! I missed that because someone couldn't wait to get back to the states! So, we're going to make up for it on Saturday night. Jim's already agreed to it."

Grissom looked over at Sara who merely shrugged her shoulders.

"All this for a party."

"Damned right," Catherine said as she got to her feet and came over to Grissom then bent down and kissed Abby's forehead before turning and starting for the door. "I want you out of this house by noon. I already gave Nick and Greg off so you don't have to worry about a sitter. Nick's agreed to watch Abby while Sara's out at the beautician and Greg's gonna watch her while you're at the party. Goodnight, guys!"

"Goodnight, Catherine," Sara said as she closed the door behind her then came back into the room where she looked at her husband. "I don't know what she's talking about. It's just a dress."

"I'm sure you'll look lovely in it, my dear."

Sara shrugged again. "I'll look fat."

"You aren't fat," he told her and she looked at how he was watching her as Abby's eyelids began to droop. "You're pregnant and very appealing. I should think you'd know that considering my reactions to you lately."

"I–I better go get her pajamas. She's almost asleep and I don't want her to sleep in those clothes."

"You're running away again, Sara."

"I'm not running away. I'm just not running to where you want me to go. If you don't understand that, then nothing will ever change because that means you find nothing out of the norm with what you did to us."

"I know what I did to us. But I'd like the opportunity to "forget" it."

"And so would I. So–give me that opportunity." She turned and went to Abby's dressing table and got a fresh diaper and pair of PJs. When she came back Grissom was already carrying the baby to her where he transferred her into her mother's arms.

"Turn off the lights when you go to bed. I've got some work to do in my study." Grissom went into his office and closed the door.


	218. Chapter 218

A/N: Please forgive me for double-dipping into my two stories, but I couldn't pass this opportunity to use this character. She'll only be used for this one night, but she will be something that will catapult our couple where they need to go.

Chapter Two-Hundred-Eighteen

Sara floated down the grand stairway and into the foyer that lead to the ballroom with Catherine walking next to her, although she didn't see it that way. Catherine was a knock-out as always in a green gown that clung to her curves, accentuating the red tints in her hair. Sara, on the other hand, felt large and clumsy. She had worn the heels Catherine insisted she wear because, according to Catherine, she absolutely had to show off the pedicure she had gotten that afternoon. Sara didn't quite understand what showcasing a set of red toenails would do but she mollified her friend by not only wearing the sparkling sandals but also adding a touch of her old self by placing a toe ring on one of her slender digits.

Sara actually had a hard time coming tonight. Her mood was anything but festive, especially after the past week with her husband. It had been six days since they had last spoken about their "lack of contact" and during that time they maintained a polite but frosty communication, trying to hide the tension whenever in Abby's view. Considering they both tried to stay in that general safety zone, their discussions on the subject had been nil. Actually, she felt she had been willing to work on their problem–he was the one who chose to stay in his own bedroom again. He truly couldn't have any clue as to the emotions rolling through her these past weeks. The closer she was getting to delivering this new baby, the more she knew it was going to be impossible for them to lead separate lives–at least as far as their children were concerned. Not with the way they both felt about the children. She knew that to separate either herself or Grissom from either of the children would be pure torture, so they would portray the All-American family to the public in order to raise their children with some sense of security.

It was what was going to happen between them as a couple that was worrying her. In all the years she had devoted herself to this man, she could never have imagined not being able to be with him in a physical way. Since this fiasco began, she had worked her way up to wanting to be intimate with him again. Sometimes the mere sight of him sent her senses reeling just the same as it had all those years before. But the fact was that he simply couldn't understand the physical pain that rips through her when she was trying so hard to become one with him again, only to have images of him fusing with that woman to the point of not knowing where one body began and one ended. Did he really think she "wanted" to remember those images? Even if she had never seen a single frame of those videos, she knew she would continue to be haunted by his infidelity. But she was working through it–and it was definitely work.

Sometimes she wished she could be as heartless as most people were suggesting. "Take him back!" "Get over it!" "Don't torture him any longer!" She wondered what these people would ever do if their mate had done anything like this to them. Would they take their own advice? She didn't think so. She remembered how she always reacted to cases where the men had done similar things to their wives and even before she had been with Grissom she knew this was something that her heart could never understand or tolerate. How could a man choose to be with another person when he holds someone else's heart in his hand?

She grimaced at the suggestion that she seek professional help for this problem. Perhaps it was a way for some women to deal with their lives. All she could think of was that "she wasn't the one who did anything wrong"–and yet–he wanted "her" to be the one to seek psychiatric help. What was the counselor going to tell her? That in order for them to have a healthy marriage she should allow him to go out and have affairs any time he chose to? And of course, forgive him every time he decided he was ready to come back. No. She wasn't the one who did something wrong and she wasn't going to admit to such a thing in order to make everyone else happy.

As Sara came down the steps she glanced at her red gown that hugged her breasts then flowed over her swollen abdomen to the tips of her polished toes. Her hair was in an updo that showcased her long neck and her makeup was flawless. Now, if she would only "feel" like the princess she was pretending to be, the evening would prove to be much more pleasant.

"Well, lookie there," Catherine cooed as they were almost to the bottom, and standing there, leaning against the banister and reminding Sara very much of Clark Gable waiting for Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind, stood her husband with Jim Brass close by his side.

Sara faltered in her step, making Grissom step forward but Catherine had already reached out and grabbed her hand to steady her as she gave her a long sideward glance.

"What?" Sara asked with a blank expression.

"Yeah," Catherine gave her a knowing smirk. "I guess if I were in love with him, he'd have that effect on me as well."

"I caught my shoe on the runner. That's all," Sara lied as they came to the final steps and she stood looking at the man who was making her insides melt.

But she could see he had heard their comments and his concern went back to indifference as he looked toward the crowd milling about the large foyer and began talking to Jim again. "I noticed some people from upstate when we came in. I think I saw Salters from Reno, didn't I?"

"Salters?" Jim asked as he put his arm up in a gentlemanly fashion for Catherine to hold onto. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years. It must be ten years."

"I hope we're not going to be talking ancient forensics, guys," Catherine objected as she started walking with Jim, leaving Grissom little choice but to put his hand on the small of Sara's back and escort her along with them. "If that's the case, I'll find someone who knows how to dance and have a stimulating conversation."

"I find "ancient forensics" very stimulating, Catherine," Grissom told her as they walked across the large foyer and headed toward the bar, but Grissom steered them toward the tables on the other side of the room, instead.

"Uh–excuse me, Griss, but I was going for a drink."

"Jim and I will go for drinks," he told her as he continued with Sara. "You may sit with Sara if you like and I'll send the drinks back with Jim."

"Why don't "you" accompany Sara to the table since she can't drink alcohol, and "I'll" bring the drinks back with Jim?" Catherine asked with raised brows.

"First of all," Sara spoke up. "I might not be able to drink alcohol, but I can drink water or soda or anything else they would like to provide over there. And second of all, if no one wants to "accompany me" then I'll simply go off on my own."

"Sara," Catherine spoke up. "You know that wasn't what I was getting at. I have no problem at all sitting with your or walking with you or even getting up and doing the Charleston with you, if you want."

"I know what you were getting at," Sara said as she glanced at her husband. "But for the sake of appearances, I will play the blindly devoted, pregnant wife, and take my place at the table."

"Well," spoke up Jim, clearly trying to push past the uncomfortable atmosphere that was already erupting. "I don't know about you two, but if you both have so much energy, then I suggest "you" both go to get the drinks and "I'll" sit down with Sara. I know I wouldn't mind taking a break. I've been out on the job all day. I don't mind sitting down."

"Thanks, Jim. But really. . ." Sara started to walk back by herself.

"No–really." He kept in stride with her as they moved across the floor. "I mean, my feet are actually killing me. I'm half tempted to sit down and take my shoes off, but then that might start turning people away from our area. Like I said, I "was" on the job all day."

Sara looked gratefully at Jim as he took the chair next to hers even though it did have Grissom's name card sitting there. Sara looked at him very carefully, studying him and appreciating every craggy line in his face, every quirky little twinkle from his eye, and every centimeter of his receding hairline, then she reached over and placed her hand over his, bringing an enchanting smile to his lips.

"You're lying, Jim," she taunted him. "I–for one–know you've been preparing for this night since Thursday. And, don't forget about the fact that Gil and you have been together since noon when he went to your place to get ready."

"Can't get anything past you, can we, Cookie?"

She gave him a gentle smile. "So, what could you and Gil have been doing for the past seven hours? Surely not getting dressed for this party."

"What?" He looked shocked. "Don't I look the part? I spent hours doing my hair."

"You're "my" Prince Charming tonight, it seems."

"Yeah, well, Prince Charming or not, "the king" isn't as unaffected as he's letting you believe. He's been out of sorts all day. Even if we "did" spend the first five hours watching football on TV."

"I know he's been "out of sorts." But even when I try to work through the problem, it doesn't seem to be enough."

"It's none of my business what's going on, but I can only imagine." He patted her hand. "It's going to take time, Sara. You're giving more effort than most women in your shoes. Most would either simply walk away or if they did go back and try again, it would takes months–sometimes years. You went back to him within weeks."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "But not "completely" back."

Jim looked at her a moment as if he wasn't sure he wanted to broach that area but hesitantly went on. "Look. I've watched you hanging on his every word for ten years; jumping every time he said to jump, then moving away every time he told you to move away. If I would've had a portion of what you feel toward him in my marriage, I'd still be married today. If it takes a lifetime to get you prepared to accept him back into your bed–he'll be damned lucky to get there. If it takes you more than several months to get what happened out of your system–I think its more than fair."

"No one seems to understand that, Jim. Everyone loves Grissom so much, and I"m being looked upon as the villain." She looked up at him through tormented eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong, Jim."

This time Jim pulled her hand over between his and held it. "Only a saint could forgive what happened to you. And forgiveness isn't something that happens in every case. You don't have to forgive someone to go on and try again."

"It almost feels as if–if I forgive him–that's saying I condone what he did."

"Then don't forgive him. That's the hell of loving someone, kiddo. You "learn." Everyone says "forgiving" is the right thing to do. I say, forgiving is something left to the gods. The most we mere humans can do is learn from what we went through and move on. If we move on with the idiot who hurt us–that's fine. Next time we'll know what to expect." He nodded toward Grissom who was still standing at the bar. "Or, in his case, you'll know that he's been changed so much from what happened that he doesn't ever want to risk losing you again. But even more important, knowing what he did was more of an angry reaction to your leaving him, than anything else."

"Jim–I think if I could see it that way–truly see it as his "anger" that did all of this; see it as a form of vengeance that made him do it, I could handle it so much better. But there's always the constant reminder that she was his "special friend." I think that makes it even worse. That tells me she owned his heart and mind as well as his body."

"Hey, you two!" Catherine approached them with three glasses. "Why so glum? This is a party for chrissakes!"

"We're not glum!" Brass told her as she sat the glasses on the table in front of each of them. "Thank you. You're a lady out and out."

"Yeah–yeah." She took her seat across from Sara. "Remember that when I'm waiting to dance and you're complaining about your feet hurting again."

"See?" He looked at Sara and shrugged. "No respect."

"I respect you, Jim," Catherine told him. "I just don't buy it that your feet hurt from watching five hours of football."

"How did you know that?"

"I know who played today. I know men–especially Jim. He spent all of his "preparation" time watching the games, then rushed through the last hour."

"Speaking of men," Sara said. "What happened to my wandering husband?"

"He–uh–saw some people he knew coming in a minute or so ago. He went to talk to them."

Sara turned to look around but didn't see any signs of him, then looked back at Catherine. "He must've gone out of the room to talk to them. Were they attending the same party?"

"Yes," Catherine said uncomfortably. "Yes. They're here from upstate. People he's worked with in the past. He went out to the foyer when he saw someone he knew."

Sara looked at Catherine a long moment, realizing her friend was keeping something from her. "Who is it, Catherine?"

"Really, I don't know. I only glanced at them when they came in."

"You just said he went out to meet someone–that they didn't come in yet."

"Oh–well–I don't know who he went out to talk to."

"Really?" Brass said dryly as he looked at the doorway and saw the man they were discussing entering with a blonde woman wearing a silver sequined gown. "I believe I know who she is and you worked with her a lot more than I ever did."

Sara looked at the way Grissom was walking with the woman as she held onto his arm and he leaned toward her as if intently listening to what she was saying. She looked at the very straight hair that was pulled very tightly into a hairstyle that was the exact opposite of Sara's, but still she couldn't see the woman's face as she turned toward her husband. She watched as Grissom walked with the woman to the bar, then after picking up a glass of wine and scotch that he carried, he escorted the lady back to her table. She watched as he seated the woman and then sat across the table from her, blocking her view once again as he leaned forward toward her, showing his interest in their conversation.

"Don't worry about it, honey," Catherine tried to sooth her friend. "He only went out with her a few times. They never really had the chance to make much of anything of their relationship."

Brass looked at Catherine with disbelief. Sara knew that he felt the other woman had said much more than she needed to. When she looked back in the direction of Grissom and this phantom blonde she noticed the gentleman moving to where Grissom was seated, clearly indicating he was in his chair. Grissom graciously got up and took the hand of the woman he had been talking to, then dipped his head as he said something to her, then turned and started back toward the table Sara and the others were sitting at. This was when Sara finally got a good look at the face of Dr. Terri Miller.

"You'll never guess who I ran into," Grissom said as he finally made his way to the table with his scotch in hand as he looked at the name card where Brass was seated.

"Our esteemed anthropologist, Dr. Miller, it seems," Sara said then put her hand on Brass's arm to stop him from rising. "You may sit here, Jim. There's no need to move."

Grissom raised a brow as he looked at the seat across from Brass, then moved to it and sat down.

"How long is Terri going to be in the area?" Catherine asked as she looked at her drink.

"She didn't say specifically," Grissom said as he watched Sara.

"Well, it looks like we're about to eat." Brass commented on the servers who were entering the room, almost seeming to be relieved by their interruption. "I know I could eat a side of beef about right now. Sorry, Sara. I know your aversion to carnivores."

"No problem, Jim," she said as she gave him a stiff smile. "I think I can tolerate eating next to you. I've tolerated worse things than that lately."

The remainder of the meal was relatively quiet as Catherine and Jim would alternately offer up some small talk to which Sara and Grissom would respond and offer their opinions but the tension persisted. Sara went about eating her stuffed porto and zucchini boat as Grissom worked on his sea bass. After the meal Grissom and Brass excused themselves to get more drinks from the bar and Catherine made her way to the ladies room as Sara remained seated at the table. She was looking under the table, wondering how much her feet were going to swell from wearing these heels when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"Sara," Terri said as she smiled at her, but there was something about her smile that didn't quite reach Sara. There was something in her eyes that didn't convey any real friendliness as she looked at her, but then Sara supposed she wasn't conjuring up much friendship on her part either. "Gil said you were here. I heard you were married but I must say this is a case of needing to see it to believe it."

"Really, Dr. Miller?" Sara asked as she looked back at her. "Is there something hard to believe about Grissom marrying me?"

"I think the state of matrimony to "anyone" is rather surprising where Gil's concerned. I must say, I wasn't aware there was anything remotely possible between the two of you while we were . . .associated with one another. I mean, I knew of course, as did almost anyone who was around the two of you, that you had an infatuation with him at the time."

"And if memory serves me correctly," Sara said with a smile in return, "anyone who was around the two of "you" knew that Grissom had an infatuation with you at that time."

"Well," she glanced off toward Grissom as he stood at the bar. "The feeling was a bit mutual. But, things turned out for the best–right? I got married. You married each other."

"And how is that working out for you?"

"I'm–I'm divorced. I guess he wasn't what I was looking for, after all."

"Oh? And "what" is it that you're looking for?"

"Why, Sara," she said as she turned to look at her again. "I'm married to my job. You should know that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been so fast to leave Las Vegas."

"But, the job doesn't keep you warm at night, does it?"

"No. It certainly doesn't. But, you don't need to be married to someone to find what you need, either." She looked up as Grissom came back to the table with a diet cola for Sara and bourbon for himself. "Gil. We were just talking over old times. Reminiscing, I guess you could say."

"I hope they were good times that you were discussing."

"Very good," Terri told him then glanced back toward where she had been sitting earlier as a younger man approached them. "Sara, I wonder if I could bring my associate over to meet you. When he found out you were going to be here he became absolutely inconsolable until I guaranteed him an introduction. He's a fan of your work, studied your papers you've had published and is quite impressed. Tony, this is Sara Sidle."

Sara looked up at the tall man with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was amazingly handsome in an elegant sort of way as he reached his hand toward Sara.

"Hello, Miss Sidle. I'm a huge fan of yours."

"Thank you," Sara said as she put her hand in his to shake it but instead of simply shaking it, he held it in both of his hands.

"I was hoping to have the chance to meet you. I must confess, I believe I've read every article you've published, and I'm always amazed at your insight." He took a seat where Grissom had been sitting previously without even giving the older man a glance. "I was wondering if you'd give me the chance to discuss some of your cases?"

"I–don't know. . ."

"Tony–Tony Fields."

"Tony. I don't know how entertaining it will be for you. I mean, you are here to dance, aren't you? I don't want to take up your evening."

"I can dance and talk at the same time," he smiled at her and when the music began he stood up again. "May I?"

Sara looked over at Grissom but noticed he was already in deep conversation with Terri again, so she simply took the younger man's hand and let him assist her to the dance floor. She started listening to Tony with half an ear as she would glance back in the direction of her husband and soon she saw them go to the dance floor as well. She answered all the questions the gentleman had, which seemed endless, and still he refused to leave her side. After the song ended, he accompanied her back to the table where he sat with her, and when she tried to look for Grissom she had a hard time seeing his location until he saw he was still dancing with Terri. She continued her discussion with Tony, even after Catherine and Brass returned to the table, including them in what was actually becoming a rather interesting exchange of information. She tried to be inconspicuous as she would look for her husband and at times he would return with Terri and they would sit at the table with them, but they remained quiet and usually out of the conversations. It was after nearly an hour that she looked over to find that both her husband and Terri were no where in sight. She tried to remain very calm about this. After all, where could they have gone. Any goddamned where they wanted, screamed through her head. It wasn't as if Grissom was getting his fill of sex at home–so what would stop him from taking it where it was being offered–especially from someone he used to pant after whenever she came into his lab. And Terri certainly was making no secret of the fact that she enjoyed playing at being chased after by Grissom–at least she was keeping it no secret from Sara. Sara felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and reached over to take Tony's hand.

"Let's dance," she suggested, earning her a broad smile as he jumped to his feet.

A/N: This may seem like an odd place to end the chapter, but due to length, I had to cut it off and go on to chapter 219. BUT, I plan on posting the next chapter within about one hour.


	219. Chapter 219

A/N: To anyone who's interested, my new avatar is a little picture I found on the internet–this is what I imagine Abby to look like. What do you think?

Chapter Two-Hundred-Nineteen

Sara tried to flow in Tony's arms but she could only imagine she looked like a huge cow trying to look graceful, but still, she was so anxious she didn't care. If her husband was going to disappear with another woman, she certainly wasn't going to merely sit by and wait until he was finished. So, she was on her feet and dancing with a man who appeared to be no more than two years older than her and who was "very" attentive. She danced through George Michael's rendition of "One More Try" and then Dan Hartman's "Dream About You" which was a little faster but still not too fast that she was uncomfortable. It was during this dance that she spotted Grissom sitting with Terri in a corner of the room, sitting rather close together with their heads even closer. When Bon Jovi's "Bed of Roses" came on she was only vaguely aware that she was being pulled a little closer than before. She swayed with this man and tried not to look at how Grissom was smiling at Terri or how Terri was batting her eyes back at him, but her dance partner was well aware of her diverted attention.

"He's a fool," Tony whispered against her ear. "Anyone who would be willing to look at another woman when they have you would have to be insane."

Sara stopped dancing as she looked at Tony, not sure she had heard him correctly. Then before she realized what he was doing, his lips were on hers, gently caressing them and inviting her to return the sentiment. Instead, her hands moved to his chest in a shocked reaction.

"Not while she's pregnant with my kid, pal!"

Tony was yanked away from Sara so quickly she nearly lost her balance but her husband grabbed her upper arm and was pulling her toward him. It all happened so fast that Sara wasn't sure which direction she was pointed or where he was taking her. Her major concern was not falling off her heels and breaking an ankle or worse yet, doing harm to the baby. She hardly noticed as he started pulling her toward the main lobby, or that he was fumbling in his pocket for his wallet.

Her confusion and fear of injury quickly turned to embarrassment as he refused to release her but held her in such an openly aggressive manner. People were stopping to stare as they passed through the crowd making her hesitate to actually fight back and yet she wanted this fiasco stopped.

"Grissom!" Sara hissed through clenched teeth. "Grissom, stop this! Everyone's staring."

"And you think they weren't staring at the pregnant woman making out in the middle of the dance floor?" He hissed right back.

"Grissom, you're hurting my arm!"

He turned and looked at her half a moment before releasing her only to grab onto her hand and proceed the last few steps where he tossed down his license and credit card onto the front desk.

"Whatever's available. And make it fast."

The girl behind the desk nodded her head as she took the information but she kept looking back at Sara.

"Me?" Sara asked in an urgent whisper. "Who's the one who was trying to seduce an old dried up whore in the corner? What is it with whores and you?"

"Shut–your–mouth," he said in a cautious manner as he glanced around at the people surrounding them. "We'll talk about this as soon as we find a place to do it in private."

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" The girl asked from behind the desk as she went about swiping cards.

"Oh, I'm just peachy," Sara said snidely as she looked at her husband.

"Would you like me to contact security?" The girl looked at her through concerned eyes, making Sara take an immediate liking to her.

"Not–yet."

Grissom grabbed the pen and made a quick signature that didn't even resemble his writing and when Sara took the time to figure it out, she realized he was using his left hand so he could maintain his hold on her with his right. He snatched up his cards along with the room card and made his way up the stairs, through the first door and down the hall. He swiped the card in the appropriate door and pushed it open, pulling Sara inside with him.

Once there he released her and she promptly crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant manner. They stared at one another and emotions were running hot, both too angry to utter a sound for the longest moment.

"You want to explain to me why you can't bear to have me touch you and yet you go out in public with a stranger and let him paw you and then you stand there kissing him?" Grissom finally spit out.

"Yeah! I'll explain it! When you explain this thing that keeps you going after any woman who's the exact opposite of me! If she's someone who walks around with her nose so far up in the air that it's disjointed, you're after her like a dog on a bone!"

"Terri Miller is a. . ."

He didn't get to finish. Her punch came so unexpectedly to both of them that Sara actually cried out in alarm. The first thing she noticed was how Grissom stepped back to regain his balance, the second was how he grabbed at his nose, the third was the angry sparks shooting from his eyes and the last thing was the blood that slowly dripped from his nostril when he removed his hand. But still, her anger matched his in every way imaginable.

"Don't you fucking dare say it! I swear to God if you tell me Terri Miller is a "friend" I'll fucking walk out of this room and you'll never see me or your kids the rest of your useless life!"

"What do you want me to say? That's she's an enemy?"

"Say it like it is, you–you coward! If you're going to use that lame excuse that she's a friend just to go get a jump–own up to it. I'm so sick of you hiding behind that phrase that I want to puke!"

"She's. . ." he said started as he took a slow step toward her.

"Shut up," she hissed at him.

"A. . ." he continued as he took another step but she backed away as she watched a second scarlet drop ooze down into his mustache.

"I said shut up."

"Friend."

She threw another punch but this time he was ready as he caught her wrist. When she tried to hit him with her other hand, he caught that one too and he pulled them down then held them behind her back. He continued walking until the backs of her legs came in contact with the bed. She tried to twist away but her size was preventing her from succeeding.

"Bastard!"

"Careful. You'll hurt the baby," he warned then his mouth was on hers, covering it, pressing against it until she tasted blood and didn't know if it was hers or his.

She managed to pull her right hand free and pushed at him but he recaptured it and pulled back to look at her.

"What's the matter, Gris?" She asked coolly. "Isn't Dr. Frigid willing to spread her legs for you just yet?"

"I wouldn't know, Sara," he answered snidely, sniffing slightly to keep the third drop of blood from escaping. "I'm too busy trying to keep my wife from spreading "her" legs for a complete stranger."

Suddenly the combination of elevated emotions, pregnancy hormones and the sight of her disheveled and slightly bloodied husband was making her stomach twist in ways she wanted to avoid.

"You're a pig," she whispered. "Let me go."

"Why? So you can go back down to your ardent admirer?" He slowly shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I said, let go of me," she hissed again.

"Never."

This time when he kissed her the need outweighed the anger and it rushed through her. His lips conveyed every sensation he was feeling, both emotionally and physically. At first she tried to turn away from him, but he released her hands and held her face still so he could feast upon her mouth.

She wanted to push him away. She was still angry at him, but as he sucked and tugged at her lips, her body started to react of its own accord. She was on him in an instant, pushing him onto the bed as she came down with him. If he thought he was going to find another substitute for her, he was out of his mind! She'd make him so satisfied that he'll never even think other women existed. He captured her face again and this time she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to enter at its own leisure, sliding along her lips then bringing a deep moan when it moved across her teeth. She clutched at him and he pulled her down on top of him as far as they could manage considering the size of her abdomen and even that seemed to excite him as he slid his hands down over the satin of her dress, across her rounded bottom and down her thighs where he started to bunch the cloth and pull it up until he had the hem up to her waist.

"You think you can just go out and do this to anyone you label a "friend?"

This time "her" hands grabbed onto "his" face, holding him in place as she hungrily drew his thrusting tongue into her mouth. She was trying to climb on top of him, again being unsuccessful due to her size but not being able to control the squirming of her body. Again and again she clutched him to her and she could feel his hand moving in rapid jerks between them then he was pressing her onto her back and pushing her gown up over her stomach. He straddled her with a knee on either side of her thighs as he held himself on his elbows, holding onto her face again as he met her lips with his own.

"No," he breathed against her mouth. "Not just anyone. Only my friend. And you're my "only" friend, Sara. You're the only "real" friend I've ever had and ever will!"

His words went straight through her and she had a yearning for him so strong that it was a sharp ache. She quickly slid her hands down over his jacket and lifted it, feeling his strong buttocks through the cloth that covered them and when she moved her fingers around to the front of him, she realized what he had been doing only seconds before as she came in contact with the heat radiating off of his immense size.

"Gil," she gasped against his lips. "Please, now–don't stop–please!"

He slid his knees between her thighs and reached for the cloth covering her. With annoyed fingers, he tugged the satin to the side and positioned himself at her opening. He pressed only enough for his tip to enter and he stopped his kiss but remained touching her with his lips.

"God, Sara–tell me that you really want this," he nearly cried.

"Yes," she breathed. "Please, Gil, yes."

He plunged inside of her, bringing a gasp of pain from the intrusion. It had been months since they had made love and her tightness testified to it. He remained very still as he started panting against her cheek and then her neck, and she could feel herself widening around him. Even through the pain, she could feel the pleasure building as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and waited for him to move. Slowly he slid his hands down along her sides as his mouth turned to her skin and he started sucking at the area that was exposed on her shoulder. He lifted his hands onto her enlarged stomach, almost as if he were investigating it, then with a suddenness that surprised her he reached up and grabbed the sleeveless top to her dress and started yanking it down until he exposed the breasts he was looking for. He lifted himself as he gazed down at her and the sight of him still fully clothed as she lay beneath him with her gown shoved down to her waist and yanked up to the very same spot was intoxicating.

"My God, but you are beautiful," he said as his arms began trembling as he held his weight above her.

She gave him a timid smile as she reached for him and he came down on top of her again, this time moving his hips as he began to withdrawal then slowly refill her. Air rushed between his teeth and he clenched his eyes closed as he moved his hips and she couldn't stop her body from reacting as she arched against him, openly inviting him to feast upon her exposed breasts. He moaned loudly when he finally gave into her gentle urgings and his mouth devoured the skin he found there. She tilted her hips, attempting to allow him fuller access then lifted her legs around him, her spiked heels catching on his slacks before sliding down across his thighs. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care, as he grasped onto her breast and brought her nipple to his mouth, latching onto it with such fervor that she moaned at the electrical jolts he was sending through her. He was so intent on what he was doing that he merely lifted his lips a few breaths as he spoke.

"Are you alright? Am I hurting you?"

"No, you're not hurting me," she told him as she lifted her head enough to kiss his hair before another wave of pleasure rushed through her and she arched against him again. "Definitely not hurting me."

His slow thrusts soon became more powerful as he moved from one breast to the other, then he slowly worked his way back up to her neck. He grasped onto her arms and slid them up the bed until he was holding her wrists above her head. His mouth moved from her neck over her shoulder to her arm, spreading kisses up until he came in contact with the red mark his grip had left earlier. He closed his eyes again but not before she saw the anguish in them.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. To have damaged something so pristine is a sin." He moved his mouth to hers again but she felt moisture drop onto her and she looked up, noticing that his nose still held a slow drip of blood but when she looked at his eyes to alert him, she was speechless as she saw the moisture that was making them glassy. "I've damaged something so pure–so sweet–I can only beg your forgiveness and pray to God that it will heal."

She wasn't sure he was talking about her arm anymore. She had a feeling he was not and her heart seemed to expand as she held onto him, pulling his head back down as she kissed him and stroked his face. If the blood on his beard and mustache was getting on her, she didn't care anymore. She started rocking her hips against him again and encouraging him to do the same until he was thrusting in her and bringing her so close to the edge that she wasn't comprehending anything but the man on top of her. When the first wave of ecstacy rolled over her a hoarse scream burst forth.

"Oh, God! Gil, don't stop! Don't stop!"

"God, I love you," he said breathlessly as he continued to push himself into her depths. "I'll never stop, honey, never."

Wave after wave washed over her leaving her to grasp onto the only stable thing she could find as her arms went around his neck and shoulders. She was amazed at the strength of his release, thrusting twice more in erratic jerks before collapsing on top of her. Ever so slowly, he turned so he wouldn't be putting pressure on the baby and he rolled onto his back next to her but took hold of her hand. She lay there until her heartbeat returned to normal and she opened her eyes as she looked over at him.

"Guess what?" She asked quietly as she lifted their hands and gave it a gentle shake.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "What?"

"You stopped."

She watched as he knit is brows in confusion before he remembered the last thing he had said and she smiled at him. He started laughing at her, then reached out and pulled her against him in a tight hug.

"Only for now."

She lay with her head on his chest as she slid her hand between his jacket and shirt. "Do you think Catherine and Jim are looking for us yet?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"I think if they saw how you pulled me out of the room, they're probably down printing your car by now."

She could sense the smile that came across his face as his fingers played with her hair. "Only you, my dear. You're the only one who can turn me to such a point."

She lifted her head as she looked down at him. "Oh, I don't know. You got kinda pissed off when Abby threw her mashed potatoes on your chair the other day."

"Have "you" ever sat in a pile of mashed potatoes? It wasn't pleasant. Anyway, I didn't get as angry with her as I was with you tonight. It took everything in me to stop myself from ripping that bastard's head off. It killed me when I saw him kiss you."

She looked at him and sadness entered her eyes. "Then–can't you see? Can't you understand?"

He looked back a long moment. "I understand. I'll never hurt you like that again, Sara. You're the only person I've ever loved. Can't "you" understand "that?"

She started to tear up, but then took a deep breath and swallowed before she gave him another half-hearted smile. "Well, I do know of at least one little brunette who is vying for your attention."

"That's because she acts so much like her mother." He hugged her to him again. "And I have a feeling we're in for more of the same with this one."

"What makes you think so?"

"Maybe the way it's kicking my side right now. I'm telling you, it's trying to tell me to keep my hands off of Mommy."

She started giggling. "It couldn't be that it's mad because you were just in there poking it on its head, could it?"

"Well, that's certainly a deflating thought," he said as he reached for her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, then sighed heavily. "Should we go back downstairs?"

She lifted her head and looked at him a long moment. "Yeah. I never did get my dance tonight. At least not with the man I "wanted" to dance with."

She moved to get up but felt a bit of soreness as she tried to stand. She grabbed onto the mattress to steady herself and he looked over as he moved to get up.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a little sore. Out of practice, I guess."

She adjusted her dress then turned to look in the mirror, seeing the blood smeared across her chest which turned her toward the bathroom where she got a wet washcloth and gently wiped at the red area. She looked at it, noting that it was still rather pink, but she hoped that by the time they returned to the dim ball room it would have returned to her normal flesh tone.

"Are you ready?"

She turned to look at him as he stood in the doorway to the bathroom and she walked over with the cloth and wiped at the blood that had spilled over his lip.

"I'm sorry about that."

"You were provoked."

"I was provoked," she agreed. "I think it's stopped."

"Then shall we go?"

Sara and Grissom entered the ballroom with her holding onto his extended arm with both hands as he held onto them with is free hand. They walked slowly, not noticing how they were attracting admiring glances at the couple who seemed to shine above all the rest. If there were a few comments regarding the way Sara's hair was beginning to fall out of its stylish bun a little more than perhaps she had intended, it was only to say how lovely and earthy it made her look, almost as if someone had just made love to her quite thoroughly. And if anyone noticed that Grissom's tuxedo was a little wrinkled and his tie wasn't quite square, it was only to comment how ruggedly handsome it made him appear.

Robert Plant's version of "Sea of Love" began playing and Grissom turned Sara and captured her in his arms, holding her close as they swayed to the music. They alternately danced with her head on his shoulder as he would kiss her soft hair, and stood face-to-face as they simply looked at one another. The song was nearly through when Sara felt her soreness increasing with the dancing, so even though she regretted it, they started to move toward the edge of the dance floor.

"Gil!" Catherine called as the couple walked under an overhead light. She approached them as Jim walked on her one side and Terri came from the other direction. "What's on the back of your pants? It looks like red glitter. Did you sit in something?"

"No," Jim said as he studied the evidence before them. "It isn't up around his "sitting area." It's down his thighs. He must've backed into something."

"Yeah, but it's only in streaks–see?" Catherine asked as she pointed it out. "Like someone rubbed something on both of his legs."

"Oh," Jim said as he straightened with a knowing grin on his face as he glanced at Sara's feet.

"Oh–what?" Catherine asked, still stumped at what could have caused such a sight.

"Catherine, will you leave my slacks alone?" Grissom finally said with irritation as he turned to look at the woman, bringing a gasp from her when she saw Sara.

"Oh, my God, Sara!" Catherine gaped at her. "What happened to your chest? Are you allergic to something? Are you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? That might not be good for the baby!"

"Nothing–nothing's wrong," Sara said with embarrassment.

"What do you mean nothing's wrong? God, it looks like brush burn! And blood!" This time Catherine was the one who straightened with a knowing look in her eyes. "Oh."

"Did you fall, Sara?" Terri asked smugly as she stepped so close to Grissom that Sara was half afraid she was going to grab onto his arm and pull him away. "Your hair's so disheveled it looks as if you were in a wind storm."

Sara's hand self-consciously went to her hair, but Grissom pulled it back down and kissed her fingers. "You look lovely," he murmured as he looked into her eyes.

"I don't think it looks like she was in the wind," Brass said as he looked straight at Terri. "I'd say someone was running their fingers through it." He looked back at Grissom. "What happened to your face, buddy? You get a bloody nose and drip it down the front of your wife's dress as she was rubbing those fancy red sandals down the backs of your legs."

Terri's eyes went from Sara to Brass then back to Sara again before looking up at Grissom but he didn't seem to notice as he looked at Sara as if he were ready to devour her.

"Yeah, brush burn–beard burn–same difference," Catherine spoke up. "And weren't you guys missing for about an hour? Romance certainly is in the air tonight!"

"If you'll excuse me, I think my friends are waiting for me," Terri said stiffly.

"It was . . . wonderful to see you again, Dr. Miller," Sara said without moving her eyes from her husband's.

"Yes. It was a pleasure seeing you again as well. Gil, we'll have to have lunch the next time the lab needs my expertise."

"That sounds nice, Terri. Just make arrangements through Judy. I'm sure she'll tell you when I'm free."

Terri waited a moment longer for some kind of recognition from Grissom but he only smiled at his wife as if sharing a secret joke, then she turned and walked away.

"You don't work for the lab anymore, big guy," Catherine spoke up.

"I think that was the point." Jim put his hand on the small of Catherine's back. "Care to dance?"


	220. Chapter 220

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twenty

"Um, Sara," Greg said hesitantly as she and Grissom walked into the house to find it in total disarray. Stuffed animals and blocks were scattered from the front foyer all the way through the hallway and into the livingroom. "She's really getting active."

"Yes," Sara said as she looked around. Her feet were beginning to hurt and she wanted nothing more than to get out of the sparkling red sandals that had helped to give away her sojourn of lovemaking. "I can see that."

"Greg! What the hell did you do?" Grissom asked as he stood next to Sara and looked around.

"She wanted to play with "everything!" Greg defended himself.

"Does that mean you had to do what "she" wanted?" Grissom raised his brows at the young man.

"Pretty much. Have you ever seen her when you try to say no to her? It started with her little lip sticking out and then it would tremble and then these big tears slipped out of her eyes, so I had to let her throw blocks at me. But then when she stopped crying like that, she got mad! Boy, does she ever get mad! And guys–I think she's been picking up some words that an eight-month-old shouldn't be saying."

"Don't be ridiculous, Greg. She's only eight-months-old. She only says da-da," Grissom told him.

"And aye-aye," Greg corrected him.

"She was saying aye-aye tonight?"

"Well, yeah. When she cried, she demanded that I aye-aye her," he told the older man but hurried on with an explanation when he saw how Grissom's eyes turned the strangest color of red and blue that Greg had ever seen. "I mean–you know–not like you and Sara do it. I just picked her up and rubbed her back and she lay her head on my shoulder. Then I said aye-aye and she'd stop crying. Oh–and then she'd grab my nose and twist it until I told her she couldn't do that anymore–and then she'd cry again and I'd have to rub her back and say aye-aye–and then she'd grab my nose again. . .it was just one vicious cycle here tonight."

"Well, where is she now?"

"In her play pen."

"She's staying in her play pen–without fussing?"

"Well, I had to get in with her–but once we threw most of her toys out to make room–we both fit. Then we put on "Dirty Harry" and watched it. I think she really likes Clint Eastwood. You should see her when I point my finger at her and say, "Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?." She thinks it's funny." Greg smiled broadly at them.

"The line is "Do "I" feel lucky?" not "Do "you" feel lucky?" He's referring to what the assailant is supposed to be thinking."

"I know–but it makes more sense when I point at Abby and say "do "you" feel lucky? I mean, it wouldn't make sense the other way. Anyway, she likes it better that way!"

"Sheee-ittt! She-it! She-it!" Came from the livingroom where Abby was still standing in her play pen.

Grissom turned and looked at the babysitter. "Greg–just what in the hell did you teach my daughter to say?"

His comment made Sara hide a smile as she knew very well where their daughter learned her new phrase.

"See?" Greg blurted. "I told you! And I didn't say it! I didn't say "that word" all night!"

Sara walked past the men and went to pick up Abby who started clapping upon sight of her mother. "Oh, Greg. She isn't saying "that word." She's saying "see it."

Abby was busy laying her head on her mother's shoulder and playing with the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of place but when she entered the foyer again, she turned and looked at Greg.

"She-it! She-it!" She reached over and grabbed Greg's nose and twisted it, causing him to wince.

"See! She's going to do irreparable damage! I'll need rhinoplasty by the time she's three years old."

"Tell Greg you're sorry," Sara said half-heartedly but by now the baby caught sight of her father.

"She-it! She-it! Da-da-da-da!"

"See?" Sara handed the baby to her father. "She's saying "see it, daddy?"

"See what?" Greg asked suspiciously.

"Your nose," Grissom said as he started up the steps with the baby. "What else would she be talking about?"

"Did she eat tonight?" Sara asked as she admired her husband's form as he carried their daughter up to her bedroom.

"Yeah. I gave her green beans, pears and three cookies." He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. "I ate some cookies too."

"There was other food in the refrigerator, Greg. You should've made yourself something."

"I'm okay. We were too busy watching Dirty Harry and eating the cookies." He pulled the door open then paused as he looked back at Sara. "Maybe we ought to get her the Dirty Harry DVD collection for Christmas."

"I think Charlie Brown might be more appropriate right now, Greg."

"Charlie Brown? He doesn't say anything cool like Clint Eastwood!"

"Goodnight, Greg," she said and smiled as he gave her a short wave and went to his car.

She watched him drive away then turned off the porch light and locked the door. She trudged up the stairs and stopped in her daughter's doorway as she watched her husband sitting in the rocking chair reading from a collection of Disney Classics. He glanced up at her with the look that always made her stomach coil. She watched as Abby yawned and turned her face toward her father's chest as she nestled to sleep and she knew it would take a few more minutes of rocking before it would be safe to lie her in her crib. She went to her room and sat on the bed and removed her shoes, noting the pressure marks where the straps had been. She rubbed them then got to her feet and moved to her dresser where she pulled out a nightshirt. She removed the dress easily enough, then pulled on the white shirt that covered her from neck to thighs. She went back to her dresser and got out a pair of soft, warm, socks that she pulled on and was about to start toward the bathroom when Grissom appeared in her doorway.

"I was–just going to–clean up a bit."

"Not yet," he suggested as he stepped inside and put his hands on her shoulders. "Stay here with me."

She tilted her head as she looked at him. He was so amazingly handsome as he stood in his tuxedo in front of her. By now he had removed his tie and loosened the buttons at his neck, but other than that he was still as he had been at the hotel. She slid her hands beneath his jacket and around his waist as she stepped up against him and to her surprise he reached down and lifted her beneath her thighs until she wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed onto his neck. He grunted slightly at the effort as he took several steps with her then stopped at the edge of the bed.

"I've gained weight," she smiled at him.

"Only a few pounds," he said as he gave her a lopsided smile in return.

"I think you better put me down before you hurt yourself," she whispered and he looked at her as if he were about to argue, then after a short moment he relented and placed her on her knees on the mattress.

She remained sitting on her feet in the middle of the bed as she watched him remove his jacket and toss it onto the rocking chair they used for Abby. Next came his sleeves that he uncuffed, putting the links into his trouser pocket. She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt front and pulled it out of his pants then he turned around and sat on the bed in front of her. He toed off his shoes and she moved up behind him where she pulled his shirt the rest of the way off. Her thighs moved up as close as she could get on either side of his hips and she reached for his tee-shirt and pulled it up his back then over his head.

"Open your shirt," he instructed as his hands slid up over her knees and thighs. "I want to feel you against me."

She complied as she tossed the nightshirt to the floor, then she slid her hands ever so gently around his waist and under his ribs then felt him shiver. She moved them up the front of him, over his chest, as her stomach pressed into him. She looked at the man in front of her and lowered her lips to his back, spreading small kisses across it until she came to his shoulder and then his neck as her hands slid down over his abdomen and teased him near the top of his belt. Then she rose up on her knees and leaned over him as he turned slightly and met her mouth with his. Lips tasted, tongues teased and titillated, and teeth nipped at one another.

"I'm not touching her," Grissom breathed as he turned more fully on the bed, put his arms around her and lowered her onto the mattress. "She's touching me."

"What?" Sara asked as she looked at him strangely.

"Junior's starting to kick me again. I was telling it that "I wasn't touching you" this time. "You were touching me."

She glanced down at her stomach and saw it jerk a few times then stop. When she looked back at Grissom she was sure the mood would have been disintegrated but he merely smiled as he spread his length next to hers.

"You're right," she turned toward him again and slid her hand down over his chest, over his abdomen and then beneath his belt. "We've got to teach this one some consideration for Mommy and Daddy time."

He groaned his appreciation as her fingers slid inside his boxers and started fondling him, then he reached down and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He leaned over her and started kissing her again as she continued to stroke him, then his kiss moved lower until he was investigating her breasts with a gentleness that had her trembling until she could take it no more and pushed him onto his back. She tugged on his slacks and boxers until he lifted his hips and she pulled them down his thighs, then she moved until she was straddling him. He reached down and positioned himself and allowed her to slowly sheath him with her velvety core. She hissed as she lowered herself, feeling herself stretching again for the second time that evening. His hands went to her thighs immediately as he looked up at her with concern.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded her head as she looked down at those magnificent blue eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can take over, if you're not."

She shook her head no then started to raise herself up before lowering down again. She repeated it several more times, each time, getting a little easier and before long he was holding onto her hips to help her balance as she rode him. She could feel her sensations start to bubble throughout her and she looked back down at him and smiled, giving him a small laugh of satisfaction before he reached between them and applied pressure to the area that screamed for it.

"Oh, my God! Gil!"

Upon her words, he pulled her down and flipped her onto her side, lifting her leg up over his waist as he continued to pump inside of her. She thought she was seeing stars when he took her over the edge and she held onto him tightly as he thrust into her a little longer until his own release came.

He lay next to her with his eyes closed, then opened them and looked at her as they were face-to-face.

"Maybe next time, I'll get to actually get my pants all the way off," he told her.

"And when do you suppose that will be?" She asked as she stroked his bearded cheek with her thumb.

"Give me half an hour," he gave her a teasing wink then started moving hips in an odd manner.

"What are you doing?" She laughed at him as she lifted her head to look down at the area he seemed to be having problems with.

"The belt buckle. It sort of fell under my. . .well, it's uncomfortable."

She looked a little closer and giggled before moving until she was tugging his pants down and off his legs, then stripped his socks off as well.

"Your buckle was biting your ass," she told him as she moved back to lie next to him. "And you made love to me with your socks on–twice–isn't there a rule against that?"

"You've got yours on too–and you didn't even get your underwear off. I've been sliding it up the side all night."

"Sliding–it–up the side. How poetically romantic."

"Oh, your "your buckle was biting your ass" comment was more romantic?" He smiled at her as he slid his hand over her stomach in a possessive manner.

"But you expect me to talk to you like that," she told him as she held onto his shoulder with one hand and placed her other hand on his chest where she felt his heart beat. "It always takes me by surprise when you attempt to talk dirty."

"Attempt?" He raised a brow as he looked at her.

"Just kiss me," she smiled and pulled him over toward her.

He complied and soon his kiss was moving down over her neck and throat again. She allowed him to move on to her breasts as she watched him and her fingers played with his hair. The sound that came over the baby monitor turned her focus to the receiver on her bureau.

"Da-da-da-da."

Grissom stopped his movements in frustration. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it?"

"I can only imagine what it's going to be like with two of them," she agreed. "I'll go get her."

"I'll change clothes awhile."

Sara waited for Grissom to move off the bed before picking up his clothing and starting toward his own room. She got up and picked up her nightshirt and put it back on then went in to Abby's room where she found the baby sitting up and leaning against her crib's railing as she held onto her blanket. Sara went to her and lifted her then checked her diaper.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Did Uncle Greg give you too much to drink tonight?"

Sara changed Abby's diaper then took her back to her bedroom with her where Grissom was just returning, now in his pajama bottoms and tee-shirt. As usually was the case, upon sight of her father, Abby reached for him and grunted, too tired to say "da-da" but wanting him nonetheless. He moved to the head of the bed where he sat, leaning against the headboard, then grabbed the remote control to the television. Sara looked at the way he started to watch an old Harold Lloyd film, taking in the magnificence of him as he held their daughter. Yes, Abigail Grissom had her mother's coloring, and Sara wasn't quite sure if she should attribute the curls to her mother or her father–but those eyes–they were her father's completely.

"Come, sit down." Grissom pulled the pillow up against the headboard next to him as he glanced at his wife so she moved and gingerly took her place next to them.

Abby sat on her father's lap, playing with the little soft plastic polar bear she had brought along with her from her dressing table. She would alternately chew on it and then inspect it. After nearly a dozen times through her rotation, she looked at her father and decided he needed to chew on it as well. She would raise it up to his lips and he would oblige her by biting its ear or its paw or its tail; whichever she had closest to him. Each nibble on the polar bear brought a smile to his daughter and when she pressed harder and released it, allowing it to hang from her father's mouth, she released giggles.

Sara watched them interacting as she leaned her head back against the headboard, completely relaxing for the first time in months. She was accustomed to their play time. She turned and spread her legs out across the end of the bed, noticing in the dimness of the room that there appeared to be a stain on her white sock. Damn! She peeled them off and tossed them toward the hamper then returned to her position but this time Abby was intently watching her.

"What?" Sara chuckled at the infant and watched as the baby proceeded to reach over with the polar bear to try to stick it in her mother's mouth, but Sara merely smiled at her and hesitated.

"Oh, no," Grissom told her. "If I have to munch on a toy polar bear–so do you."

Abby's grunt as she pressed it against Sara's mouth whole-heartedly agreed.

"But I'm a vegetarian and this is bear meat, and polar bears are endangered, and. . ." This time when she opened her mouth to speak, Abby shoved it in. "Gee, thanks, Abs."

Another fit of giggles erupted as Sara reached out and pulled her little bare foot up to her mouth and blew a raspberry on it. She did it again, then a third time before letting her settle back against her father's chest as she looked back at the television in time to see Harold Lloyd dangling from a clock hand that was inserted in a high-rise building. She noted movement next to her and looked back to see Abby still watching her, but now lifting her foot and leg in her mother's direction. It was clear that the child wasn't finished with raspberries to her feet.

Sara chuckled as she grabbed onto her foot again and pulled it up for another raspberry, then she bent over and repeated the procedure on the baby's belly. This brought out a squeal as she quickly turned over to escape the tickling and crawled back up her father's side, staring at her mother warily.

"Well," Grissom said soberly. "That looked . . . entertaining. Do I get the same benefits as our daughter?"

"You want me to blow on your belly?" She asked with a raised brow. "Or your foot?"

This brought out a short laugh. "No. I want you to blow something else."

"Gris!" Sara gasped at him, not believing what he just insinuated. "Do you hear what you're saying in front of Abby?"

"What?" He asked innocently. "She doesn't know what I want you to blow. For all she knows, I want you to blow on my finger. Here–show her." He put his forefinger in front of Sara's lips and she stared at him with distrust and he smiled. "Just blow on it. You don't even have to touch it."

Sara gave a hefty blow as Abby watched them but when he put his hand back, Abby lifted his hand and pushed it toward her mom. Sara repeated the "blowing" action, upon Abby's urging, three more times before the child brought it back to her own mouth and blew on it as well. She looked at her mother as if expecting some kind of result from such intense work but when none came, Abby blew on it again. Grissom evidently thought it was funny as he smiled and continued to hold his hand for his daughter to blow at.

"You're going to make her hyperventilate and she's going to get dizzy," Sara warned.

"Okay, no more blowing on Daddy's finger," Grissom told Abby and he handed her the polar bear that had been forgotten in her interaction with her parents. "Let's watch the movie."

He turned Abby until she was leaning against his chest and she released a huge yawn, but she wasn't happy with him anymore so crawled across the short distance until she was with her mother. She promptly cuddled up against her and started playing with the hair that was now completely out of it's stylish bun. Sara stroked the child's soft curls in return and before too long the baby's fingers stopped and her breathing grew deepe. After a few more moments, Sara took her back to the crib.

She bent over to lie her down and felt the soreness that she had experienced earlier that evening. She soon forgot about it though when she straightened and found her husband standing directly behind her. His arm went around her shoulder and pulled her back against him as he kissed the side of her neck then held her as they both looked in at Abby.

"Are you ready for bed?" He murmured against her ear.

"Evidently you are," she said as she felt him pressing his warm body against the back of hers.

He turned her until she was facing him. "Are you sorry about this, Sara? Do you regret having done this? I need to know now, if you do."

She looked into those amazingly blue eyes. She looked at "him." She looked at the way he was standing before her wearing pajama bottoms and tee-shirt and she saw her husband. For the first time in months, she was seeing her husband and not the man who ripped her heart to shreds. She leaned into him and lay her head against his shoulder as she put her arms around his waist.

"No. I'm not sorry about this and I have no regrets."

"Then, come on. Abigail will be waking us up again before we know it."

He kissed her forehead and started walking to her bedroom, but this time she decided she was going for that shower. She turned on the overhead light as she started going through her dresser drawer for clean clothes.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I just want to clean up a bit."

"Sara?" Grissom's voice was a little baffled. She turned and looked at how he was looking at the bed then looked back at her with a touch of fright in his eyes. "Honey? Are you bleeding?"

"No," Sara said as she walked over toward him with half a smile. "You were–remember? Your nose."

"Uh, sweetheart. . .my nose wasn't down there tonight."

She looked at the comforter on the bed and saw the red smears then looked back at him questioningly. When she saw how he was looking at her thighs, she felt a flash of fear rush through her and she looked down but had difficulty seeing around her abdomen.

"Gil? What is it?"

He hurried around the bed and assisted her until she was sitting then he knelt in front of her and looked at her legs more closely.

"Sara. You're bleeding."

A/N: Don't worry, chapter 221 will be up before the end of the evening. Hold in there! I won't let you down–believe me.


	221. Chapter 221

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twenty-One

Grissom sat at the head of the examining table as the doctor was giving Sara an internal examination. She knew he was extremely anxious as he held onto her hand, and "she" didn't even want to think about it. She refused to allow herself to believe she was going to lose another baby. At 29 weeks gestation it was still viable but she was frightened to death of delivering and having her child hooked up to all kinds of breathing apparatuses, intravenous lines, catheters, and any other kind of devices imaginable. She refused to believe it.

"Mrs. Grissom," the male doctor of about Grissom's age looked up at Sara. "Did you have sex this evening?"

Sara could feel her face flame as she glanced at Grissom then back to the doctor. "Y-yes."

"Okay," the doctor sighed as he pulled the speculum from Sara and pulled the sheet down to cover her legs. "Now, let me ask you this. "What" exactly were you using?"

Sara blinked and looked at Grissom again as he looked at the doctor in confusion.

"I don't understand."

"Were you using a foreign object–something to enhance the experience?" He asked as he removed his gloves and when he still received blank stares, he added, "To put it bluntly–were you using a dildo or vibrator?"

"No! I was using my husband!" Sara blurted, then cringed at what she had said.

The doctor looked at Grissom who at this point gave him a very weak, nervous smile. "You didn't use an extender or anything like that?"

"Uh–no." Grissom coughed on his answer.

"You're that . . ." The doctor stared at Grissom and Sara could have sworn she could see him beginning to sweat under the doctor's gaze. ". . .well endowed?"

"I–um," Grissom said as he swallowed with difficulty and suddenly found the design on Sara's hospital gown very interesting as he began picking at the little gray diamonds that covered it. "Well, I, uh. . ."

"Okay," the doctor took a deep breath then went to the sink where he washed his hands before coming back to take the seat next to them. "Next question–did the two of you engage in rough sex?"

"We. . ." Grissom tried to get out. "Um, we. . ."

"Look, we haven't done "anything" in about five months and just started up again tonight–kinda vigorously–I mean, eagerly–I mean–really enthusiastically–and quite often. I mean–what would you do after five months?" Sara blurted as she tried to explain and this time she heard her husband try to hide his groan from next to her. "But it wasn't rough! It was–energetic and rushed."

"What do you mean, rushed?" Grissom asked as he looked at her with wide eyes then realized what he said. "I'm sorry. Go on, doctor. Have we done any harm?"

"Well, I wouldn't go running back home to get started again already. But, no–there's no irreparable damage. You see, at this stage of the pregnancy, she's rather swollen and her blood vessels are closer to the surface than a nonpregnant vaginal wall. Usually this doesn't present a problem, but if you went five months with no contact and then suddenly resume sexual intercourse it would cause some irritation. Combine with that, your husband's size compared to "your" diminutive size–well, there's bound to be some trauma. As far as your baby–we'll take a look at it and see what it's up to, but just from the exam so far, it's evident the bleeding is simply tissue damage." They silently watched as he pulled the portable ultrasound closer then applied gel to Sara's abdomen. "Ah, here we go. Look at that heart beat–very strong. And look at that temper. Quite active, huh? Oops! I hope you "wanted" to know the sex."

"Sara," Grissom said in complete awe.

Sara didn't answer as she was too busy looking at the area the doctor had accidently pointed out.

The doctor chuckled at the sight of them. "Well I guess he's definitely taking after his father already."

This earned him an indignant glare from Grissom that made the doctor chuckle again. They watched as measurements were taken of arms and legs and a printout was made with pictures of their son, then the doctor wiped the gel from Sara's abdomen and handed her the towel to dry off the remainder. He went back to wash his hands again.

"Look, guys. I don't know what the circumstances are surrounding this abstinence of five months but if you're going to go at it to make up time, I suggest you wait a week to allow some time to heal, then go at it a bit more gently–and definitely control yourself so you're not going as deep." He turned around and looked at Grissom. "Is that possible?"

"Yes. Of course." He rubbed his hand over his beard and looked back at Sara. "We'll do whatever it takes."

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Mr. and Mrs. Grissom. I'm sure you're going to have a successful pregnancy, but if you have any further concerns, don't hesitate to either come back to the emergency department, or contact your OB." He opened the door and walked out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Oh, my god!" Greg came rushing out of the waiting room when he saw Sara and Grissom walking down the hallway. "Is she alright? Is the baby alright? I mean–I guess they are, or she wouldn't be here–would she? What happened? Why did you bleed like that?"

"One question at a time, Greg," Grissom told him as he walked past him to the stroller where Abby was fast asleep. "Catherine? Jim? What are you doing here?"

"Greg called and said there was trouble with the pregnancy," Jim explained.

"I was just getting into bed when he called. I couldn't sleep not knowing what was going on." Catherine looked over at Sara. "Are you okay? I mean, like Greg said, I guess you are or they wouldn't be releasing you."

"You guys shouldn't have come down here," Grissom told them then turned when he heard Nick enter behind him.

"Sara! Are you okay? Is the baby alright?"

"The baby is fine!" Grissom told everyone.

"Then why. . ." Greg started but stopped when Grissom looked at him.

"It was just a. . .false alarm of sorts," Grissom told them.

"A false alarm with blood?" Nick asked. "What kind of a false alarm makes the woman bleed like that?"

Catherine started to smile and she glanced at Brass who was also snickering.

"O–kay," Catherine said as she put her hand on Greg's and Nick's arms. "Time to go home. The Grissoms are doing just fine–as a matter of fact, they're doing "extremely" fine by the sounds of it."

"But I don't get it, Catherine," Nick said as he started walking out with her. "Isn't bleeding a sign that something's wrong?"

"Unless everything's "right," she explained as they disappeared out the exit with Greg. They stopped suddenly and looked back through the windows, Nick with wide eyes and Greg who was starting to laugh then shook a finger at Grissom before they turned and went to their cars.

"So, getting a little over-attentive, huh?" Jim asked Grissom as Sara went to the stroller and started pushing it toward the exit.

"Shut up, Jim."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara lay in her bed watching Grissom sleep. He had been so apologetic on the ride home. They came into the house and took Abby back to her crib then both went to the bedroom, knowing they didn't have a lot of time to get some sleep. Abby would surely be up within three or four hours. Sara was all set to go to sleep as well, until the baby started his morning callisthenics. She turned onto her back and rubbed her hand over the wandering little boy and fell in love with him all over again. A son. Her and Grissom's son. Abby's little brother. She wondered what he was going to look like. Would he be dark-haired like Abby? Or sandy-haired like his father was in his youth? She finally turned onto her side and pressed her tummy against Grissom's back and within seconds, the child stopped his moving, evidently settling down into a much needed sleep.

Sara woke up to an empty bed then noticed that she had slept nearly seven hours. She roused herself, hearing the clanking of toys coming from downstairs and knew Grissom had taken Abby down for breakfast already. She went to the bathroom and took a warm shower then grabbed a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and started downstairs.

She heard Grissom chuckling from the kitchen and when she pushed the swinging door open she found him sitting at the table with the high chair pulled close.

"Oops," he said as he held the candy and looked at her through guilty eyes. "She caught us. Now we're in trouble."

Sara looked at Abby who was busy pushing the piece of chocolate into her mouth that her father had just given her. The child chewed it, then seemed to roll it around in her mouth as the taste hit her, swallowed it then looked expectantly at her father for more.

"Chocolate at ten-thirty in the morning?" She asked as she moved to stand next to her husband. "Chocolate at any time of the day, for that matter. You know she hasn't been started on that yet."

"But you eat chocolate," he countered. "So–really–the baby's already getting it in there–we don't want to play favorites."

"You're not making any sense, you realize this, don't you?"

She took the chocolate bar from his hand and moved to sit on the chair next to him but he took her hand and guided her until she was sitting on his thigh, between himself and Abby. She chuckled at Abby as she watched every move Sara was making with that candy and as Sara put it up to take a bite for herself, Abby's eyes widened and she reached for it.

"No," Grissom informed her. "You've got to share."

Sara broke off a small piece and gave it to Abby and they watched as she chewed it with great determination before Sara looked back at Grissom.

"What about you? I suppose you want some of it, too."

"Well, I did get it down for myself. But I'll take that piece–right there."

Sara gave a throaty chuckle as he pulled her head toward his and he slid his tongue between her lips, but what would have been a quick theft of chocolate turned into a duel as she refused to release it then pulled back and swallowed.

"You'll just have to get your own piece."

"I can't–not for another week," he breathed then pulled her back for another kiss. "The hell with the candy."

"Hey! Isn't that what got you two into trouble to begin with?" Greg's voice came from the back door as he peered in at them.

"Greg–don't you ever knock?" Grissom grumbled as he released his wife.

"I didn't come in. I can still knock, if you like." He opened the door and walked inside as Sara got to her feet and went to the refrigerator to pull out a yogurt for her breakfast. "Hey, you got any more chocolate?"

"No," Grissom told him and Sara went to the cupboard where she pulled down another candy bar and handed it to the younger man.

"Thanks, Sara!"

"Now she's gonna want all of "his" too," Grissom complained. "Greg, put that in your pocket and don't flaunt it in front of Abigail."

"Fine," he whined then moved over so Abby didn't have to crane her neck to get a look at the familiar voice behind her. "Hey, punk!"

Abby watched him for a moment, then lifted her hand and pointed her finger at her, making Greg laugh at her.

"You've got to be kidding," Sara chuckled.

"I told ya she liked Dirty Harry." Greg put his hand over his chest and pretended he had been shot. "Bang!"

Abby slapped the tray of her high chair in her excitement then waited for what she evidently knew was coming next as Greg held his finger up to point at her. "Do ya feel lucky? Well, do ya punk?"

This made Abby smile brightly then reach for the young man who automatically went to the chair and picked her up. Her first response was grabbing his nose and giving it an immediate twist.

"Greg, I wasn't finished feeding her," Grissom told him as Sara moved back to sit in the other chair with her yogurt.

"Yes, you were. You were only giving her chocolate. She's had enough." Sara glanced around the kitchen for any signs of a previous meal. "Did you give her anything for breakfast?"

"Yes. Peaches and cereal, at seven-thirty this morning." He stood up and went to wash the candy from his hands then looked back to where his daughter was still playing with Greg's nose. "Greg, you've got a brown nose."

"Well, gee, thanks, boss. I know I'm kinda partial to you and Sara but considering I don't work for you anymore, I wouldda thought we would've been past the "brown-nose" stage."

"I "mean" Abigail's getting chocolate all over it."

"Oh." He handed Abby to Grissom as he turned toward the sink and got a wet paper towel then cleaned his face. Grissom did the same with Abby's hands.

"Is there a "reason" you're hear?" Grissom asked. "Other than your being partial to us?"

"Yeah!" He said as if he had forgotten. "I left my iPod here. I think I left it in the livingroom. You mind if I go get it?"

Grissom nodded toward the door, indicating he should go retrieve the item. Sara watched as her husband looked back at her and upon her half-smile as she put a spoonful of creaminess between her lips, his gaze intensified ten-fold. He placed Abby on the floor where she looked up at him rather indignantly as she sat there, and he took two steps to where he pulled Sara out of her chair and into his arms.

"You don't think I'm going to let you get away with that, do you?" He moved his head down to kiss her but she put a spoon full of yogurt in her mouth instead. "Sara!"

"Oh. I thought you wanted the yogurt," she teased as he put both arms around her and pulled her against him.

"No, I didn't want the yogurt."

"But it's good for you," she giggled as she licked off the spoon.

"So's this," he groaned as he dipped his head and covered her lips with hers.

What started out as a tease quickly turned heated and soon he had her backed against the counter. She wasn't quite certain how a little kiss could turn her to mush inside so quickly but she was soon thrusting her tongue against his as their hands started roaming over the other's body. She wasn't exactly sure when she dropped the yogurt as her major concern was sliding her hand up under his shirt and feeling the muscles she knew could be found there.

"Wo! Wait a minute! Not supposed to see that!" Greg scolded from the doorway with wide eyes. "Good Lord! Don't you two ever slow down? And look at your daughter! You're not even paying any attention to your daughter!"

Grissom and Sara released one another and looked down at the floor where their freshly cleaned baby girl was now sitting with yogurt spread across her face, hands and arms as she eagerly licked the creaminess from her fingers.

"Abby!" Sara took a step toward her but Greg was already lifting her from the floor.

"Is that what you do when you two want to get a little frisky?" He continued to scold. "Just bribe her with chocolate and yogurt?"

"If we bribe you with yogurt, will you leave?" Grissom mumbled.

"Oh, that's right. Turn the focus on me. Come on, Abby-girl. Uncle Greg will get that nasty stuff off of you."

Sara and Grissom watched as Greg plopped Abby down into the sink basin and went about cleaning all the food from her skin. He turned and handed her back to her mother.

"Um–thank you."

"Yeah," Greg snorted. "Right."

They watched as he rolled his eyes at them then exited through the back door.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara didn't know how many times she would catch Grissom watching her from across the room throughout the following few days. But each time, it wouldn't be long before they somehow ended up on the sofa together. Sometimes it was torture as their friendly massages would quickly turn into an amorous bump and grind, upon which occasions he would bury his head against her shoulder and try to calm himself.

Wednesday evening Grissom was in the livingroom reading to Abby as Sara took a load of clothes to the baby's bedroom. He had followed her upstairs and lay the sleeping child in the crib then returned to the first floor with her. She went back to get another load of laundry that she was going to fold as they watched a little television in the livingroom but as she put the basket on the floor, he took her hand.

"Sit with me, awhile," he said as he pulled her down onto the sofa with him until she was sitting on his lap with her legs sprawled down the length of the cushions. "It won't hurt to simply sit with one another."

Sara had her own thoughts on that subject but leaned back against him anyway. Her first indication that this wasn't simply going to be a session of "sitting together" was when he kissed her ear and she could feel his hot breath clear to her toes.

"How long has it been?" He whispered, tickling her neck as his beard moved across it.

"F-Four days."

"Four days?" He slid his tongue inside her ear then brought it down to her neck again. "Has it really been only four days?"

"Mmmm." She got up from where she was sitting and turned so she was straddling his lap. "It's only been four days."

"I think it's been longer than that," he said as he started unbuttoning her shirt and spreading it open around her breasts and he slid the backs of his fingers up along their warmth. "Are you sure it's only been that long?"

"Shh," she pacified him and leaned forward as she bent and covered his lips with her own in a drugging kiss.

Their tongues quickly expressed their mutual need for one another but she broke the kiss and urged him to move lower. He gratefully complied as he moved onto the breasts he was fondling. She could feel him growing beneath her and the jolt of pleasure that shot through her made her lose her balance as she cradled his head against her. The moan that erupted brought a reaction from her husband so quickly she was sure he felt the erotic sensations even more than she.

"Get undressed," he rushed as he lifted her to her feet.

She looked at him in confusion. "But we're not. . ."

"I don't care. I want to look at you. I want to feel you." His hands were already peeling her pajama bottoms and panties down over her long legs and holding onto her as she stepped out of them. She stood before him completely naked and started to cross her arms over herself but he took her hand and maneuvered her until she was lying on the other end of the sofa.

"Gil," she began uncomfortably.

"He said no penetration," he told her as his eyes traveled over her entire body. "I won't–penetrate."

She watched as he pulled his tee-shirt up over his head and let it drop down onto the floor then he grasped onto her ankle and placed her foot on the floor. He raised her other ankle so it was sitting on the cushion as her leg was bent at the knee. His first contact was as his lips touched her upraised knee and his palms slid along her thighs. Soon he was pressing kisses up her thigh but when he got halfway there, she squirmed away.

"Gil–no. It wouldn't be fair."

He lifted himself and moved until he was kneeling on the floor next to her and leaning over her. His forehead touched hers and he seemed almost desperate. "Darling, you wouldn't know how fair it would be."

"Mmm, move back."

She looked at him and pulled him into another heated kiss, but this time she rolled toward him until he grabbed hold of her and lowered her to the floor. He backed up on his knees and looked down at her with a raised brow.

"And just what, would you have in mind?"

She gave him a slanted smile as she reached up and unbuttoned his jeans, then sat up on the floor and leaned against sofa. She pushed his pants over his hips and released his quickly rising member.

"Yum."

A brief inspection and she was looking up at him but didn't give him much time to relax as she leaned forward and started kissing his abdomen. She hadn't realized how very hungry she was for him; how very much she had yearned to do this to him, until just now. Oh, she had had fantasies over the past week, and even had dreams during her sleep before that, but to actually have the opportunity was sending her to dizzying heights.

She listened as he hissed through his teeth as her hand enveloped him and when she actually brought him to her waiting lips and tongue, he grabbed onto the sofa to steady himself. She let her needs dictate her movements as she licked and sucked the head of him, then when she wanted more, she moved farther down the shaft, taking as much as she could before drawling it back again. He was so hard and so hot she couldn't stop herself as she maneuvered herself onto her knees and pushed him onto the floor where she grabbed onto the bottoms of his jeans and pulled them off. Then she was on him in an instant. She let her hands wander everywhere she could reach and his responses were very oral.

"Stop. Honey. Move around here."

Sara lifted her head and looked at him with great doubt. "I–don't think that will work. I'm too big. You'll never reach."

"I'll make it work." He reached for some pillows from the sofa and put them beneath his head, then took her hand and pulled her until he kissed her deeply. A final small kiss and he released her. "All yours, my dear."

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. Sometimes he amazed her. So she moved her body until she was crawling over him and down his body. He grasped onto her one knee when her hands were on either side of his hips and he guided her until it was on the other side of him. His immediate kiss to her thighs almost made her arms buckle beneath her but soon her was moving farther up and she swayed as his lips and tongue came in contact with the sensitive area that was screaming for his attention. It took a moment for her to resume her skills to him but when she did it was if she were famished. Together they feasted, mingling sounds of their satisfaction. As if he were trying to prepare for their later uniting, he seemed to try to control his strength as he eventually began to move within her mouth. She would pause from time to time, the sensations he was sending through her so intense that she seemed to lose all comprehension of what was happening, but she would resume as he took her closer and closer to heaven.

He was the first to release himself but his eruption only served to make him more enthusiastic as he continued with her a few moments more. She thanked the heavens that he had released himself first and she was no longer surrounding him with her teeth because when she erupted it was so intense that she actually bit down on his thigh. As she rode out the waves, she absently licked the wound until she felt him turning until she was lying on the floor. He turned himself until he was lying next to her and he put the pillow beneath both of their heads.

"You bit me," he smiled at her.

"I did, didn't I? That's a mark of ownership."

"God, I love you so much. Have I told you that enough today?" He asked as he gently kissed her lips.

She opened her eyes and looked at him with a tiny smile. "Never."


	222. Chapter 222

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twenty-Two

"I'm not even going to ask how you're doing," Nick commented as he watched Sara enter Catherine's livingroom.

"If you're really curious, Nick, I'll tell you that I'm doing fine. We're all doing fine."

She turned and watched as Grissom carried Abby into the room. He had no trouble finding a respite as he was bombarded with offers to hold her from Greg, Caitlin and Catherine.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," Nick said seriously as he took her hand and they moved to the side of the room where she took a seat on a bar stool and he stood next to her. "Sara, I don't know how to approach your relationship with him anymore. I–I know that you love him and probably always will. But, honey, I'm having a bit of trouble dealing with seeing you hurt again and again."

She looked up into his eyes, seeing that they were so full of emotion they were nearly tearing. "Then he better never hurt me again, don't you think?"

He nodded. "I just want you to know that I'll do whatever you want. I've always admired Grissom and it's been hard feeling torn between the two of you. I hope he never hurts you again, sweetie. But I want you to know that if he does–I'll always be here for you."

She squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Nick. Let's hope it never comes to that again. But just because we're living a peaceful existence, doesn't mean we don't want you involved in our lives."

"That's good, because I love you, kiddo, and I love Abby. I have a feeling I'm gonna fall in love with this little lady as well."

"Oh! We didn't tell anyone yet!" Sara realized the news they were too embarrassed to reveal the previous Saturday night. "It isn't a little lady this time. It's a boy."

Nick gave her one of the saddest smiles she had ever seen and it tore at her heart. She knew he was remembering his time spent with her when she lost her other little boy. "I'm glad. You deserve a second chance."

"Hey! What's up over there?" Catherine called as she bounced a giggling Abigail Grissom.

Nick simply turned away from them and took a sip of his drink and patted Sara's hand, composed himself, then looked back at Catherine with a fresh smile, although Sara could see how forced it was. "Good news, Cath! We've got a little boy coming this time!"

"A boy!" Catherine continued to dance with the little "Miss" Grissom. "You're going to have a brother!"

Upon this unnerving news, Abby gave out a loud whine and leaned back in Catherine's arms toward her father who grabbed for her immediately before she threw herself out of the woman's grasp.

"Jeez, Abby," Greg spoke up. "Don't get so worked up! Brothers are good things. Brothers–are–good." He enunciated the words, evidently so she could comprehend better.

"Unless they're your twin brother," Caitlin said. "Then they can get a bit repulsive."

"Oh, my god! You don't have twins in there, do you?" Catherine asked with wide eyes.

"No!" Sara blurted.

"No twins," Grissom agreed as he kissed Abby's curls. "Just a baby brother for Abigail to boss around."

"Abby isn't going to be a pushy big sister, is she?" Catherine asked with her eyes sparkling as she looked at the child.

"Oh, no," Sara said dramatically as she approached them and took her daughter's hand. "Not our little girl. She only has the run of the house and any male who comes within a quarter mile of her has to do her bidding or she throws a temper tantrum."

"She doesn't throw temper tantrums," Greg spoke up immediately. "She just knows what she wants and lets us know the only way she can. I mean, it isn't as if she can sit down and write it out for us." He looked from Sara to Catherine. "She's amazingly intelligent, ya know. I'm teaching her all kinds of things."

"Yes, Greg. Useful things like lines from old detective movies," Grissom complained.

"You never know," Greg told him. "She may grow up to be a writer, or an actress, a film historian, or something like that and need to know those lines. I'm just preparing her for a creative future."

"She's going to grow up to be a doctor, aren't ya, Abby?" Caitlin asked. "Look what she can do."

Caitlin held her hand out toward the baby, palm side up, and Abby looked at it a moment then reached out and put her hand over her wrist.

"See what Cait taught her?" Greg said proudly. "She's taking her pulse. Not every eight-month-old can take a pulse, now can they?"

"Of course she's brilliant," Catherine agreed. "Would we expect anything else?"

"Yes, but at the same time she takes great joy in rubbing baby food through her hair and wearing it all over her face and hands," Sara explained.

"Well, you never know," Catherine told her. "She might have something–a new kind of conditioner and skin cream."

"I'd buy stock in it," Greg told them. "Hey, punk!"

Abby gave him a broad smile and reached for him and he happily took her with him and Caitlin as they went to a corner of the room and sat on the floor, prepared to play with her and keep her occupied.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Jim had stopped in to visit and soon the four men and Catherine were occupied at a card table. Sara spent her time with Abby and Caitlin as they watched and joined in on their banter. But truth be told, she was beginning to tire of the evening and would love to return home and soak in a hot tub of water. Her mind began to wander as she watched her husband leaning back in his chair, holding his cards. Images of a much larger tub than they have came to mind and the picture of him waiting for her to get into that tub with him made her sigh. The sound turned his attention to her, raising his eyes as he looked at her.

"C'mon, Gris! Ante up!" Catherine mentally nudged him and he tossed a bill to the center of the table.

"That's all fine and good," Jim commented as he picked up the bill and tossed it back to Grissom. "But the ante's only a buck–not ten."

"What's the matter, Grissom?" Greg asked as he studied his cards. "You getting so old you can't see the difference between the one and the ten?"

"Well, they say the eyes are the first to go," Nick responded as he looked at his own hand and rearranged the cards.

"Well, we can see the first thing to go isn't his amorous energy," Jim said, tossing his own dollar bill into the pot. "Give him another few years and he'll have his own baseball team."

"The Gruesome Grissoms," Greg sang then received a jab in the side from Caitlin. "What?"

"That isn't nice."

"It's true! Can you imagine his kids doing anything else besides dissecting road-kill? Except Abby, of course. She's gonna be all theatrical and win an Oscar!"

"I don't know, Greg," Sara spoke up. "She's taking an incredible interest in her toy animals. I think she's going to go into science."

"Well, whatever she goes into. . .she's going to shine," Catherine threw her dollar bill on the tabletop.

Sara watched as the players discarded and waited for Greg to deal them their new cards but when he came to Grissom he had to wait for the man to let him know how many cards he wanted.

"Gris!" Nick said loudly, turning his attention to him. "Do you want any cards?"

Grissom looked down at his hand and tossed two away then gestured for them to be replaced, but he looked back up at Sara as he picked up the new ones. She was busy watching how his legs were spread slightly as he faced her then she let her gaze wander up over his pants, noticing the area he usually kept so well hidden in his baggy trousers, now being showcased in his jeans. She took a deep breath in reaction to the mere sight of him.

"Are you alright?" Caitlin whispered as she held Abby on the bar stool next to Sara's.

"Yes," Sara answered quickly as she smiled at the girl. "I'm fine."

She looked back at the card game, trying to keep up with the betting but she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off the way Grissom's shirt spread across his chest or the way his hair curled over the top of his collar in such an absolutely gorgeous manner. She was probably going to go for a haircut soon. She didn't mind. She loved him with long hair (as long as he let it grow), short hair and in between. She looked at his beard, recalling the way her thighs burned all night Wednesday night after they went to bed. He actually got a cooling gel and applied it to her sensitive skin so she could sleep. Her gaze moved on to his lips, beautifully shaped lips that she loved to nibble, then on to his nose. Oh, that perfect nose.

"Grissom!" Jim called to him. "Are you playing or not?"

Grissom looked at his cards again and tossed in another bill.

"Well, what's the bet?" Catherine asked.

"I don't know, I'm getting lost," Greg said.

"You're always lost," Nick told him. "The bet's five bucks."

"Ha, that's too rich for my blood," Jim folded.

"O-kay," Catherine looked at Grissom suspiciously but put her money in, followed by Nick but Greg folded as well. "I hope you're bluffing."

Grissom didn't answer as he put in the bets as they went through Catherine and Nick, and when it came back to him, he tossed in another bill.

"Ah, come on, Gris!" Nick said as he stared at the twenty dollar bill in the center of the table. "You've gotta be kidding! I'm out!"

Catherine stared at Grissom then threw four-five dollar bills into the pot. "I see your twenty–and raise you another three."

Sara watched Grissom's fingers slide over his cards, caressing them as he continued to watch her with those eyes. She felt a tremor go through her and she physically shivered.

"Are you "sure" you're alright, Sara?" Caitlin whispered. "Are you cold?"

"No," she lied as she looked to where Abby was lying back in Caitlin's arms as she played with the necklace the girl was wearing. "Pee chill. I better go to the bathroom."

It was better to admit to having to pee than telling everyone that her husband was affecting her in a way that made her want to shove all the cards and money off the table and throw him across it and accost him. They'd never be able to show their faces around their friends if they got hold of that little tidbit. So, she got up from the stool and went through Catherine's house until she came to the master bathroom.

She was just washing her hands when someone knocked on the door. She opened it and looked at the blue eyes that had been drugging her all evening. He closed the door, locked it then walked toward her. Her half smile met his gaze and he took hold of her as he backed her up against the sink.

"You look amazing tonight," he said as he folded her in his arms and began kissing her. She had a quick thought of the blouse and jeans she was wearing with her sneakers. Nothing extraordinary by any means. If anyone looked spectacular, it was him. She tried to voice this but he was intent on conveying his needs. "Shh. "You can't sit in there and look at me like that all night without paying for it. You "do" realize the week's up tonight. We've got the green light."

"Yes. I know–but, in here? Catherine will have a fit!"

"Catherine's been in more compromising positions than making love to her spouse in a friend's bathroom." His hands started to wander over her back and down to her behind.

"But–what if someone comes?"

"Hopefully that will be me."

"I mean it–what if someone walks in?"

"Locked door."

"But they'll hear."

"We'll be quiet." His kiss was moving down her neck and she was quickly losing all sense of modesty as he opened her blouse and slid his kiss down to her chest.

She laced her fingers through his graying curls and when his hand slid down the front of her and pressed against the juncture between her legs, she felt herself go weak. She held onto him as she swayed, but instead of slowing, he pushed her pants down over her belly and hips then slid his fingers to the front of her again.

"Gil," she breathed as she held onto him.

"Honey, I've been thinking about this all night, all day, all week."

"But what about Abby?" She breathed.

"She's fine. She's got five babysitters guarding her right now."

He lifted his head and moved his mouth to hers again, sliding his tongue inside as his fingers began moving at her apex. He was quickly taking her to a point where she didn't care where she was as long as she was in his arms. Her hands slid up beneath his shirt, taking extreme pleasure in the texture of his skin, and then she slid them down the back of his pants. This seemed to trigger his need as he lifted her until she was sitting on the sink's cabinet. He pulled off her sneakers then peeled off her pants and in one fluid movement he was standing between her legs. He opened his pants and freed himself then took her hand and placed it on him. She stroked him as his kiss melted her; her need being stirred by the mating of his tongue as it dueled with hers. She moved her fingers on him until he was hot and steel hard then he took hold of himself and slowly pressed inside of her, both moaning at the tightness as he slowly filled her. He bit his lip in an attempt to control his impulse to shove into her, and instead lifted her legs higher around his waist as he held onto her hips. His strokes were smooth and slow, never going quite all the way in before pulling out again. She looked up and saw how he was desperately trying to control every instinct that told him to ram it in. She could see the sweat actually break out on his forehead but soon his movements were having her writhe, even in her awkward position on the edge of the sink.

"Gil, baby, more, more."

"No, I–don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I'll let you know if you hurt me. Please, honey, more."

He increased his speed and allowed himself to go deeper but still not the full way and soon she was reaching for him, seeking the heaven she knew she was tumbling toward. She grabbed his arm and moved it until his hand was at their joining and he immediately started circling her hard nub and she couldn't hold the loud screech that escaped. He pumped into her as she arched against him then she knew he was falling into the same sweet abyss as he leaned into her and panted heavily. Slowly, they came back as she left small kisses to his forehead and when he lifted himself and looked at her, she felt her heart melt upon sight of his impish smile.

"Catherine's going to kill us," he told her.

"Gil! You said she wouldn't care!"

"No. I said she did worse things than this. That's not saying she's going to be okay with us doing it on her sink."

She looked at him through disbelieving eyes, then she started to laugh. "Great. Now "you" get to go out first and face her wrath. Not me."

"I missed you," he said and dipped his head to kiss her again.

"Yes, and you're trying to butter up to me so "I" go out first."

"Darling, I came in here because I needed to be with you." He stood up and adjusted himself then closed his pants.

"Uh-huh. Or did you run in here to keep from being lynched for bluffing them out of their money out there?" She took his hand and got to the floor where she stepped into the pants he was holding for her.

"How do you know "I" won? Maybe Catherine won the hand."

"Did she?"

"Of course. She had three eights. I only had two tens."

"Then why did you bet so high?" She asked with a raised brow as she put her hands on his shoulders as he slipped her sneakers on her feet.

"I was trying to impress some girl. Did it work?"

"It must've. It got me to come in here, didn't it?" She met his lips as he came in for another kiss. "So, just what excuse did you give them for sneaking off to join your wife in the bathroom?"

"I didn't give them any. I just got up and came in. Why? Did it bother you?"

"No," she said as she tilted her head back and his kiss moved to her ear and neck. "Not at all. You knocked. The only thing that bothers me is that Catherine's going to kill us!"

"Catherine's busy trying to convince Greg that Abigail just said her name."

"What?"

"She's only doing it to upset him. He says she should say "his" name first because he plays with her more."

"So–what did Abby say?"

"I don't know. Something that might've sounded like an expletive to me more than Catherine's name."

"Oh, God, which expletive?"

"I don't know. But I"m sure Abigail understood what she was saying and hearing the tone she said it in I'd say it's a good possibility she was chewing someone out and using her own little curse words."

"What's she mad about?"

"I don't know. I didn't really care. I was more concerned with her mother at the time."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Well, well, look who decided to come back to the party," Jim said as he continued to stare at his cards.

"I don't get it," Greg speaks up as he tips his chair back on the two hind legs. "I don't think I want to be "that" sharing with my wife when I get married. Some things are just plain private and going to the bathroom is one of them."

"I don't know, Greg," Nick speaks up. "Maybe it's a good idea to go in with her now that she's pregnant. You never know when you'll be able to get in otherwise. I mean, she's always in there peeing."

"That's true," Greg admitted then looked over at Sara as she sat back down on the bar stool. "I saw her go in the bathroom at least four times since she's been here."

"Soda," Sara told them but received blank stares. "I drank too much soda."

Nick and Greg simply nodded their heads in understanding while Brass rolled his eyes with disbelief.

"Where's Catherine?" Sara asked as Grissom moved to sit next to her after checking on Abby who had fallen asleep and was lying on a little cushion that was brought out for her.

"Getting some more munchies from the kitchen with Caitlin. They'll be right back," Greg told her and almost as if on cue they entered the room carrying a vegetable tray and two bags of chips.

"Well, look who came back to join in all the fun," Catherine said snidely as she placed the food at various places on the table.

"We were just talking about whether a man should go into the bathroom with his wife or not. We decided that considering the amount of time a pregnant woman spends in the bathroom, the man better make a run for it whenever he can," explained Nick.

"Uh-huh," Catherine said as she gave Grissom a knowing glance and he gave her a nervous smile. "And I imagine that's just what Griss did–grabbed his chance while he could."

"Hey," Brass said, clearly trying to change the subject. "Anyone hear how they're coming along with the new annex they're adding at the lab?"

"It ought to be finished with construction in about two months but by the time they get it furnished and remodeled, it will probably take another four," Catherine said as she popped a baby carrot into her mouth. "Have either of you seen it yet?"

"Not really. Just a few glances from outside," Sara told her then looked back at Abby. "Gil, I think it's time we go home. I'd like to get Abby in bed before she wakes up and keeps us up for the rest of the night. I have a hard enough time trying to sleep when this one starts doing acrobatics."

"Gris! Stop with the fancy stuff–Sara needs her rest," Catherine teased.

"She's talking about the baby," he explained indignantly as he went to pick up Abby while Sara gathered her diaper bag.

Catherine walked them to the door and held it for them as she kissed Abby's curls. "Oh, and guys, next time you feel the urge to rock out in my house–feel free to use a bed. My bathroom sink can be rather hazardous, especially for a woman seven months pregnant."


	223. Chapter 223

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twenty-Three

It had been about a month since Grissom started teaching and Sara noticed a sense of loss each day as he would leave for his classes. Today, she drove him to work as his car was in the shop and at three-thirty, she was waiting for him in the parking lot, hoping he wasn't running late like he had been two days before. She sat there for another fifteen minutes when the urge to pee became so strong she knew she'd never be able to make it all the way home without relieving the pressure, so she got out of the car, unfolded the stroller, put Abby in it and started inside the hall. She managed to go to the bathroom without too much trouble, then awkwardly pushed the stroller down the hallway that was now empty of most of the students. In a matter of seconds she was coming to his room and saw the woman sitting on the edge of his desk.

"I'm looking forward to dinner. It's been a lot of planning so Roger wouldn't find out."

"I–won't be able to make it, Andrea. With Sara's due date getting closer, I really should spend my time at home and not meeting at a local restaurant."

"Yes, I'm sure she's so large and uncomfortable by now she can barely make it out of bed. I saw her last week and she seems to be growing at a rather rapid rate."

"Really? She's thirty-seven weeks–only three weeks to go," he said with a little spark to his eyes as he went about putting folders into his case.

"I was driving by and saw her sitting on the porch with your little girl and some man. It was when I was on my way to see if you. . ."

"You drove by my house? You know where I live?"

"Of course. I know where all the people live who work for Roger."

At that moment, Abby recognized her father as she looked at him from the other side of the doorway and she let out a very distinct "da-da."

Grissom turned to his wife and daughter.

"No, honey, da-da's busy right now." Sara gave him a sarcastic smile which he returned sheepishly as he picked up his case and started toward the door, pausing to wait for Andrea to join them.

"Excuse me, Andrea. Give Roger my regrets for not attending his dinner this evening. I must be going." He held the door for her then closed it and waited for Andrea to walk ahead of them to the exit, but she remained at his side.

"Of course. I'll pass on your message but I'd really prefer it if you'd come and make your excuses for yourself." The dark-haired woman looked up at him, causing Sara to snort quietly as she started pushing Abby ahead of the others. "The offer's going to remain open until dinner. I'll keep a seat for you."

"Really, Andrea. That won't be necessary. I'm spending the evening with Sara and Abigail. Now, if you'll excuse me." Grissom stepped ahead of Andrea and continued down the hall until he caught up with his very pregnant wife as she struggled to get the stroller through the doorway. "I'm sorry it was taking so long. Mrs. Johnson showed up at the end of class and was intent on having me join her and several other professors for dinner with her husband."

"Mmm-hmm," Sara said with raised brow as she pushed Abby down the sidewalk but the child was busy trying to turn in her seat so she could reach for her father. "I'm sure once you would have shown up for your "dinner" none of the others would have been there, and she would've been the main course."

"Da-da-da-da-DDDAAADDD!"

"Oh for crying out loud." Sara stopped the stroller and waited for Grissom to hand his case to her.

He bent down, unstrapped his daughter then lifted her into his arms where she immediately giggled and reached up to touch his beard.

"Hey, cricket! Daddy missed his ladies today." He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Sara's lips. "And for the record, I was planning on having "you" as a main course tonight."

His suggestion brought a chuckle from his wife. "Why wait until tonight? By the time we get home, Abby's going to be fast asleep."

"Well, I am feeling a bit hungry." He looked back at Abby as she stared at him through eyes that matched his own and stuck her forefinger in her mouth as she chewed on it. "What do you think? Are you feeling sleepy?"

She laughed at him wholeheartedly this time and reached up to grab his nose. "DAD!"

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," he frowned at her so she retaliated by immediately sticking her thumb up his left nostril. "Ow!"

He pulled his head back as they started walking toward the car again, only to have her laugh again, finding his reaction very funny. Her contagious gaiety made Sara chuckle as she watched them walking next to her.

"What'd she do?"

"She stuck her finger up my nose. It hurt."

"Well, it isn't as if she has fingers long enough to reach your brain. What damage could she have done?"

"You mean, since she didn't make it bleed like you did last month, it's okay?"

"That was closer to two months ago–and don't be a baby." She stopped at the car and opened the back door then looked at Abby. "Daddy's being a baby, isn't he?"

Abby merely looked at her with interest, not quite understanding the concept of what she was saying, but liking the attention she was getting from both parents all the same. Sara took the seat out of the stroller and put it in the base on the back seat of her car then she came back to fold the stroller portion but upon bending to pick it up she groaned and put her hand to the small of her back.

"Just wait until I put her in her car seat," Grissom told her. "I'll put it in the trunk."

Sara went around to the front of the car and sat in the driver's seat. She had been having Braxten-Hicks for the past two days and now her back was sore. She had a feeling it was from a certain little Mr. Grissom pushing his butt against her spine a good bit of time. She leaned back against the seat and waited for the tightening of her abdomen to pass then started to buckle her seatbelt but was stopped when she felt Grissom's hand move to her face. She looked up and smiled, not understanding what he was doing, until he leaned toward her and kissed her soundly.

"What's that for?" She asked as he pulled his head back.

"It's been a long day. I couldn't wait to get home. That's what it's for."

"Well, it looks like your admirers don't approve." Sara nodded out the windshield where she saw two female students stop in front of the car and watch them.

"Don't stare!" The one girl told the other.

"But he was kissing her!" The other girl said. "That's so romantic!"

"Oh, God! He saw us watching!" The first girl covered her face with her hand as she turned around. "How am I going to face him in class next week?"

This turned the second girl's dreamy expression to alarm as she looked at Grissom then grabbed onto girl number one and started hurrying up the sidewalk again.

"Do you recognize them?" Sara asked with a chuckle.

"My eleven o'clock class. I'll assign them a little extra research next week to teach them a lesson."

"A lesson about what?" Sara looked at him with humor.

"Not to stare at me when I'm trying to get it on with my wife," he explained tartly and received a jab in the arm.

"Instead of assigning them extra work–you should give them extra credit for having to put up with the image of two old fogies making out in the parking lot. It could scar them for life, ya know."

"She thought it was romantic. You heard her. And the other one–well, she just was too worried about me seeing her to consider our ages. And–my dear–I'm not quite an old fogey just yet. Now, start the car and lets get home before I do more than merely kiss you on campus." His hand moved to her thigh where he slid it upward as far as he could manage before she put her hand on his wrist.

"If you do that in a half hour, you better be prepared to act upon it."

She leaned closer until her forehead was touching his but instead of pulling his hand away, he moved it farther up and started stroking his fingers along the heat he found there. She moaned slightly as she parted her legs and he turned his head until his lips were on hers again. Her hand somehow found his thigh and she felt herself responding immediately to the muscles beneath his slacks. God, but he had beautiful thighs! She really couldn't explain why, when he parted his lips slightly and she felt his breath, her tongue immediately sought his. Nor could she explain why, she was now openly cupping and stroking the front of his pants where he was rapidly growing.

"God, Sara," he breathed against her lips as he held onto the back of her neck with his left hand and continued to stroke her center with his right. "If we don't stop right now, my students are going to be taken way past the "romantic" stage."

She pulled her head back slightly and smiled at him. "I wish it was dark out. I could do "so much" right now if it were dark out."

"With Abigail in the back seat?" He asked as he pulled his hand away from her and leaned back into the passenger's seat. "I don't think that would work."

"Then, I wish it was dark outside–and Abby was at home with Greg watching her." She continued to stoke him through his zipper.

"And what would you do?" He gave her a lopsided smile .

"Lets just say "I'd" be having "my" meal early tonight."

He groaned and pulled her hand away then leaned back against the car seat. "Drive. It isn't dark and Abigail's in the car–so the best we can do is hope our daughter falls asleep on the way home then make a run for the house."

Sara started the ignition and backed out of the parking stall. She kept looking over at him and couldn't stop her tongue from occasionally darting out moistening her lips. He would glance over at her and chuckle but the closer they got to home, the more he began glancing in the back seat where Abby was busy singing to them with no signs of running out of energy. As they parked the car she sat in her seat banging her bottle off the door to keep time with her song. Sara took Grissom's case as he got Abby from the back seat and started inside with her. Sara stopped to pick up their mail then went into the foyer as she listened to him talking to their daughter. She had to smile at his comments as they were nearly laced with despair.

"Come on, firefly, aren't you getting sleepy? Daddy's sleepy. What if we rock and watch a movie? Will you go to sleep then? Come on, cricket, we'll watch "the Princess and the Frog."

Sara finished looking at the mail then went into the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of orange juice and took her time about drinking it. For some reason, and she put the blame on her son, every time she drank something acidic to fast, it came right back on her. She started toward the stairs with the intention of seeing how her husband was doing but stopped suddenly upon sight of him standing at the base the stairs. He looked at her with those eyes and she felt her stomach do a flip-flop.

"That didn't take long." She slowly walked up to him and stopped a foot before him as she pushed her hands in her back pockets.

"I bribed her. I told her I'd give her two months of vacation from her chores every year if she'd take a nap."

"She doesn't have chores yet."

"It'll begin when she does." He closed the distance between them and put his right hand on her stomach. "I'll promise this one the same thing, if he'll allow us some time to finish what you started in the car."

She let a smile creep across her lips as her hands landed on his hips and moved behind him where she took great pleasure in rubbing his backside. "I think he'll be a good boy. Will you?"

He grinned as he pulled her more tightly against him. "I'm always a good boy."

"Prove it."

His mouth covered hers with no disguising the passion he was feeling. There was no gentle sliding of lips, no little nibbles; he immediately thrust his tongue in to meet hers, heating up the kiss so quickly she gasped. She pulled back and looked at him, seeing the need that flamed from his eyes, then she put her hands on his hips again and guided him backwards until he was sitting on the fourth step from the bottom. He looked up at her as she slowly walked toward him and she knew he was even more anxious than she as he parted his legs and allowed her to get on her knees between them. He indicated he needed no preliminaries as his hands went to his zipper and opened his slacks and with a few alterations of his underpants, he was released in all his glory. She took him in her hand and leaned over him, guiding him into her mouth as she ran her tongue around him then started to suck. She heard him moaning and his hand went to the back of her head. She lifted her lips from him and blew across his tip, making him shiver and try to pull her back to him. This time she engulfed him and worked him with every intention of taking him to completion. His fingers tangled in her hair, ran her strands through them and even moved to stroke her face before beginning the process all over again. But when his movement stopped and she felt him jerk, she knew something was wrong. He pulled her off of him but kept her in front of him as he pulled her up and it wasn't until she saw his face that she realized he was hiding himself as he stared through the front door that was across the foyer.

"My God," he hissed and before she could fully turn around she felt him fixing his pants then moving her as he leaped to his feet.

This was when she saw what had interrupted them as Andrea Johnson stood at the door, looking inside through the two-inch opening between the sides of the curtains.

"Gil!" Sara gasped in shock.

She never would have thought anyone could see them from outside but the fact was that if they tried hard enough they could see inside. Grissom opened the door and was outside in an instant, leaving Sara sitting on the stairs behind him. She watched, still not believing anyone could be so brazen and vulgar, as he took hold of Andrea's upper arm and moved with her across the porch and out of Sara's view. By the time she got to her feet and moved to the door she found them standing face-to-face with Andrea's hands on Grissom's chest as she gazed up into his eyes. By the time she opened the door and stepped onto the porch, he was ushering Andrea down the stairs and to her car.

"You've got to go," he told her as he opened her door.

"Gil, I'm so sorry, but I don't know what you're so upset about. Do you think I don't realize you have relations with your wife. It doesn't change anything."

"Just go, Andrea. We'll be discussing this later."

Sara's mouth dropped open as she watched the woman drive away and Grissom slide his hand through his hair in frustration before looking up at her. He walked back to her but by the time he was half-way up the steps to the porch she was inside with the door closed between them. He entered behind her and she spun around to look at him.

"We'll be discussing this later?" She hissed at him. "And it didn't change anything?"

"What?" He looked at her through confusion.

"Go! Discuss it now! Why keep her waiting? Especially if it doesn't change anything!" She turned and stomped up the stairs.

"Sara–she meant it didn't change anything concerning the ridiculous dinner invitation!" He marched up behind her.

"Of course she means the dinner invitation, you idiot! She's talking about the same thing she stood there watching!"

"Don't turn this around on me! I can't help it some lunatic is into voyeurism and decided to pop in while I'm getting fellatio on the stairs!"

A whimper from inside the door they were arguing outside of informed them that they had succeeded in waking Abby.

"Great! Now you woke her up!" Sara turned and went in to pick up the child who was turning over onto her stomach and pushing herself onto her hands and knees before grabbing the rail of her crib and standing up. "Come here, baby. We'll go lie down on Mommy's bed. Daddy can go back to his "own" room."

"Now we're back to this? I'm not going back to the other room so just forget that thought."

He followed her into the bedroom they now shared and he pulled his cell out of his pocket and went into his contact list then speed dialed. She went to the edge of the bed and sat on it and Abby wasted no time getting to the floor and hobbling around the bed's edge before grabbing onto her father's pant legs.

"Abby," Sara said quietly as she went over to pick her up but felt the pain shoot through her back as she bent over. She put her hand to the small of her back and tried again but Grissom swooped down and lifted the child in his free arm.

"Roger. . . This is Gil. Yes. You did? And what did she happen to tell you? You "can't" believe that I'd be having relations with Sara "out in the open for everyone to see." I was in my own home behind closed doors. No. She stood at my door, looking in. Roger. . .Roger. . .Look if this is going to persist I have no problem dropping out of my position. I guess that'll be your problem finding another forensic entomologist to cover the courses. Then I suggest you pull in a tighter reign on your wife, Roger. If you can't control her, she's going to push someone too far and get into trouble. You "know" I'm not the first one, Roger. Take down the damned blindfolds and see what's going on around you, if not for your own sake, then for your daughter's." He flipped his cell closed and tossed it onto the bureau then put his hand on his daughter's back as she lay her head on his shoulder, still in a sleepy state. He looked at Sara and she stared back at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "The baby's just putting too much pressure on my back."

"Do you want to lie down?"

"No, Gil. I want you to make sure the problem's taken care of."

He took two steps toward her and lifted his free hand to her face then put it on the back of her neck, holding her still as he leaned in to kiss her. "I will. I'm not going to let her come between us, Sara."

"See that she doesn't," she said in a weary voice then turned and went downstairs where she began dinner.


	224. Chapter 224

Chapter Two-Hundred-Twenty-Four

Sara stood at the oven, preparing to put a casserole inside when Grissom walked into the kitchen behind her. She opened the door and lifted the glass container but as she started to bend with it, she felt the pain in her back. She didn't want to alarm Grissom so she remained facing the other direction until the food was safely put in the appliance. When she did turn, she couldn't stop the smile from crossing her face as she watched her husband holding onto Abby's hands as she walked in front of him.

"What do you have to say to Mommy?" Grissom asked the child and she shrieked and giggled as she quickened her step. "Go on, tell her. Say Mom-my."

"Mom-mom-mom-mom!"

Sara gasped as she knelt down to the floor and watched her daughter make her way toward her. They had been hearing da-da for months, mingled in with aye-aye next, and even shi-it on occasion, but this was the first time she managed mom.

"Ohh, baby! That's beautiful!" She held her arms out and Grissom tried to release her hands but she was still a little unsure of herself as she held onto one of his fingers and she moved toward her mother.

"Mom-mom-mom!"

"You're so smart!" Sara chuckled as Abby grabbed onto her arms and pulled until she was standing face-to-face with her.

"Of course she's smart. She's your daughter, isn't she?" Grissom asked as he watched them from where he leaned against the sink.

Sara looked up at him as Abby put her arms around her and lay her head on her shoulder, continuing with her "mom-mom-momming." "You're just trying to butter me up."

"Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes and attempted to get up but Abby's added weight made it nearly impossible. Grissom took Sara's hand until she was standing next to him, breathing a little heavier than usual. "I'll tell ya after I catch my breath."

He reached for Abby and lifted her from Sara's arms then ushered Sara to a chair and knelt next to her. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I'm fine. He's just a little taller than Abby was. He likes to press on my lumbosacral area while trying to shove his head up through my lungs."

She put her hand on the hard area of her stomach, seeing a bump that was either his head or his butt. Abby leaned forward and laid her head on the large bulge.

"Where's the baby?" Grissom asked his daughter and Abby smiled up at him as she continued to lay on her mother's tummy. He looked at Sara as she seemed to be enjoying her daughter's comforting gestures to her new baby. "Is Abigail ready for her new brother?"

Still, she merely smiled at her father and when her "brother" moved his butt beneath Abby's head she giggled with delight.

"I think Abby's going to have a hard time sharing "daddy" with her brother," Sara said as she stroked her daughters dark curls.

"We'll simply involve her so much she won't feel left out. By the time he's six months old, she'll be so used to him, she'll be changing his diapers." He stood up and lifted Abby then reached his hand toward Sara again. "Come on, lets go in the room for a while. We'll cuddle on the sofa."

"Gil, we're never going to fit on the sofa," she complained but she got up and walked with him anyway.

"We'll try."

Together they went to the livingroom where Grissom sat with Abby on his lap, then put his arm around Sara as she turned with her legs stretched across the cushions. She leaned against him and was treated to a big hug from behind as Abby found her position to be extremely funny.

"How about if you come around here and we'll watch TV?" Sara pulled Abby around, with Grissom's assistance, until she was nestled between her mother and the back of the sofa. Grissom clicked the remote control until a large praying mantis filled the screen. "Gil, she's not going to sit still for that. Get some cartoons on."

"Just a minute," he said absently as he continued to watch the insect, then he lifted the remote again but as he glanced at Abby he found her watching the screen as well. "See? She likes it."

Sara sighed as she nestled back against him and Abby did the same. She knew after about ten minutes that her daughter had fallen asleep. They allowed her to sleep for about ten minutes more, then Grissom got up and moved her to the playpen where he placed a blanket over her and put her little blue dog next to her. He came back to the sofa and started unbuttoning his shirt, then removed it. He removed his shoes then took Sara's hand until he had her standing in front of the long piece of furniture. After a moment's consideration he stretched his length on the cushions, then reached for her. She looked at him doubtfully but lay in front of him and he put his arm around her waist as they both relaxed and watched the documentary.

The ringing of the telephone woke Sara and she slowly got up with Grissom's help and went to the end table where the cell was.

"Hello?" She said sleepily.

"Hi, Sara. It's me, Lily. Did I wake you? You sound sleepy."

"No–no, I was getting up anyway to check on dinner. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for one last excursion before you have your little bundle of joy. You could join Marj and me on a trip to Playland in the mall. I'm sure Abby would love it. There are little rides she can go on. We can share a pizza with the kids and let them run off a little steam. And–while we're there. . ."

"You've got something you want, Lily. What is it?"

"Well," Lily started hesitantly then went on with great enthusiasm. "Marj and I would just love it if you'd help plan the Easter Egg Hunt for the faculty children. Sort of like what we did for Christmas with Santa Claus, but we'd have baskets and lots and lots of eggs and prizes galore! We'd have to split the hunt into about three separate hunts, you know, one just for kids Abby's age, one for say, three to five years, and one for six to ten. Oh, we'd have lots of fun!"

Sara couldn't help but giggle at her excitement. "You do realize that by that time I'll be home with another little one, don't you? I don't know how much help I'll be."

"Oh, the planning is a huge help! And then we'll take care of the leg work while you're having the baby and by the time of the egg hunt, you'll be up and around again. Please? We'd love it if you'd say yes."

Sara sighed, not knowing if she could be the least bit helpful in this area. She wasn't what one would call an expert in children's activities such as this. But, the thought of Abby collecting brightly colored eggs convinced her to participate. "Alright. When do you want to meet at Playland?"

"Ohh!" Lily squealed. "Great! Tomorrow for lunch? Can you make it? It's at the Diamond Dust Plaza. You're familiar with it, aren't you?"

"Yes, I know where it's at."

"Great! I'll see you there tomorrow at eleven-thirty, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said sleepily and closed the cell.

She looked at Grissom who was still lying on the sofa, looking rather rumpled with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She felt her body coiling in reaction to the way he was watching her and before she could stop to think about it, she was pushing him onto his back as she straddled his mid-section. She felt his already half hardened erection as it gave her just the right amount of pressure to her core and she ground her hips against him. His fingers gripped onto her hips as he assisted her in the movement that was pleasing to them both but what started as a simple form of relief quickly turned into something much more as her senses went into overdrive. She wasn't sure what caused it, but she was already on the verge of climaxing. She bit her lip as she looked down at him and started riding him harder and even with their layers of clothing between them, she began to shake with the orgasm that overcame her. She collapsed on top of him and clutched onto his tee-shirt, still not quite sure what happened until she heard the rumble of his gentle laughter.

"What do you call that?" He asked as he stroked her hair out of her face.

"I–I don't know. You just looked so good–and I wanted you so much I couldn't stop myself–and oh my god! I don't believe that just happened!" She rushed.

"Who was on the phone? Maybe they should call more often," he teased.

"It was Lily. She wants me to help plan an Easter egg hunt. I don't think the thought of the Easter Bunny turned me on, Gil!"

"Maybe it was the thought of me dressed up like the Easter bunny? Hmm?"

"Oh–don't put that image in my head! Too late! Now I see you dressed in a furry pink costume–with ears two foot tall, and one of them is bent as if you're deep in thought. You've got this great big furry butt with a white puff ball for a tail. And you're carrying a carrot."

He chuckled again as he stroked her back. "I see it more as a blue bunny. But still with the big fluff ball tail."

"Either way. . .I don't know what came over me! And so quickly!" She looked at him, then saw the twinkle in his eyes and she became very suspicious. "Hey! Were you doing something while I was sleeping?"

"You'll never know," he laughed.

"That's not fair, Gris!" She sat up and looked down at him. "I missed out on the first half of it!"

"No you didn't. You didn't miss out on "anything." If it isn't fair to "anyone" it's me. I didn't get to finish."

She raised her brow as she looked at him. Then as quickly as she could manage, and with his assistance, she got off of him and started toward the kitchen to check on dinner. "That's what you get for starting something while I'm deep in sleep!"

Sara sat through dinner, watching Grissom interact with Abby as she sat in her high chair Sara placed some of her homemade "Abby Pasta Salad" she had made earlier that day onto Abby's tray and they both watched carefully as she picked up the pieces and put them into her mouth. She and Grissom were eating a similar "adult" version along with the casserole she had made for dinner. After dinner Grissom took Abby into the livingroom where he proceeded to play ball with her as he sat on the edge of the sofa and she sat on the floor and rolled it back and forth to one another. Sara remained in the kitchen and put the food away then cleaned up, joining them when she was finished.

"Show Mommy. Where's the ball?" Grissom asked and Abby held the ball up above her head then tossed it to her father but had it shoot out at an angle before coming to a stop under the coffee table. "How about the TV?"

Abby looked at the television then back to her father. He tried a few other things such as the table, books, and chair but she was only interested in crawling beneath the coffee table to retrieve the ball then found one of her blocks which took her attention away from the game. Grissom leaned back on the sofa as he sat next to Sara and they watched Abby pull herself up to a standing position as she held onto the coffee table. She let go and looked at her surroundings as if she didn't quite understand what to do next, then she went into a little panic mode and quickly dropped to her butt. From there, she pulled herself back up and walked along the edge of the table as she held onto it then turned and grabbed onto the sofa's cushions and walked up until she was trying to pull herself up onto her mother's legs. Grissom reached down and lifted her.

"Where's Daddy's nose?" Sara asked, turning Abby's eyes immediately to her father's face.

"Where's the baby?" Grissom asked and this time she looked at him and smiled as she leaned over and rested against her mother's large belly.

Almost as if the little boy could feel his sister, he started kicking and tumbling around inside. Sara smiled, not sure if it was in appreciation of Abby or if he was protesting, but the more he moved, the more Abby giggled, evidently liking the little ride.

They spent the rest of the evening giving Abby a bath before watching television with her until she fell asleep within the first hour. They each took their turn in the bathroom after that and as Grissom was taking his shower, Sara climbed into bed. It wasn't uncommon for her to get overly hot while sleeping these nights, so she simply wore a pair of panties and tank top as she spread out on the mattress and quickly fell asleep.

"Darling?" Grissom whispered against her ear, making her eyelids flutter until she was looking at the wall as her husband lay behind her. "I love you more than life itself, but if you keep doing this in your sleep, I may have to resort to sleeping alone on the sofa."

She turned her head slightly and looked at him through knit brows, trying to figure out what he was talking about until she realized she was holding onto his hand as she pressed it against her breast. "What are you doing?"

He chuckled behind her and gave her breast a squeeze. "I'm" not doing "anything," my dear. You woke me up when you started wiggling that delectable little butt of yours back against me. Then you moved my hand up here. Not that I'm complaining–but if you're going to begin these things and leave me in the lurch like you did this afternoon–I wont be able to sleep all night."

"Well," she said slowly as she reached behind herself and put her hand on his hip and pulled him closer to her. "We can't have that, now can we?"

He kissed her shoulder and she turned her head to give him access to the side of her neck as she began gyrating her bottom against his semi-rigid shaft that was pressing against her. After a moment he pulled her onto her back and moved his kiss down over her breasts until he took a plump nipple between his lips and began to suckle. The sensation was so intense that she squirmed on the mattress beneath him. He continued his feast a little longer then lifted his head as he looked down her body. His fingers slid beneath the elastic of her panties and slid them down her legs before tossing them to the floor, then he returned to her lips. He kissed her so thoroughly that she thought she was going to climax simply from that but as she began clutching at his tee-shirt he moved to her side and turned her so he was facing her back. His kisses moved across her shoulder as she lay on her right side and she could feel him fumbling with his boxers behind her, then in the next instant he was sliding up behind her and filling her completely. She held onto her pillows as he moved within her, her size making this the easiest position they had come up with as he lifted her top leg until it was propped on top of his. He held onto her hips as he moved within her and each stroke felt as if it were going a bit deeper than the last. He continued, building in rhythm, power and speed according to her requests until she felt herself catapulting over the edge of heaven. He continued for several moments more until she felt him stiffen behind her and release himself in her depths. When he returned to his position directly behind her and spooned against her, he kissed her hair.

"God, Sara, you fit me like a glove–like a second half of myself," he told her, still a little out of breath.

She smiled as she held onto his arm that he had around her. "You like that, did you?"

"Always."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara sat in the excessively loud restaurant and leaned her head against her hands. She watched as Grissom put Abby in a little seat that once he put a token in it would lift her and move her in a circle much like a mini-Ferris wheel. Sara tried not to show her amusement as he was being bombarded by the Klein brothers and little Desmond Maes.

"But "why" can't she go in the ball pit?" Four-year-old Markie Klein whined as he gazed up at Grissom.

"Because she's not big enough," Grissom tried to explain without an abundance of tolerance for the little guys. "She'd get stuck in there."

"She can crawl, Dr. Grissom," responded five-year-old Desmond Maes. "She can crawl through the tubes."

"But what if she gets up there and gets lost?" Grissom asked. "Abigail is doing just fine down here with me."

Grissom lifted Abby from the ride that had just finished and gave an exasperated look at the littlest guy as he started tugging on his pants.

"I think she ought to go on the merry-go-round!" Markie instructed him. "I love the merry-go-round! Come on–let's take her on the merry-go-round!"

"She'll fall off," Grissom told him. "I'm not putting her on the merry-go-round."

"But everyone loves the merry-go-round!" Markie insisted.

"I" don't love the merry-go-round," Grissom sighed as Abby held onto his shoulder with one hand and chewed on the finger of her other hand as she watched the little boys surrounding her father.

"You could get on it with her, Dr. Grissom," Desmond told him. "She can't fall off if you're holding her on it."

"I'm too big for it," he explained. "And I told you–"I" don't like the merry-go-round."

"Well," Desmond snorted. "Just because "you" don't like it–doesn't mean Abigail won't."

"Yeah!" Markie agreed as he tugged on Grissom's pant leg again. "Abigail will love it!" He turned and looked at Desmond. "Who's Abigail?"

"I believe you call her "Abby," Desmond told his young friend.

"Ahh," Markie nodded his head in understanding. "Can we go in the ball pit now?"

"Yes," Grissom said with great relief. "Go play in the ball pit!"

"Can we take Abby with us?" Markie asked.

"No. You're too little to take her in there."

"I can take her in the ball pit." Seven-year-old Ronald approached the others after having taken a bite of his pizza. "I can make sure she'll be okay."

"Yeah–we'll make sure she's okay!" Little Markie told him.

"No," Grissom told them again. "She's not going in the ball pit."

"Why can't she go in the ball pit?" Markie nearly cried with exasperation at the man.

"I have my reasons."

"Well, I could get on the merry-go-round with her," Ronald told him. "I'll sit in the little carriage with her."

"And what if she tries to climb off?" Grissom asked with a raised brow.

"Fine," Ronald said with as much exasperation as his little brother. "But you're not letting her have much fun."

"I think she's had more than enough "fun" for one day." Grissom returned to the table where Sara continued to watch him.

"So, what are your reasons for not putting her in the ball pit?" Sara asked quietly with a tolerant smile.

"Kids urinate in there!" Grissom hissed. "I'm not letting Abigail crawl around in that pool of bacteria!"

Sara looked back at the colored balls. "Ew."

Grissom put Abby in her stroller and Sara got out her little container of Cheerios and let her snack on them but the little girl was much more interested in the boy who approached them with a glow stick he was dangling in front of her.

"Here ya go, Abs. You can have this. I'll win another one." Ronald Klein handed the glowing purple wand but instead of walking away, he simply stood there watching her.

"Did–you–want something?" Grissom asked with a raised brow as he looked at the boy.

"Huh?" Ronald looked up at Grissom as if in a daze.

"Ronald!" Marj called from where she had just changed her own little newborn daughter's diaper. "Are you bothering the Grissoms?"

"No." He turned and went back to his mother. "But she sure is pretty."

Sara watched as Grissom's eyes widened a little more than usual and he pulled the stroller in closer to himself.

"Are you almost ready?" He asked as he looked at her.

"I didn't finish my pizza," she chuckled. "Anyway, you only want to leave because you're afraid little Ronald Klein might sweep Abby off her feet."

"Little Ronald Klein, and Markie Klein, and Desmond Maes," he grumbled as he kept a wary eye on the three little boys.

At that moment, Leah, the Klein's newest member to the family decided she was very hungry and started crying. Sara watched as Marjorie picked up the little girl and started giving her a bottle as her husband entered the restaurant with Jeffrey Maes, both carrying balloons for the little guys.

"Here, ya go, Gil." Jeffrey handed a pink one to Grissom. "We got one for each of them. If you tie it to her stroller, it'll keep her occupied for hours! I learned that trick when Desmond was a baby."

Jeffrey took the other balloon over and gave it to his son then sat next to Lily who was looking at Sara as if trying to silently get her attention. Finally Sara looked at her and watched as she tried to be inconspicuous as she pointed to her breasts. Sara knit her brows in confusion but Grissom caught sight of the interaction then looked at Sara. He grabbed her jacket and handed it to her as he leaned toward her.

"You're . . . leaking."

"I'm what?" Sara looked at him.

"It was the baby crying," Lily whispered. "I bet it triggered it."

Sara looked down at the large wet spot that saturated her blouse around her nipples and grabbed her jacket, immediately pulling it on.

"Oh, my God! I didn't do this with Abby!"

"Don't get upset over it," Lily said with sympathy. "It's common–really. You should've seen me with Desmond–Jeffrey should've bought stock in nursing pads. Just pick up some and carry them with you. They'll do the trick."

"Here," Marj Klein said quietly as she handed two under the table to Lily, who passed them on to Sara. "I had to wear them for the first week after I had Leah. They've been in my diaper bag but they're fine to wear. It might not cover the damaged area now but it will stop it from getting worse."

"Thank you," Sara said then moved to go to the woman's bathroom where she inserted the small pads.

When she came out she found her husband waiting with Abby who was now holding a pink glow stick and a little green stuffed octopus. She looked over at the claw machine that they evidently had been won from and saw Ronald Klein busily trying to win another stuffed prize.

"I want to go home," Grissom told her quietly and groaned when they heard Ronald's little cheer of triumph. Grissom closed his eyes a moment as if dreading what he knew was coming.

"Hey!" Ronald walked over to the stroller and held a stuffed red heart with a stuffed rose attached to it. "Here ya go."

Abby glanced up at him and instantly took the prize before pulling it to her and inspecting the treasure he had given her, but that seemed to be the extent of her interest in him and he returned to the claw machine.

"Ah," Lily said as she approached them. "He gave her his heart. Isn't that sweet."


	225. Chapter 225

A/N: I do apologize for taking such a long time to get back to the story. I truly thought I'd get right back to this story after I finished my other three, but life intervened. It started with the stomach flu going through my house one-by-one, then sinus infections, then my oldest daughter was in a car accident and of course there's always school. But, now things are on the road to going back to normal again and hopefully, I'll be able to post more frequently again. Maybe not as much as I once had (I'm coming into a very busy week at school where I'll be there every night for eight days straight), but I'll certainly make every effort to get to you more often. Thank you to all of you who have stayed with me so loyally!

Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Five

Sara placed her hands on the back of her hips and pressed as she stretched, relieving some of the ache she had been feeling all day. It wouldn't be long now—only two more weeks to her due date and she hoped little Mr. Grissom wouldn't be late. She made her way up the stairs and paused as she looked into Abigail's bedroom. The sight of Grissom still in his trousers, dress shirt with a loosened tie and sleeves rolled midway up his forearms sent a tingle clear to her toes. He glanced up at her from where he was sitting in the rocking chair with a very drowsy dark-haired cherub on his lap as she looked at the book he had been reading. Abigail grunted her disapproval at her father's lapse in focus then pressed her hand to his bearded cheek until he returned to reading about the mystical Monarch butterfly that was about to fly away and join the fairy army.

Sara gave him a tolerant smile and continued on her way to the bedroom at the front of the house where she sat on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes. The little lines that were left on her feet brought tears to her eyes. She was swollen and felt as large as a cow. She knew it was only temporary, but after seeing her husband in the next room looking so desirable that her mouth damn near watered, then coming into their bedroom and seeing herself in this state. . .well, her pregnancy hormones weren't letting it pass by without a twinge of self-pity. She sighed as she got to her feet and moved to the closet where she opened the door and listened as Grissom continued with his story to their daughter. Sara pulled her blouse over her head then lowered her slacks down over her hips and belly. When she turned to deposit the clothing in the hamper, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror and this time the moisture in her eyes nearly spilled over their lids' edges. She removed her bra then turned to look fully into the mirror as her hand rested on her protruding abdomen. She sighed deeply then turned back toward the dresser where she had a tablet and pen, quickly jotting down "WALK 3 MILES!" She stared at it a moment then added, "Take Abby to the zoo," then "Meet Catherine and Nick at the lab for lunch." She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a large nightshirt and quickly pulled it over her head but grabbed the pen again as it dropped around her thighs. "Wash all the baby's clothes. Make up crib again—put blue sailboat afghan on foot of bed over bumble bee comforter. Clean oven. Read out cupboards and get ready for baby's bottle supplies. Scrub kitchen floor. Go through desk and throw away old ads that are piling up."

"I think that's enough for one day—don't you?" Grissom's voice came from directly behind her and made her jerk with surprise.

"You scared me," she smiled and leaned back in his arms as his hands found the front of her stomach and gently caressed the roundness. "I wasn't expecting you to be here so soon. Did you bribe our daughter again?"

"Absolutely. I told her she can have her chocolate bunny from her Easter basket as well as the baby's." He let his hands slide up until they went inside her nightshirt and he cupped a breast in each palm, sliding his thumbs over the nipples. "We "are" having baskets for both children, aren't we?"

"Unless this little bundle of joy decides he's going to be coming extraordinarily late. . ."

"He won't. He's going to be very punctual. Two more weeks and he'll be ready to provide some real competition with Abigail." He turned her around in his arms and looked at her. "Hey, what's with the teary eyes?"

She snorted a quiet laugh and dropped her eyes until he lifted her chin with his finger. "I look like a hippo."

He raised a brow at her and she could see how he was trying to fight the urge to let his eyes wander down over her body, finally giving up on the facade as he took a step back and openly inspected her. She could see how his lips twitched in an attempt to stop from smiling until she slapped his arm and he couldn't hide it any longer.

"What?" He laughed at her.

"GRISS!"

"You don't look like a hippo, honey. Really! You're beautiful and so damned sexy as you're standing there carrying our baby that I'm ready to tip you back on that mattress and . . .well. . .do things I would never contemplate doing to a hippopotamus." He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her forehead. "You're beautiful, Sara. And if you give me two minutes to undress, I'll show you how desirable I'm finding you."

"You didn't "used" to need two minutes to show me," she pouted as she rubbed her forehead against him like a kitten wanting to be petted. "You wouldn't even wait to undress."

He chuckled and kissed her again. "Alright. Then come on—I'll tip you back onto the mattress. . ." He pulled her along and started to push her back toward the mattress but she clutched onto his arms when he pretended he was going to give her a hefty shove. "What? Now you don't want to be tipped over?"

"No! Not when I'm this big! I'll never get back up!"

"Then we'll do it this way," he said as he kissed her forehead a third time and turned with them until his back was toward the bed.

His fingers found the front of her nightshirt and started pulling it up as his lips moved down to place a little kiss on the tip of her nose. When he moved on to her lips, he had the nightshirt pulled up over her waist and by the time he got to her neck and throat he had to pull back as he pulled the clothing over her head and tossed it aside.

"I just put that on," she breathed dreamily as she tilted her head and allowed him to resume his luxurious caressing of her tender skin.

"And I just took it off," he said then reached between them and manipulated his belt buckle, button and zipper. He pushed his pants over his hips until they reached his mid-thighs then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his legs where he began feasting on her plump breasts. He moaned deeply and she slid her fingers through his graying curls as she looked down at him, realizing he had found a new treasure that he wasn't expecting. He looked up at her a moment and she smiled slightly then nodded, giving her permission for him to continue. It had only been a matter of time before her "leaking" would extend into their lovemaking.

She watched as his gaze moved back to her breast and before she realized it, she was being pulled down onto the bed as he quickly moved to lie beside her. He resumed his attention he was giving to her breasts as his hand splayed across her bottom and pulled her more tightly against his upper abdomen. Suddenly his gentleness was becoming a little more demanding as he continued his attention to her breasts and she could feel him beginning to grow long and hard against her thighs. She slid her fingers down the sides of her panties and with his help they were removed in an instant then he rolled onto his back and pulled her with him so swiftly that she nearly rolled off the other side of the bed. She grabbed onto the mattress on either side of his head so she wasn't crushing him and held herself slightly above him but he didn't release her. Instead, he grabbed onto her hips and moved her until she could feel him throbbing beneath her bottom.

"Let's move up here," she suggested when she glanced up at the headboard and realized it could provide her with great assistance if they were to continue in this way.

He released her and gave a sigh of frustration but soon followed until he was semi-sitting/semi-reclining against the headboard and she straddled him. He guided himself into her velvety sheath, his gaze intensifying as she looked into those blue orbs. She shivered as the magnificence of his male beauty struck her for the millionth time and she grasped onto his neck, pulling him to her as her lips found his and she thrust her tongue between them. God, he tasted so good. And she didn't think she could ever get enough of him.

He pulled her to him, his kiss turning just as desperate as hers and she responded by swaying back and forth, eliciting a deep moan of satisfaction from him. She pulled back briefly and looked at him but he placed both hands on either side of her face and pulled her back to resume their kiss.

"Don't ever leave me again, little girl," he breathed against her lips. "You're my very soul and my life is pointless without you."

This time she "did" pull back as she looked into eyes that revealed a vulnerability that nearly broke her heart. She gave the tiniest of smiles as she brushed her lips across his again.

"I won't leave you."

He hugged her to him, then started a gentle rocking that intensified the sensations he was already eliciting inside of her and soon her fingers were clutching and releasing against his shoulders like a kitten pawing a scratching post. She let her head fall back as he resumed his attention to her throat and on to her chest as his fingertips danced up and down her spine. She cradled him to her as her flesh burned and tingled for him. He went on and on, prolonging their lovemaking as long as he could until eventually he slipped his fingers beneath her buttocks and started lifting her. She was feeling herself beginning to coil and moaned deeply as she swayed against his chest and when he hugged her tightly and growled from the depths of his throat, burying his face against her skin, she could feel his spasmodic release. She felt herself beginning to spiral to dizzying heights before her climax hit and she collapsed against him. Finally, their breathing resumed normalcy and he lifted his head to smile at her.

"You make my heart sing."

"Was that what you called it?" She asked and when he raised a brow at her she began to giggle. "I'm sorry. You can serenade me any time."

She bent and quickly pecked his lips then slowly straightened with a resounding "oomph" as she felt her stomach begin to tighten. He looked at her as he felt her abdomen become rock hard.

"Are you okay?"

"Mmm," she said as she moved to get off of him then stood next to the bed with one hand on her abdomen and her other on the small of her back. "Braxton-Hicks. I've been having them all day. It will go away soon."

"Are you sure? I mean, should I be timing it or anything?"

"No—really. If it happens again a few times, then you can start to time them." She breathed easier as the pain let up. "There—see? I've got two weeks yet."

He watched her a moment then reached out and took her hand. He pulled it to his mouth and kissed her fingers then pulled her until they were both lying side-by-side. "Then I suggest we make up for the six weeks of abstinence we'll face after the little guy "does" get here."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Gil! Will you hurry up? I have to pee!" Sara stepped from one foot to the other and back again as she waited for Grissom to push the stroller up their sidewalk.

"You're the one who had to go for a walk at six-thirty in the morning. If it were up to me, we'd both still be in bed, sound asleep." He tilted the contraption and pushed it up the steps onto the porch then unlocked the door and opened it as Sara swept past him in search of the nearest bathroom. He looked down at his curly-haired daughter who was sleeping fitfully in her little mobile nest, then lifted her into his arms and started through the house and up the stairs. "Wouldn't we, cricket? Maybe if we sneak up the stairs, she won't notice and we can get another hour of sleep."

"Gil?" Sara called as she came out of the bathroom and met him as he was putting Abigail back into her crib. "What are you doing? We're going out to meet Catherine and the guys for lunch."

Grissom looked at his watch then back at her. "Lunch is in three hours, my dear."

"I know, but I've got a lot I wanted to get done."

"Such as?"

"I wanted to re-wash the baby's clothes. . .and make the crib up. . .and fill the dressing table in his room. . ." She walked through Abigail's bedroom and into her closet, pausing to look at the clothes hanging there. "And I think we should go through her clothes and see what fits and what doesn't. She's growing like a weed. There's no sense keeping all these if she can't squeeze into them anymore." She walked through the closet and out the other side into her own bedroom. "And I think I want the bassinet brought in here for the first few weeks. We had Abby in our bedroom with us when she was first born, so I think we should do the same for this one. Do you want to get the bassinet or should I bring it over? Gil? Gil?"

"I'm right here," he sighed as he came in through the main doorway, carrying the bassinet she had mentioned. "I figured you'd want it over here. So. . ."

"Oh! Put it right there. I'll make it up. Did you bring the sheet and blanket? Oh—you did. You're getting really good at this "daddy" thing, ya know?"

"I hope so," he grunted as he sat the small piece of furniture next to the bed then turned to look at her again. "So, if I make up the bassinet and go through Abigail's clothes, would that mean you'd be finished with all this hyperactivity and we can go back to bed and get some more sleep?"

Sara stopped mid-stride and looked back at him with a puzzled expression. "But I'm not sleepy."

"Of course not. You slept all night."

"Well what were you doing?"

"Nothing," he said with a little embarrassment and turned back to the small bed.

"Gil?" She noted his illness at ease and walked over next to him where she let her fingertips trace down over his chest as she teased him. "Did you have trouble sleeping?"

"I did—and you know it." He tried to turn away but she put her arms around his neck and smiled at him. "Don't look so smug, my dear. You may be sleeping through all of this now—but in a few weeks, "I'll" be the one who is sleeping and you're going to be getting up to feed and diaper our son."

"Oh, and I suppose you won't?"

"I'll pretend not to hear—or by then I'll be so completely exhausted because his mother likes to tease his father nearly to death in her sleep, that I truly "won't" hear him."

This comment brought a giggle from her as she ran her finger along his bearded jawline. "What was I doing this time?"

He looked at her indignantly as his hands automatically went to her waist and pulled her closer to him. "Your usual. Bump and grind, then when that doesn't get the results you want then you start massaging me."

"But why don't you simply grab my hand and stop me?"

"Because sometimes you wake up on your own and complete what you're starting. Other times, like last night—you either simply stop and roll over and start snoring. . ." he paused when she raised an irritated brow at him. ". . .a very delicate little snore. . .or you wait until I start to respond and you wake up and tell me under no uncertain terms – not now, you're sleeping."

"Ah, my poor baby," she crooned as she leaned in and kissed his lips. "Then why don't you just lie down and catch up on your sleep while I go take a shower? We'll finish all this after we get back from lunch today."

He paused again as he looked around the room, then to the bed before looking back at her again like someone who had just been granted his fondest wish. "Are you sure?"

"Go to sleep, Gil. I'll be back as soon as I finish my shower."

Sara grabbed some clean clothes and retreated down the hall to the bathroom then stepped into the steaming shower, allowing the jets of water to gently pound the small of her back. It had been bothering her again this morning but she didn't want to alarm Grissom. Instead she took her time about shampooing her hair, shaving her legs the best she could, then getting out and using a quick run-through with the hair dryer before returning to the bedroom where she found her husband sound asleep. She put her dirty clothes into the hamper and turned around, taking in the beauty of him as he slept. He wasn't even fully on the bed as he evidently merely removed his jeans then sat on its edge and lay back with his feet still on the floor. He looked so damned delicious as she watched him that she couldn't have stopped herself if she had really wanted to.

She quietly moved to the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor between his knees. She gently slid her fingers up his thighs and could feel them begin to tense almost on contact and when they found their way inside his boxers, his deep groan gave away the fact that he was waking up. She reached up to the waistband and started pulling as he lifted his hips enough to slide them down and expose his immenseness in all its glory and she felt a hunger in her that she couldn't put aside. He always had the most amazing way of threading his fingers through her hair as she would take him into her mouth, and the sensation was just as stimulating to her as what she was doing to him. She felt him as he continued to grow against her teeth and she ran them up the length of him, hearing him hiss his gratitude as she went. She took him into her mouth as far as she could and used her hand beneath her lips to prolong the sensations for him. She took pleasure in running the smooth fronts of her teeth over his sensitive areas and bringing forth a series of sounds from Grissom's lips that he couldn't suppress. She teased him as she would work in powerful strokes with great suction then mingle it with tingling caresses as she alternated between nibbling and sliding over him. She soon was beginning to feel the effects of her own stimulation and it threw her into overdrive as she went to work on him. He was trying very hard to maintain control but soon was thrashing on the bed and then spread his fingers along the back of her head and guided her toward his eruption.

She took her fill of him then gently kissed her way back up his body until she was leaning over him and he slowly opened his eyes and smiled one of his "I-can-make-you-wet-in-less-than-thirty-seconds" smiles before rolling her over until he was partially lying on top of her and began kissing her.

"To what do I own the pleasure of such a vigorous awakening?"

"Let's just say you've put up with enough teasing for one day—and I couldn't pass you by as I entered the bedroom. You just looked so . . . appetizing."

He smiled sheepishly at her then sobered. "You're beautiful, Mrs. Grissom."

"Yeah—right," she looked self-conscious as she reached up and pat her somewhat damp hair. "No make-up, bloated like a fat toad, not able to tie my own shoes anymore. . ."

"We took the laces out so you could just slip them on. So there's no problem there. You're a natural beauty without make-up, with it—it only highlights what is already there, and you're "larger" than usual because you're giving life to my son." He kissed her lips and looked at her again. "I see no problems there."

She watched him a moment and her eyes began to tear, bringing a surprised chuckle from him. "See, you can't even keep a straight face when you say things like that."

"I can't keep a straight face because I can't understand why you can't see everything I see about you. You're my life, Sara. I don't even remember what it was like before you entered it. I'm having an extremely difficult time remembering what it was like without Abigail as well. You both complete me."

"Well, I hope you're not "too" complete because this little guy is going to want a part of you too."

"He's already got a part of me, sweetheart. Every time he decides he wants to spend half the night kicking me in the back when you so generously decide to share in your maternal sensations and push him into my spine."

"I thought you'd like to experience it along with me," she teased.

"Mm-hmm," he teased back. "That's why I can hear you coaxing him to "kick Daddy—if I can't sleep—neither can he."

"I thought you were sleeping when I said that."

He chuckled as he pulled her back into a gentle hug. "I know."

The sound of Sara's cell tone going off made them both roll their eyes in frustration before Grissom grabbed the offending object from the night table and handed it to her. She spoke only for a few moments then hung up.

"It's Catherine. They're moving lunch up an hour, so we better get ready if we're going to meet them at Frank's."


	226. Chapter 226

Chapter 226

Grissom sat in the corner of their old booth at Frank's Diner, working on his third cup of coffee as he listened to Greg and Catherine interrogating Sara about possible names for the baby. He remained quiet as the suggestions Jason, Benjamin, Jeremy, Liam, Jacob, Lucas, Logan, Gabe, Tyler, Maxwell and Nicholas were given, but when Greg came up with Percival, Poindexter, Cornelius, Stanley, Julius and Irving, Grissom had to put a stop to it.

"Then what are you going to name him?" Catherine asked as she plunged her fork into her decadent cherry pie. "Maybe Gilbert Junior?"

"We don't know what we're going to name him. We've got two more weeks to decide—and maybe we'll simply wait until he's born, like we did with Abby. We'll see what name he looks like." Sara leaned back in her seat and without noticing, slid her hand up Grissom's thigh, beneath the table. "How much longer until they open the new wing down at the lab? I thought they'd be finished by now."

"Technically, they are finished. We've been through it several times. They're putting the finishing touches here and there. The official opening is in two days. That's why we invited you down to look around today. There won't be as much commotion going on around you and you can take your time checking things out." Catherine went on eating her pie.

"I suppose you'll go straight to the new entomology displays," Sara said as she glanced up at Grissom, noticing how he was watching her from the sexiest damned eyes she had ever seen in her life. She gulped visibly and brought a knowing smile to his lips before he masked it by taking another drink of his coffee.

"I'll go wherever you lead me, my dear."

Suddenly Sara got a bit lost in his gaze as he watched her and her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.

"Wow," Greg said with an "awe" tone, but it didn't effect Grissom's intent inspection of his wife.

"Keep that in mind when she's pushing your little bowling ball out of herself and her most desperate desire is to lead you right into the pits of hell and leave you there," Catherine said as she continued to eat her pie.

Sara blinked a moment as she returned from the heavenly place her husband had just taken her with only a glance then she attempted to turn away but his hand covered hers and wouldn't allow her to remove it. This, made her completely aware of what she had been subconsciously doing that provoked such an intimate reaction from Grissom. She looked down to where her hand was now pinned to his lap and quickly glanced up to her two companions across the table only to find them completely involved in cherry pie and a chocolate milkshake. She could feel the heat beneath her hand as his erection nearly burned her. "Jesus!" she thought as she looked at the denim-covered bulge beneath her palm and fingers then back to Catherine and Greg. She knew she was nearly attacking him in her sleep these past few weeks, but now she was doing it while she was awake! And in public! She tried to pull her hand back again but he held it firmly and gave it a gentle squeeze, making her cheeks flame with embarrassment. She leaned in closely to her husband and whispered so only he could hear.

"You can't be serious! Now!"

He put his cup down and moved his right grip to cover her hand, then removed his left and put his arm over the back of the bench seat in a gesture to pull her a little closer to him as he whispered back.

"You started it. Now—you go—and I'll follow."

He glanced back toward the small hallway that lead to the restrooms and when his blue orbs returned to meet her chocolate ones, she felt herself tightening from the top of her head to the bottoms of her slightly swollen toes. Jesus but he could turn her on so quickly! She looked up at Catherine who was sitting across from her.

"I—have to pee!"

Catherine looked up as Sara awkwardly got to her feet and started toward the rear of the restaurant. "Sara? Are you alright? You look flushed."

"Maybe I better go check on her," Grissom told her as he slid across the seat and turned away from them as he followed several yards behind his wife.

"Hey, Gris!" Brass entered through the front door and nearly walked into him. "Are you heading over to check out the new lab today?"

"Uh—yeah. I'll start over in a few minutes." Grissom maintained his stride as he continued after Sara.

"Don't forget to check out the cases of your creepy-crawly little friends. They have quite a collection on display."

"No—I—I won't. I need to use the restroom right now. Go get yourself something to eat—my treat."

"Yeah," Brass said, a little confused at his friend's blatant attempt to shrug him off but then turned and went back to the table, deciding that Grissom must "really" need to use the facilities.

Grissom was nearly to the door to the ladies' room when the door opposite opened and Sara's hand reached out and grabbed him then pulled him into the little closet with her. Her arms went around his neck as soon as the door was closed and her lips met his. It was an instant dual as tongues were thrust into each other's mouths and tasted what the other had to offer. Sara was soon pressed back against the shelves that were lining the far wall as Grissom attempted to tug her shirt down over her shoulders far enough to reveal a very plump breast, but upon finding it wouldn't expose his prize, he went in the other direction and lifted the cloth from the bottom. The moment he tasted her sweetness he felt himself harden so tightly that he felt certain it would only take a slight twist of his hips and he'd come from pure anticipation but within another moment his pants were opened and he was being released. Her long, slim fingers found him and his growl was nearly heard by the elderly woman walking by on her return from the restroom.

"Oh, God! I need you—now!" Sara breathed as she held his head to her breast with one hand and slid her other down the front of his boxers.

Grissom searched for a place to move, but the area was too small and there was no place to sit. He knew if he didn't do something to alleviate the pressure immediately, he'd be stuck in the broom closet for another hour before it would be safe enough to leave without his friends noticing his "problem."

"Here—turn around," he whispered and faced her toward the shelves. She reached up and held onto the wooden planks as he pulled her pants down from behind. He didn't know what was turning him to this point. It wasn't as if they were "always" into having sex in public—it just happened that way sometimes. And most of the time they could control themselves enough until they returned home—but there was something about the way she stood in front of him and looked back over her shoulder that made him lose all sense of propriety. He lowered himself slightly then came up behind her as he held onto her hips. "Sara, honey, you are the sexiest damned thing I've ever laid eyes on."

She could only manage a little squeak as words escaped her and soon she was riding the waves of ecstasy that he was building inside of her. Suddenly the pressure that was maneuvering her from all sides heightened her senses to overdrive and she held onto his hands as he hugged her from behind. Her responses were so immediate and immense that all it took was to turn her face toward his and meet his kiss as he reached down and merely touched her front, and she was muffling her scream into his mouth. He stopped his movements as he stood completely still, pressing inside of her so far his only thoughts being (irrational though they may be) to get as far inside this magnificent body that was convulsing so tightly around him that he was in fear of blacking out from having the best orgasm of his life.

They now held onto the shelves just so they wouldn't collapse into a heap on the floor as they breathed heavily and he leaned against her back. When she was able, she turned to face him, although he continued to hang heavily onto the planks behind her.

"Sexiest damned thing you ever laid eyes on?" She breathed as she looked at him and he got a sheepish grin as he looked back. "I'm a hippo, Gris!"

"You're amazingly beautiful, and if you don't stop criticizing yourself, you're going to give Percival, in there, an inferiority complex."

Her hand went to cover her mouth immediately as she looked up at him with alarm. "OH! I didn't think. . .Oh, Gil! What if I "do" give him a complex!"

He smiled at her again as he adjusted himself then reached down and pulled her pants up over her hips and stomach. "Won't happen. We won't let it happen."

The sharp knock on the door made Grissom visibly jump with alarm and brought a giggle to Sara.

"Alright! I've had enough of you damned kids messin' around in my fuckin' broom closet! Go home and wait until your parents leave the house—then do your screwin' there!" The handle turned and Sara looked down to see the overturned buckets that had evidently alerted someone that the closet wasn't empty anymore. "I oughtta just keep ya in there and call your parents! That way no one will be tempted to use it anymore!"

The door opened and the head cook stood before them, now looking very shocked as he realized that his "teen pranksters" suddenly turned into two very adult, very married, ex-CSIs.

"We—were—just inspecting your . . . " Grissom began, clearly embarrassed beyond words as he looked back at the other man.

"Cleaning supplies!" Sara informed him quickly as she pushed her way past her husband and took his hand to pull him along. "Federal regulations, you know. You don't want to be using anything that would be dangerous to the public, would you?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"So—uh—you looked a little rumpled when you came back to the table at the diner," Brass said to Grissom as they walked down the hallway of the new wing at the lab.

"Did I?" He asked with little interest as he kept his eyes on his wife's long frame as she pushed Abby's stroller ahead of him with Catherine on one side and Greg on her other.

"You seem a bit out of sorts today, Gris," Jim said to him. "You sure you're okay?"

"Me?" Grissom glanced over at the other man. "I'm fine."

"You two been together so long that you're using "her" line."

"Hmm?"

"You're fine. Sara always says that. You sure you're okay?"

"Couldn't be better." Grissom's eyes crinkled as he smiled at his friend before looking back at Sara.

"Gil—look," Sara said as she stopped in front of a framed collage of photographs. She gently reached out and traced her fingertip over one photo in particular. Grissom moved until he was standing next to her and looked at the shot of the night crew. Standing in a line was Sophia Curtis, Grissom, Catherine and Jim, while kneeling in the front row was Nick, Greg, Sara, and Warrick Brown.

"They were the best of times and the worst of times," Grissom quoted as he looked at the smiling faces of Greg, Nick, Catherine, Warrick and Jim, then took in the much more serious expressions of himself and Sophia and the almost tortured expression that Sara was trying to cover with a weak imitation of her megawatt smile.

"You don't look too happy there, Sara," Greg said from where he now stood behind them.

"That's because Grissom was playing Sophia and Sara off each other," Catherine spoke up.

"I was doing no such thing," Grissom retaliated. "If you look closely, you'll see that "I" don't look overly enthusiastic either."

"Yeah," Brass snorted. "Because you were having a hard time juggling two tall beauties at one time."

"I was "not juggling" anything!" Grissom told him. "I was pining away for a certain brunette while maintaining a "working relationship" with Sophia. I believe this picture was taken the night we went to work on the Adam Trent case."

"No," Sara said quietly. "It was the night after the ball. I was certain you would never give in to what I knew existed between us. You were too focused on Sophia at the time."

"Shows you what "you" knew," Grissom said as he reached over and took her hand in his. "I wasn't focused on Sophia. Look." They all leaned in closer to look at the photo then looked back to him before Catherine smiled with understanding.

"Photo analysis," Catherine said then started pointing out what she was speaking about. "His entire body is turned away from Sophia—he's angled toward Sara. His leg isn't at a natural position—like he was simply standing there—it's a little farther forward than the other—almost as if he were trying to make any physical contact with her that he could. And look at his hand that isn't holding onto the clipboard—his fingers aren't relaxed—they're straight, and nearly touching her hair. Why couldn't we all see it? It's right there in front of us—or "next" to us as in this case."

"I saw it," Greg said. "I knew. I just thought Gris was a jerk about it most of the time."

Grissom looked over at the younger man who was still studying the photo, then back to Sara who was now tracing the outline of Warrick.

"When one of us hurt—we all felt it. We were special," Sara said quietly.

"Hey!" Nick came up behind the group and looked at the pictures. "What are you guys looking at?"

"Look at this one." Catherine pointed to another picture below the one they had been looking at. "It must've been during one of your "down-times." Look how defiant Sara is as she stands there. Grissom, you look like a whipped puppy dog in this one. And look at how the guys are all standing around Sara, sort of protecting her from you."

"I remember that," Grissom gave a small smile. "We weren't even seeing one another at that time. It wasn't long after she started seeing "that paramedic. . . ."

"Hank Pettigrew," Nick supplied for him. "I remember it too. You reamed Sara out because she was late getting to a case. You were riding her pretty hard that night and we all knew it, so we were planning on a breakfast at Frank's after the picture was taken."

"Without me, I take it," Grissom said.

"Here's one that you both look—well—at least you "don't" look "unhappy," Catherine told them as she pointed to another group picture.

"Ah, they were "doin'" it by then—that's why!" Greg told them, turning the other's attention to him. "What? It's clear—according to that photo analysis you were talking about. Look at them standing there, pretending not to look at each other—when the whole while, they're standing so close that their legs are almost touching from their boots all the way up to their hips."

"I never noticed that," Catherine said as she inspected it more closely, then she looked back at Grissom and Sara. "Is he right? Were you together by then?"

"For about two months," Sara explained then looked down at the stroller as Abby started to stir from her nap. "Hey, precious. Look who's waking up."

Abby looked around at the group of people, a little uncertain of her surroundings and showing a bit of alarm as she rolled over and started to get to her feet inside the apparatus.

"Sit down, Abigail, before you fall," Grissom told her but she continued to rise until she was standing very unsteadily and reached for him.

"What's this? Aren't I good enough anymore?" Greg asked as he moved closer to them and she looked at him through still sleepy eyes as she snuggled against her father's shoulder, then reached out and grabbed onto his nose and twisted it. "Hey!"

"That's what ya get, trying to suck her up all to yourself," Nick said as he stepped in closer and tucked one of her dark curls behind her ear. "Hey, sunshine! Look at you! All pretty in your little dress."

Abby looked down at her navy blue with white polka dot dress then back at Nick as if waiting to hear more flattery.

"Stop trying to butter her up," Brass said. "Right, Snickerdoodle? Tell him it aint gonna work. He better come up with something better than those cheesy cowboy lines to capture your heart."

"Oh, really?" Nick asked as he looked at Brass. "And just what would that be? Buy her off with another stuffed animal?"

"She likes the stuffed animals Brass gets her," Greg told Nick.

"And she likes my "cheesy cowboy lines" too."

"Not as much as my Dirty Harry lines," Greg said with growing enthusiasm. "You should see her when we watch Clint Eastwood!"

Abby watched each of the men as they ranted with one another, then gave a large yawn and curled up more snuggly against her father, clearly showing her preference.

"That's right, sweety," Catherine said as she reached over and stroked Abby's back. "Stick with Daddy. A little girl always holds a special place in her daddy's heart."

Catherine looked at her cell as it went off then took a quick message before closing it and looking back at the rest of the gang who were either looking at the rest of the pictures or discussing which way was best to get to the little girl's affections.

"Something wrong?"

"Conrad says there's a multiple homicide. Day shift got called to it but he wants us to keep on alert. Maybe we better cut this tour a little short and head back to my office just in case they need help."

They all turned away from the photos as Grissom carried Abby and Sara pushed the empty stroller. One by one they entered the elevator at the end of the hall as Greg pressed the button for the first floor and they waited for the doors to close. After a long moment, they finally closed and the car started its descent. A few more moments and they made their way from the fourth floor down to the first where Nick, Catherine and Greg exited as Grissom leaned down to put Abby back in the stroller. A few whines later he had her seated and was about to push the contraption into the hallway with the others when Abby gave a more energetic sign of her disapproval as she threw her bottle out of one side of the buggy and her toy keys out the other.

"Go on," Sara sighed as she looked at the bottle rolling toward the corner of the elevator car. "I'll get it."

"I got the keys," Brass said as he bent to pick up the colorful plastic toys and Grissom continued to push the stroller into the hallway.

"Umph," escaped Sara's lips as she tried to straighten and felt her abdomen tighten immensely. She used the wall of the elevator to maneuver herself upright where she immediately put her hand to the small of her back.

"You okay?" Jim asked as he stopped his exit and looked back at her.

"Don't know," she breathed then quickly reached out toward the doors that were rapidly closing. "Dammit."

"Here, press this button," Jim suggested as he pressed the "Doors Open" button only to have the doors open halfway before slamming closed again.

"Again. Press it again."

Jim did as instructed only to have the same thing happen again. A third time and he put his hand between the doors to try to keep them from closing, only to have them bounce open a mere four inches and stay there. A massive screech and the floor dropped nearly two feet, its unexpected movement knocking Sara against the wall before she was thrown onto the floor.

"Sara!" Jim quickly tried to help her to her feet again, only to have her moan again.

"Jim?" Grissom's voice could be heard from the lobby. "What's going on?"

"The damned doors are stuck—and the whole elevator dropped a few feet. I think we're stuck in here. You better get maintenance down here to get us out." Jim looked out through the small opening to see his friend standing slightly above him.

"Gil!" Sara's voice expressed more than simply fright at being stuck in an elevator and turned their attention to where she was now holding onto her stomach as she stood in the corner. The sound of something splatting on the floor then turned their attention to the fluid gushing down her pants and puddling at her feet. "You better hurry. My water just broke!"


	227. Chapter 227

Chapter 227

"Here!" Greg shouted at the elevator doors as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. "Use these!"

"Greg!" Grissom half-shouted as the other man pushed his way past him.

Greg thrust the gloves through the crack and dropped them as Jim knelt on the floor next to where he had lowered Sara. She looked at the gloves and grimaced before her eyes grew huge.

"He is NOT going to need gloves!" Sara insisted as she held onto her hardening stomach then hissed through the contraction.

"I'd want him to wear gloves if he was gonna touch ME there!" Greg snorted.

"Shut up, Greg," Grissom mumbled as he pulled him away from the door and knelt down to look at his wife. "Sara! Honey! Are you alright?"

"Gil! Get these doors open!"

"We're working on it," Nick called from behind Grissom. "Don't worry, they're going to be here any minute."

Sara moaned loudly as another contraction seemed to begin before the last one even ended.

"God! Honey! You're going to be fine!" Grissom said as he began to futilely yank at the doors.

"Sara?" Jim put his hand on Sara's stomach and felt the intensity of her contraction.

She looked up at him with worry written plainly on her face and grabbed his hand then squeezed it. "These are coming on too fast, Jim."

"Sara!" Grissom called to her again.

"It's okay," Jim told her. "They're going to have us out of here in no time."

"Shouldn't you take her pants off or something?" Greg called as he peered over Grissom's body.

"Move, ya pervert!" Nick pushed past him and looked at the two in the elevator just as Abby began whimpering as she tried to look out the back of the stroller at her father who was still kneeling on the floor.

"I'm not a pervert!" Greg told him. "Ya can't have a baby if you're wearing pants!"

"Da-da-da-da-DAD!" Abby yelled then started whimpering again.

"It's okay, honey," Catherine said as she picked up the little girl and started to soothe her. "Daddy's a little busy right now."

"Sara," Jim said as he kept his hand on her stomach and looked at his watch. "I'll do whatever you want—but Cookie—if they don't get these doors open for us, we aren't going to have any choice."

"Jim!" Nick called to him and pushed some crumbled sheets and a pillow through the crack to the older man. "I grabbed these of one of the cots in the break room. If you "do" have to do anything—at least you can cover her."

"I want someone down here right now!" Grissom said into his cell. "What do you mean they're on lunch break? All your goddamned maintenance leave for break at the same time?"

"Gil?" Sara called to him with worry upon hearing his conversation and he quickly flipped the cell closed.

"It's going to be alright, darling. I'll have you out of there in no time." He turned and looked at Greg and Nick. "What about the floor below us? Can we access it from there? Maybe if we can get those doors open we can lower Sara out of the car."

"It isn't low enough. There's only about three inches clearing the ceiling below," Nick explained.

"It's letting up, isn't it?" Jim asked Sara and she gave him a weak nod. "Here, lie back on this pillow. It will be more comfortable than leaning against the wall."

Jim spread one of the sheets on the floor so it wasn't lying on the puddle of amniotic fluid that had escaped earlier, then he maneuvered Sara until she was lying with her knees bent. He covered her with the other sheet when he noticed her begin to shiver.

"I'm cold, Jim."

"It's going to be okay." He looked back up toward the men at the opening of the elevator. "Nick—go get a blanket. We want to keep her warm."

"It isn't cold in here," Greg said as he watched Nick rush back toward the break room again.

"She might be going into shock," Catherine said as she continued to rock Abby in her arms.

"Don't say that!" Grissom hissed as he stared helplessly at his wife. "How does she feel, Jim?"

"She seems okay."

"I'm still capable of answering for myself," Sara told them. "Why would you ask Jim how "I" feel? He isn't quite "that" intuitive!"

"I think he means, how do you feel to the touch," Jim gave her a reassuring smile. "He wants to know if your clammy, sweaty, stuff like that."

"Oh," she said quietly then looked back up at Grissom. "I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd get me out of here!"

"I know. I'm working on it, dear."

"Can't we just get a hydraulic jack and force the doors open?" Greg asked as he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed a number.

"They're computerized. There's no telling what might happen if you force them open. We don't want to risk it dropping." Grissom looked down at Sara as she moaned again and Greg turned and disappeared in a closet across the hall.

"Another contraction?" Jim asked.

"My leg," she told him. "Cramp."

Jim immediately began massaging the tense muscle. "Just breathe slowly. I know it's hard, but try to relax as much as you can."

"Grissom!" Conrad Ecklie approached the team. "I heard what happened. I called the company who installed the elevators and they're sending someone over immediately"

Grissom nodded as he looked at the other man then glanced back at Jim and Sara who were both breathing a little more rapidly than usual.

"Gil," Catherine interrupted. "Is there anything in your bag to feed Abby? I think she needs to be taken down to my office or the break room."

"Yes. Yes, here. Take the stroller—and thank you, Catherine."

"Oh, man," Nick said in a low voice as he watched the interactions between Jim and Sara below them. "She don't look too good right now."

"She's having a baby, Nick," Catherine said sternly as she strapped Abby in the stroller and began pushing her down the hallway to try to keep her calm. "She isn't in there having a facial!"

"Man!" Nick turns and looks at Grissom who isn't paying any particular attention to him. "How could you do something like that to her? Jesus!"

"I don't think "what" I do to Sara—in this regard—is any of your business, Nick."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't have gotten her pregnant—but so soon? Jesus! She didn't even have a chance to heal from Abby and now she's down there going into premature labor for the second time."

"It isn't considered premature after thirty-six weeks—and she's thirty-eight. So if you don't mind. . .," Grissom turned his attention to Nick but quickly looked back into the elevator as Sara released a long growl.

"You guys keep discussing the hazards of having a baby and I'll just stay down here delivering one!" Jim said sarcastically. "Don't worry, Sara. Everything's going to be alright."

"Jim," she panted. "I feel like I—have to go to the bathroom!"

"Oh, God!" Grissom breathed as he attempted again to separate the doors farther.

This time Nick grabbed one door as Grissom grabbed the other and they both pulled, releasing the doors another inch, but still not far enough to get through.

"Here!" Greg moved back to the group with a hand full of packages. "I called Caitlin. She said to make sure Jim has this stuff down with him in case the paramedics don't make it in time."

"He is NOT going to deliver my baby!" Sara yelled up at Greg through a huge grimace, then grabbed onto Jim's hand and squeezed it so hard it brought a moan from the man. "Jim! I have to go to the bathroom! NOW!"

Jim took a deep breath then quickly reached for the things Greg was handing down to him. He knelt next to Sara again. "Okay, little girl. I know you don't want to hear this—but that baby's coming out right now. I'm the only one down here and I don't think you're up to delivering this by yourself. Are you ready?"

Sara stared at him through apprehensive eyes for a moment then silently nodded her head once. Jim pulled off Sara's shoes then reached for her pants and pulled them down.

"Jim, how close is she?" Gil called as he pressed himself against the opening to the elevator, whether in an attempt to get as close to his new family member and wife as possible or to block the other's view, no one was quite sure.

Jim hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, another look at Sara's concerned face and after receiving another affirmative nod, reached down to touch the area in question. He gave a shocked whistle before recovering with a reassuring smile and looking back at Sara.

"I think your little Mr. Grissom is going to be here any minute. Are you ready?"

He immediately began opening the packages that Greg had lowered and lay them within reach.

"What's going on?" Greg asked frantically as he tried to look past Grissom.

"She's having baby, nitwit," Nick said as he began pacing the floor behind them. "What do ya think's going on?"

"I know she's having the baby!" Greg looked back at Nick then tried to look past Grissom again to no avail.

"Well, if you knew, then why'd you ask?"

"I meant—what's she doing—I mean—what's Jim doing—I mean—oh just forget it!"

Nick stopped pacing and Greg stopped his attempts to look past Grissom as they listened to a long, loud sound that was a combination of a yell and growl escaping from the confines of the elevator, then the distinct sound of something wet and gushy hitting the floor. Nick's eyes widened as he watched Greg take a step toward him then sink to the floor in a dead faint.

"Jesus, Greg!" Nick ran to his friend's assistance and moved him to the side of the hallway as Grissom began yanking at the doors again.

"Sara!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Bouquets of roses and carnations adorned the hospital room as the sounds of anger came from the bassinet next to the bed. The child's father stood over him, holding the little girl who was openly inspecting the "crying machine" next to her mother. Grissom reached into the bassinet and tried to quiet the red-faced cherub but only seemed to irritate him farther until Sara moved to the edge of her bed and picked him up. Immediately he turned his blond curls toward his mother's face and opened his mouth in an attempt to find anything he could latch onto as a source of nourishment. She moved back to her place on the bed and picked up a bottle which he anxiously took to.

"Oh, my God!" Catherine entered the room with two boxes that were wrapped in blue and white paper with bows on them. "Look at those blue eyes! And that hair! There's no denying who this baby belongs to!"

Her comment brought an added spark of pride to Grissom as he watched Sara feeding their son. He held onto Abby as she leaned back in his arms and watched the new sibling getting all of her mother's attention, then gave a sudden jerk in an attempt to move to bed with them.

"I think it's becoming rather obvious that he belongs to his big sister," Sara remarked as, with Grissom's assistance, Abby crawled over until she was getting a much closer inspection of her baby brother.

"I bet you're thanking your lucky stars that Abby tossed her keys out of the stroller yesterday. If she hadn't, Jim wouldn't have stayed behind to pick them up and you would've been stuck in that elevator all by yourself," Catherine told them.

"I was the first one to hold the little biscuit," Jim said as he entered the room with Nick and Greg following behind him, each holding a token of their affection for the newest member of the Grissom family.

"I was next—well, after Sara and Grissom, that is," Nick told them.

"I would've held him—if I would've been conscious!" Greg moped. "But that's okay, we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I picked up a few more Clint Eastwood DVDs and we can all have a movie night with popcorn and beer—just me, Abby and. . .uh. . .uh. . ."

Sara smiled up at him. "We've decided to name him in the order that he was introduced. Jim, I couldn't have gone through it without your help. So—meet James Nicholas Gregory Grissom."

"That's not fair!" Greg whined. "I get last billing simply because I—wasn't available to grab him from Grissom when the elevator doors opened and he jumped in to help get you out."

"You weren't available?" Nick chuckled. "You went out like a light as soon as the little guy plopped out into Jim's hands!"

"I don't want to talk about it," Greg said sheepishly.

"So—Mr. and Mrs. Grissom," Catherine watched as Grissom moved to sit on the other side of the bed and put his arm around his wife as he watched his children. "Any plans on another one before the year's out? You seem to be making up for lost time."

"No more," Grissom gruffed. "Sara likes to take the dramatic route to her deliveries. At my age, I can't take any more sudden appearances of my offspring. These two are quite enough."

"Mmm-hmm," Catherine mocked. "That's what they say for the first two or so years—then the bad seems to magically be forgotten and only the good is there. You'll be having your third before you know it."

"No, I don't think so," Sara agreed as Grissom took her hand and watched Abby crawl over until she was snuggled between her parents.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sara strolled down the beach in her bare feet with her khaki's rolled up to her calves. She wore a tank top with an opened denim shirt that hung down around her hips as she shoved her hands into her pockets and mozied along. The beach was the one she and Grissom had walked along during one of their first "dates," if you could actually call it that. She was merely one of his students showing him the city as the heat of that day had them remove their shoes so they could casually wander along its waterfront. If she hadn't already fallen in love with him by then, it certainly was a turning point for her as she watched and listened to him that day. She remembered becoming completely absorbed in his eyes; eyes as blue as the ocean that had been lapping at their toes and when he would bestow her with one of his smiles, her heart seemed to skip a beat.

She looked at the two children ahead of her; the dark-haired little girl ahead of the little boy whose hair was the color of sand, but both had curls that bounced as they ran and when they looked back at her; both had eyes so blue there was no denying who their father was.

"Abs! Wait for me," yelled the boy.

"Jamie, you're so slow," the girl criticized as she stopped and looked at him with her arms crossed over her chest in vexation but when he smiled at her, her demeanor changed and she rolled her eyes at her brother. "Oh, just come on. They're waiting for us."

"Abs" waited until "Jamie" caught up with her then put her hand on his shoulder as she encouraged him to move a bit faster as they started down the beach again.

"Abby! Don't be in such a rush!" Sara called after the little girl, making her turn again to look at her impatiently.

"But, Mom!"

"I said—not too fast." After another roll of the girl's eyes, Sara couldn't help adding with an indulgent smile. "Okay. Fine! Run like the wind! But if I have to put another bandage on those knees of yours. . ."

She could hear her children's giggles as they ran off ahead of her. She walked along the beach and felt a weightlessness as a cool breeze flowed over her. She inhaled deeply and smelled the scent of something fresh and sweet, something familiar that she just couldn't put her finger on. She could see the area that the children were running toward. She could see the two chairs, one with a body lounging on it, the other empty; two smaller chairs were empty next to them; a boxlike structure that she recognized as a common cooler, some beach paraphernalia and a tiny tent that she knew, held her and Gil's latest treasure. She heard the cooing coming from within the small structure then watched as Grissom reached inside and pulled out their three-month-old baby.

"Jamie, get a diaper for your brother," Grissom instructed his oldest son and the little boy brought back the whole diaper bag before scurrying back to help Abby construct a mountain of sand. Grissom looked up at the tall woman who was standing over him. "How was your walk?"

"Nice, until Jamie decided it was appropriate for him to try to climb out on the rocks and nearly give me heart failure. I just hope I worked off a few of those extra pounds I put on with this pregnancy."

Grissom looked at her and she felt her heart flutter. Oh, when he looked at her like that he could do the strangest things to her. He always could and she doubted it would ever end. Suddenly she wasn't quite so concerned about those extra few pounds as he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. She watched as he changed their son's diaper with efficiency then allowed her to hold him after she sat next to them. She looked down at his face which was a replica of his father's but there was definitely something there that screamed he was Sara Sidle's son as well.

She felt a peacefulness within her as déjà vu struck her, just the same as it did the day Grissom brought Abby and Jamie to the hospital to see their new little brother and they insisted they name the baby Christopher. When asked where they came up with such a name, they gave one another impish smiles and shrugged their shoulders before saying they must have heard it on television—maybe it was Winnie the Pooh—maybe not. Either way, the addition of Christopher Warrick Grissom to their family made Sara and Grissom feel as if everything had finally fallen into place for them—they felt complete.

THE END

I hope you all have enjoyed our journey through what could have been and then the little detour as the children were added. It certainly has taken a long time to get this perspective to you but I hope it was worth it. Love to you all and many thanks for all your wonderful comments and reviews. I have gained several wonderful friends through this story that I will be forever grateful for. Thank you all for reading!


End file.
